Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aizawa doesn’t know if he pities the kid.

Then he recalls his last departing words to him, a threat obscured behind light mockery, and he wishes he could snag the ex(?)-villain by his greasy hair and slam his face against the wooden table. But the table might be scuffed by the kid’s protruding piercings, and he promptly decides against it.

They’re on a budget after they splurged everything on rebuilding their gymnasium (again) after the other day Todoroki and Bakugou had a wrestling match over who got control over the TV remote (again). Might as well make their furniture last.

Especially since this is Nezu's favorite table (best temporary replacement for his surgical table, according to him).

“Listen, old man, you and your flawed hero system, that uses innocent kids to raise them to determine the moral code of a situation through a twenty-paged handbook and the government- c’mon that’s all some yee-haw, brainwashing bullshit.” Aizawa stares, having to take a second to digest each individual surreal word that the kid had the audacity to say. Here he is, being lectured by Dabi, whose ego appears unphased even with the large, individualized by Mei, over-glorified metal oven mitts probably encasing his hands in a sweltering heat while his wrists are bound together by shackles. Lectured. By Dabi. Over the ethics of heroes and villains.

On a Saturday.

He’s not even supposed to be in the student’s wing. It’s a weekend. The kid just unironically used yeehaw. He's going to cry.

Sure, he technically was the one who forced himself out of bed at the emergency alarm blaring through the school’s sound system (at three A.M. ), being updated on how apparently they found the unresponsive body of League of Villains Dabi crumpled on their front lawn. But he has no idea why he’s still awake. Or living, for that matter.

But when they found Dabi, drugged to the high heavens where their lord and sadistic savior was laughing with a blunt, they had two options: terminate Dabi, or just. Don’t do that. For some bastardized reason.

The former was unanimously decided since it was three in the morning and no one wanted to deal with first degree murder of a twenty-something year old who’s drooling due to the amount of sedatives probably pumping through his heart. His drool probably had traces of cocaine. Fun. Sometimes he wonders why they’re technically too moral. Moral enough to not finish off one of their main dangers from an opposing villain group with a killing fetish (he's seen the girl- she's definitely a kinky shit).

So, all of them gathered around Dabi around 4:00 in the morning, feeling a spiritual connection even with the villain because by that point they were also all heavily dosed on their own medication of caffeine, when finally the trespasser stirred. When Dabi finally woke up, cerulean eyes in pinpricks between marred hoods drowsily flitting from one dead face to another, the first thing he said was when his eyes clasped onto Present Mic. Dabi wheezed out a weak laugh followed by a raspy proclamation of “Tim Burton’s version of a cockatiel” before promptly collapsing again, leaving all of them mildly irritated that the douche bothered to wake up and evidently not kick the bucket, only to leave them with a disturbingly accurate description of one of them.

Now, at 4:17 am, here’s Dabi, back to his intellectually-asshole self, with only indication of being still slightly tipped in the brain pan being his nearly undetectable slur in his speech, and the fact that he’s basically trying to have an argument about communism the way Americans do on that subject, to Cementoss whose typical uncaring face looks like someone slipped a heavy dosage of cough syrup into his coffee. He's acting and talking way too cocky for a guy who's been determined to be quirkless. He supposes that when Dabi actually gained sober consciousness he figured it out while everyone was glancing about nervously, holding buckets of water because they're all too dysfunctional to even think about just finding someone with a water quirk or just shoving Dabi underneath a cold shower, even though they already chained Dabi by that point. They were able to confirm his quirk-status however, when they inquired about Dabi's state and memories before waking up here. 

Dabi exposed nothing, refusing to let go of anything, and they're school teachers and aren't interrogators or torturers (though he'd go to say that Midnight is sketchy on this ethic compass, and he might as well throw himself on there because he does take satisfaction in seeing Kaminari and Kirishima beg for him not to expose another one of their stupid ideas they conducted- he was satiated the other day seeing the two cry when he threatened to tell Nezu, or godforbid, Bakugou, about how they accidentally clogged the toilet with an electric eel and illegal tattoo gun and flooded their floor's bathrooms). That is, until he didn't, and for absolutely no reason, claimed he had no memory of how he got there. They were able to assume with confidence that Dabi lost his quirk, when Yamada accidentally dumped a mug of scalding coffee onto his crotch, and all he could do was reflexively recoil with a one-note bark of surprise, and they all glanced at his bound hands and gloves, who gave absolutely no indication of a flame instinctively spawned.

However, since they couldn't be entirely sure, they left his fashionable oven mitts on. And, they can't necessarily believe his story either; Dabi's not necessarily the most credible source for any truth. But, that's a whole other situation to deal with- because whatever lead up to this awful, yet weirdly once-in-a-lifetime advantage of a situation they could spin to help them, is dangerous when hidden. And though they're all trained as heroes, Dabi's been born into villainy. If Aizawa's learned things over his years, with everyone criminal he's encountered- they were raised into this. People aren't just born one way- the environment shaped them. 

And whatever shaped Dabi, molded him good. All hard edges, his shell unpenetrable and shadowing, closing up whatever's inside. If there is anything inside. Maybe he's just like this through and through. He could be lying, and Aizawa doubts that any of them would be able to determine if he was with strong confidence.

“This is a bad idea,” Midnight murmurs to his side, and he just glances once more at Dabi, slouched disrespectfully on the principal’s guest couch, his lanky legs crooked in front of him with his muddy boots propped up onto the wooden table that Aizawa desperately tried to not ruin, staring at them with glaciar features that are lax just enough to convey a condescending sense of aloofness from superiority, but not enough to appear foolishly cocky. “Ooh, look at his glare.” She squints, and Aizawa resists rolling his eyes at the sight of Dabi who just does a finger gun in response to her pout. “I don’t just dislike him though, I guess,” she says unsurely.

“Oh, I don’t either.” Aizawa reassures, glancing at Dabi who’s watching them with interest like a cat does with a cloud of dust. “I dislike him with a passion.”

Aizawa feels like pulling a Bakugou by fighting without giving forethought to damage reparations.

“It’s like. Bakugou’s temper and confidence had a baby with Todoroki’s appearance emotional constipation.” Present Mic whispers not so gently from the side. his bloodshot eyes clapped shakily onto the kid. His mustache his droopy like the folds underneath his eyes. Aizawa feels a stab of satisfaction that even someone as animated as Yamada feels slow in such a surreal situation. He feels like their reality just skinny-dipped in the Twilight Zone.

“Todoroki? Endeavor’s kid?” Dabi says, his firm voice appearing loud in their quiet and stale room. “Now, that kid, he looks like all of his five-senses glitched and yet he’s forced to socialize without them. Just because we both happen to look uncaring, doesn’t mean he’s doing it purposefully.” Dabi states from the side, and Aizawa has a feeling that he’s being indignant being compared to Todoroki. “And yeah, this is exactly what I meant, having me here, working at your school. All for publication and press. Endangering your students and your school for what? Extra coverage? Of thinking you could suddenly convert me into one of your peppy, interestingly dumb students because you decide to have me work here?”

Aizawa feels like he’s supposed to be riled up, but honestly, he’d use those same adjectives to describe his own kids too. He does a side-long glance at Present Mic, who’s eating his banana with the shell. The staff too, he decides.

“I don’t think you understand the purpose of our questionable actions,” Aizawa informs tiredly, seating himself right across the table on a disarmingly unstable stool. “The reason why we’re bothering to put so much risk to have you working here as an underpaid babysitter is because you’re basically a kid too. I don’t care if you’re technically an adult or an overly-mature edgy Tumblr kid; we are offering you a chance to see a side of the world that you spent all your time childishly hating on. If by the end of this school year you’ve developed no other perspectives to it, then we can’t do anything about it. But throwing you into a jail chained forever isn’t going to help anyone, least of all you. The risks right now are higher, but if the outcome is anything remotely good, then the benefits will outweigh them.” Silence from Dabi follows the end of his explanation.

“Whoo,” Aizawa hears Yamada’s weak cheer of encouragement from the background, and he internally cringes as he has the sudden urge to whip the annoyingly creaky stool from underneath him and whack Yamada upside with it. He has no idea why he’s listing out what Nezu drilled into him just twenty minutes ago, when honestly, he’s completely with Dabi on this one. Perhaps he’s more biased though, since he simply just doesn’t want Dabi near his kids, least of all Bakugou.

No one gets kidnapped by a group of villains with unruly ethics that control their powerful quirks, while starving and fed assumptions about society and whether they were fit to live normally in it, least of all live in it as a hero, and escapes unscathed.

No one gets kidnapped by one of the most dangerous villains with a sadistic streak and unreadable expression and forgets their face, either.

Dabi stares, his eyes and their quality of being seemingly the only thing of color amongst his monochrome, unnaturally sickly grey bode, shining bright. With all that intensity behind his eyes, yet with little care actually powering it. All Aizawa can sense is the same indifferent air, with an even wider taunting smirk.

"Why would I do that though?"

This kid's smarter than that. Aizawa instinctively just knows it. He can't determine where Dabi's guiding this conversation too, though. "Because it's either that, or we throw you in jail." He takes a second. Jail. Dabi would be charged as an adult. And though if he really is quirkless (which they'll test later for confirmation), they'd still throw him in a relatively high-guarded prison with other prisoners on the same level as him. 

His throat tightens, and his struggle from earlier, about whether or not the stewing hot pot of emotions stirring and rearranging his guts about was due to pity or resentment, returns. Because he knows what happens in those prisons, and he knows how vile the prisoners could be. And Dabi's young- handsome in a sense. And if he's quirkless with only his fists and body to fight back, those prisoners could easily whip out his entire nervous system and crack it like a whip.

It's fucked up. But rapists, murderers, and psychopaths are probably the majority of those prisoners. 

Even if Dabi says he wants to go to prison rather than work with them, Aizawa isn't going to let him. He'd rather just finish Dabi off, honestly. 

“You know, Aizawa- sensei ,” Dabi’s pierced tongue slyly forms the honorific, a sharp tilt to his scarred face projecting the atmosphere of an asshole . A wicked grin disgustingly splits through his burnt skin. “Remember what I said to you?”

Oh. Wow. Look at that. I suddenly don't feel half as bad for him anymore. 

But yes, of course I remember. He doesn’t confess so, however. “You have the mind of a brat whose ego I want to curbstomp, and you have the face of a rotting apple. Don’t take it personally when I say I actively try to forget your entire existence.”

Rather than appearing miffed, Dabi just leans back, collapsing against the back of the couch. His grin is big enough to crinkle the staples lining his mutilated skin. Aizawa wonders if Recovery Girl will fix his teeth with its crooked fang. Then again, she lets someone like Kirishima smile (to be honest, with such a bright grin like his, he would too he guesses). “What I did say to you, concerning whether you could really protect all your classmates, was more so a speculation. Now I know that really, you’re a dumbass. Having me stay here.”

Aizawa knocks back his entire cup of espresso.

“Hm? What’s that? Sorry, I don’t take constructive criticism from an emo grandpa who just got out of the bath.” He retorts.

He takes satisfaction in the harsh twitch of Dabi’s ringed eyebrow.

Bakugo was the first of the student body to learn about Dabi’s existence.

Aizawa feels as if God, on LSD, decided to just screw up their lives for fun. Because as he was escorting Dabi, whose quirk is temporarily repressed underneath the special gloves that they’ve decided to leave on him until they discovered a better quirk muter, they ran into Bakugou, who for some reason, is still up in spite of it being 4:48 in the morning.

Aizawa could physically feel his heart knocking against his ribcage at the sight of Bakugou’s crimson eyes, bleary from sleep and his slouched, improper posture from fatigue straighten comically into a rod, while his eyes bulge out of their sockets.

“Oh. It’s the twerp. ‘Sup.” Dabi flashes a wolfish smile, and Aizawa needs to actively suppress his habitual reflex to yank Dabi behind him, to place him between Dabi and Bakugou who’s frozen at the spot.

Bakugou’s eyes slowly slide from Dabi, to Aizawa, his features delicately crafted into a struggling passive countenance though just a hot second ago they were conveying utter panic that sent Aizawa’s heart knotting into a lump. He couldn’t breathe during those couple seconds, seeing Bakugou’s state shaken awake from drowsiness before fragmenting into panic, now desperately and poorly glued back together to fake composure.

“Dabi’s uh. Working here now.”

“W- what ? Are you guys dumb ?” Now, Bakugou’s definitely a disrespectful little shit, but at least by this point they’ve constructed a decently okay relationship that involved him begrudgingly thwacking Bakugou in the head whenever he’s being temperamental, and Bakugou flipping him off in the hallways- not directly insulting each other.

Then again, he is basically guiding around Dabi in what’s meant to be his safe-place, UA, a place renowned for being impenetrable, a Hogwarts for superheroes, where parents want their kids to be at in a state of emergency. And Dabi is basically who he’s assuming to be the personification of Bakugou’s nightmares. So yeah. He is being dumb.

“Yeah, basically,” Aizawa answers, ignoring Dabi’s gleeful yet startled crinkle of his eyes at that. “But don’t worry, Dabi’s working here as basically a janitor.” A janitor to clean up the mess that you guys make every time you guys feel the need to judo it out in the hallways or toss the laundry machine back out the window because you guys don’t know how to properly turn it off. “Anyways, brat. Get back to bed.”

“Your dumbass is fucking dragging a deadass, wrinkly grape casted member of the Annoying Orange in human form as our villain , through our dormitories.”

Bakugou’s taking this a lot better than he thought he would. He was expecting a couple tears, screams, Kaminari accidentally frying their entire classroom the next Monday morning when he tells what their dear, intelligent, Principal Nezu had decided to do to help fix the school instead of renovating their pool with a broken filter.

Bakugou at the very least, is swearing. So really, nothing too different from the norm.

“Yeah. I need to get to the teachers’ dorms. He’s living with us now.”

“I- what the fuck.”

“Go to sleep, Bakugou. Tomorrow’s a Sunday. You need to get up early for church to repent for your sins, you awful child.”

“ Me? I’m not the one who decided to make a deal with fucking Satan by letting his demonspawn stay in our school!”

Aizawa doesn’t know how to inform him that he wanted absolutely no part in this, though he wants to formulate the words to say so because Bakugou, in the dark, swaying tiredly on his feet, hunched over with glassy eyes wide highlighted by the darken shadows beneath them, looks so young. The typical snarl revealed by rippled lips and gnashed teeth appears plastered on, plastic as a mask to hide something. Yet, Aizawa can detect the obvious look of betrayal through his rushed pasteboard mask Scotch-taped tightly around his face. That hurts. A lot more than he’d care to admit.

He wants to let Bakugou know that he’d never do this purposefully, never do anything that could so obviously hurt him.

But he knows Bakugou wouldn’t appreciate those words, especially not in front of Dabi. And Aizawa needs to at least implicate the sense of belief in Dabi that he could learn something from UA, that he could become better than what he was, even if he doesn’t want to put effort into it, even when Dabi himself doesn’t even want it to happen, much less believe it can.

So he just knots his flaky lips to silence his thoughts, and places the butt of his hand against Dabi’s sunken back. “Bakugou. I’ll have a talk with you in a second. Stay here, okay?” He says sharply, implying that he’s saying this as an order, not necessarily as a question. Accepting Bakugou’s meek nod as a suitable response, he leads Dabi through the hallway that connects the teachers’ building to the students’.

“So, that’s what Hothead’s been up to.” Dabi mutters, and Aizawa waits, eager for Dabi to say something remotely criminal or cruel so that he has a justifiable excuse (or at least what he deems justifiable) to sock him.

But, Dabi doesn’t, and Aizawa, though he’s unnerved by the silence between them, prefers it in spite of the unnatural tension that he can’t quite identify stimulating between them. He knows Dabi’s naturally quiet- he’s mostly reserved and attempts to be impersonal to everything and everyone around him. But this is different. In the sense that Dabi’s timbre had lost its bite when talking about Bakugou, lost its sadistically lilting edge, and he doesn’t like that. He can’t read the source of this sudden change, or what Dabi’s thinking though he’s typically very good with that. Dabi almost sounded thoughtful- calculating. It concerns him.

It worries him more than he can’t quite accurately assume what he’s thinking, or why there’s this sudden switch in mindset for Dabi.

In fact, he unnervingly feels as though Dabi, young and stupidly arrogant, can submerge himself into Aizawa’s deepest crevices, understand his deepest emotions and understandings without even trying, and Dabi knows that he could. Dabi, someone so disillusioned in their own view of society and morals, has a scarily accurate ability to just read and understand people. A sign of high empathy, though he’s probably one of the most apathetically sardonic villains he’s encountered, next to Bakugou Mitsuki.

He finally reaches dorm room 14, where he dumps Dabi in the fire-proofed room that’s currently being shared between him, Present Mic, Ectoplasm, Cementoss, and Thirteen as “bodyguards” to make sure Dabi doesn’t kill himself, other people, or set something on fire as if their own student body don’t already engage in those problems. Even if he appears to have lost his quirk for whatever reason, they can't be sure that he really did. 

But anyways, clearly, these living (oh my God, he’s living with this sadistic Evanescence) arrangements were just made and rushed. Because if they weren’t, he would never willingly bunk with Yamada. Having him as a friend in general is basically a hand-held suicide.

“Oh. I see the new resident is already in place.”

Aizawa rounds to the source of the displeasured wheeze, to find Sorahiko, in his all of his 4’2 feet glory, looking ready to beat Dabi’s head in with his wooden cane. “Bah. Look at him- didn’t even take his shoes off while in bed.”

Now, Aizawa knew the kid was a villain. But not a criminal dumbass . He turns around quickly, to find that for sure, Dabi has already collapsed on one of the bottom bunks of the beds that ten minutes ago he found Yamada crying because his noodle arms couldn’t move them by himself.

His laced boots are still tight around his feet, and still caked in crusty mud.

“Blasphemy.” He should’ve encouraged Dabi to go along with Bakugou tomorrow morning to church as well. They’re clearly both sinful jackasses (he just only likes one of them, though. He doesn’t have room for another mistake in his life when he has to deal with nineteen other hormonal ones).

“Weren’t you going to take the bottom bunk?”

Yeah, he was. But, glancing to the other bed where Ishiyama’s strange, cement body is basically dipping the wooden bed frame, and the third bed where Ectoplasm is splayed out on (and he is not going to have a fight with the maths teacher), he figures he has to take a top bunk.

He hates that. Because Yamada, who everyone begged him not to be but he still designated himself as the human alarm clock even literally no one asked, utilises his quirk every morning. And Aizawa, who on his first night of being a teacher and stupidly chose the dorm next to his, heard Yamada’s shriek through the thin walls. And since he was burritoed in his blankets, he promptly rolled off his bed and nearly broke all of his bones.

He can only imagine the pain as he’s sleeping on his top bunk. Not the pain just for him- but for Yamada too when the morning inevitably comes. He’s going to make sure Yamada feels pain.

“Where’s Yagi?” His short colleague inquires.

“We...decided it was better for him to not remain in this room with Dabi around.”

“Mm. Smart choice. Seems to be the only smart choice you guys made today.”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Aizawa exhales sharply, relieved that he finally met another sane staff member, rather than a vibrating adult baby whose questionable decision-making skills should revoke their teaching licenses.

“But I agree with the decision of letting the boy remain.” He gags. If Sorahiko wasn’t basically a hundred years old with a crippled back but respectful intelligence and insight, Aizawa honestly might’ve accidentally punted him out of shock. “The boy is smart. Scarily clever, and has great power. But he’s still an immature boy because he never got a proper childhood. Aizawa, you better treat him right.”

Uh. He better treat me right , but Aizawa nods warily, one of his eyes shuttering. “Anyways, I must check up on someone.” He informs, and saying his goodbyes to his coworkers (most of them awkwardly staring at Dabi, probably wondering how to get him to take off his shoes), he nearly runs back to the students’ dorm to find Bakugou.

He does find the boy eventually. But with company.

“Oh, Aizawa.” Bakugou cranes his neck to face him from where he’s positioned on the couch. “Pokeball Personified here came down here like the fuckin’ loser he is, and I took pity on him and invited him to watch a movie with me. You wanted to say something?”

And he watches Todoroki, who’s fixated intensely on the TV screen at the sight of Wall-E who scrolls by the screen. He appears insouciant to Bakugou’s name-calling, if he even heard it. He wonders if Todoroki ever saw any of these childhood classics before UA, and if Bakugou’s presence has evolved from a temper-trigger, to a minor nuisance. It definitely did for him.

“Yeah. Don’t stay up too late in the dark- isn’t good for your eyes.” He informs simply, deciding that any talk between him and Bakugou could wait. It’s not everyday he gets to witness Bakugou and Todoroki even breathe the same air without one of them trying to play the other’s ribs like the xylophone.

“Hello- oh! Shouto! And Bakugou? And ah- Aizawa-sensei!”

Recognizing the voice without even spotting her first, Aizawa just greets politely, “Hello Yaoyorozu.”

“Uh...morning?” She says unsurely, and he supposes she’s not used to being awake at this time. He’s grateful that at least Yaoyorozu, an actual angel who doesn’t have a self-sabotaging personality like everyone else that he has to deal with (though her insecurity seems to limit her progress and abilities) gets a sufficient amount of sleep. “I thought the teachers said the emergency was over?”

“It is, I’m just here doing something unrelated. Sorry if the alarm is the reason why you’re still awake.”

“No, I just woke up because I thought I heard noises and I decided to get some water.” She informs, flustered by Aizawa’s apology that she probably deems unnecessary. An angel . “Um. Shouto, Bakugou, I didn’t know you two were close!”

“We’re not.” Todoroki says simply.

“I have dreams where I staple fingers to his face.” Bakugou replies with the same casualness.

“Momo, come join us.” Todoroki adds.

“Ponytail, get your ass over here. I can’t deal with rip-off Santa Claus’ childish joy at the sight of seeing an underpaid garbage dispenser fall in love with an overgrown Tic-Tac.” Aizawa can’t believe he’s witnessing resident Time Bomb, Bakugou Katsuki , who spends his lunch tormenting his squad with his cold retorts and sometimes randomly coming into Aizawa’s class when he’s literally the last person he wants to see to discuss heroes and just random subjects that ends up taking up the entire block (leaving him with ungraded papers that he needs to finish), actively making friends.

Or at least being remotely pleasant to someone. Then again, he supposes that someone like Yaoyorozu, with a powerful quirk and determined will (though she lacks self-confidence) could easily earn Bakugou’s begrudging respect, especially since her personality, though it doesn’t capture his attention the way Sero’s or Kirishima’s would, it doesn’t antagonize him either the way that Todoroki’s or Midoriya’s would either.

“Bakugou.” Todoroki looks over, his voice laced with its typical insouciance and his eyes as dead as ever, his gaze as flat as his tone. “I’m going to stomp a mudhole into your chest cavity.”

Hm. Okay, so whatever bonding was interlacing his three interesting students was ruined. His sixth-sense that developed over the course of these two years with this class alerts him to step in, since it’s only triggered by an overwhelming understanding that Bakugou’s about to cause trouble and possible property damage. “Okay, okay.” Aizawa barks. “It’s way too early for you guys to be up, and for me to deal with another construction contract. Get to bed- the three of you, now .”

Chapter Text

There are a many emotions burrowing deep into his mind, determined to stay for the rest of the night.

People tend to believe that Dabi’s emotionless, and that if he felt anything- if he could feel anything, then the root of it would be poisonous: its radiation deforming his thoughts, decaying the marrow of his bones. Its acid would corrode his flesh, sizzling when it clashed with his blood.

Any other emotion of a different source were considered nonexistent, something unacknowledged (because if it was, then that means admitting it did truly exist- that someone like him could empathize, could feel ). It’s something that he probably didn’t even deserve to feel (and perhaps rightfully so). And if it did really coexist with whatever emotions (or lack of thereof) spurred him to come out like this- then he killed it.

But not everything that he’s allowed to feel, that really does curl up in the cavity of his chest (carved hollow and clean with a spoon forged from rejection, disappointment, and hate) are proven through how he treats others: it also exists through how he perceives himself.

He wants to die.

He really much wants to die. (He ignores how that he actually doesn't, that he'd suffer all the humiliation and all the anger and everything as long as his life ends with Endeavor dead in a grave beside him). 

After all, here he is, staring warily at the mattress above his, slightly dipped to prove Aizawa’s presence, his eyes adjusted to the dark room to be able to see the ripoff Ben Ten alien at the top bunk to the right, and the unsightly puffy jacket of the astronaut with chicken legs on the other side of him.

The helmet is facing his direction.

Dabi honestly can’t tell if the astronaut-reject is awake or asleep, and if their positioning that concludes in their awkward helmet staring directly at Dabi is because they like to sleep on their side, or if it’s purposeful. Because behind the helmet, the direction of their gaze is staring directly at the concave chest cavity where Dabi’s soul should be. Honestly, it’s unnerving.

“Why is this happening?” Dabi hoarsely mutters to himself, his words dissipating in the darkness and leaving no trace of its existence.

“Because you’re a dumbass.” Or not.

Unable to properly identify the source of the voice (who’s invading his privacy, rude), and not being able to remember who are the others than Aizawa, he attempts to lie still as possible to not give away any trace of shock.

“Shut up. You’re a teacher- don’t you have to at least sleep before you deal with brats early in the morning?” Dabi hisses. While he doesn’t care about others’ sleep, he doesn’t feel like waking others up and dealing with their attitude. He wants them to be asleep. He wants to be alone.

“In that case, you should’ve let me sleep before talking to me.”

Dabi inwardly snorts, but before he can retort, a third party enters, and this voice ragged from sleep-deprivation and conveys nothing but soulless luster for death is one that Dabi can easily recognize. “You two. Shut up. And Yamada, if you continue talking, I’ll rearrange your vocal chords.”

Yamada . Dabi commits that to memory, though he can’t identify a face with it.

“But Shouta-” Aizawa’s first name is Shouta? Just one letter away from Shouto.

“But what?” The voice growls coldly from above.

This Yamada ceases to exist in a matter of seconds, since Dabi’s left once again, alone in the darkness.

Shuffling on the mattress, he clutches the blanket he tossed aside. His intensely high body temperature meant that even as a kid, he never used blankets since he’d always wake up tangled and knotted in sweat-soaked blankets that bake him to death underneath their absorbent material.

He’d even be sweltering hot once he turned seventeen, alone on pavement underneath polluted skies and surrounded by the brick walls of the alleyway he used to camp out for months after running away from home. During that time, with his spine fitted against the uneven cement and frost sprinkled across his bare skin, his temperature would simply crawl up higher, threatening to break out in a fever, only to settle when he woke up to consciously wrangle his body temperature to settle after a nightmare.

At least he never got nightmares after joining the League. The League was a promise to them that in turn for silence, they would be able to stop the main source of their creation. The League provided a sense of uneasy and distant peace, because with the League, he could accomplish and create a goal. That with the League, he could kill imposters, could burn the corrupt and one day, light a fire that would suffocate his father. He supposes that without his father, his nightmares would stop (they had to stop). Certainly the idea of killing his father and knowing it would happen once he joined to League was enough to satisfy his spiraling mind for the past couple years. It even replaced all his nightmares with dreams of him standing in the light of his blue flames licking over buildings and bodies, with their main fuel being the collapsed body of his Endeavor.

As much as he hated admitting so, he needed the League. After all, he didn’t have a nightmare after joining (and frankly, he doubts he could afford to. What would Shigaraki say in turn if he witnessed Dabi soaking his ratty mattress with gasoline sweat, with unconscious tears? What would he say if Dabi, who doesn’t dream, doesn’t do anything remotely human, who sets villages ablaze to prove a point and has an unrelentless will and pride, waking up in a fit of his past resurfacing in a form of a nightmare? Is Dabi even human enough to feel fear, to having nightmares anyways?).

But he’s not with the League anymore- instead he’s playing Boy Scout in a hero school while having a sleepover with five other teachers. He doesn’t have the League.

He doesn’t even has his quirk.

His jaw tightens, causing the live patch of skin to ache, even though the skin that healed around the burrowed staples are just masses of dead skin.

His quirk is gone. He knew that from the moment he woke up, through the haze of drug and fatigue that something was wrong. The fire that usually boiled his blood faster than his ambitions could ever, the fire that would brew and simmer in the depth of his gut and would curl around his body in wisps, seeping through the stitches of his skin and out every exhale whenever he desperately wanted to ignite it, desperately wanted to burn - was gone.

He felt cold for the first time in his life. Even as apathy took the place of life and empathy, it didn’t make him feel cold; after all, apathy was burned into him at a young age. All of his other emotions are ashes scattered as fertilizer onto the dirty floor of the cemetery of memories in him.

His quirk was what kept anything burning in him for a long time.

And now, for the first time of his life, in the face of an unpleasant situation, in the face of anger, (fear), and intense desire to kill and get his way through the way he always had (with an iron fist and suicidal understanding that he has to risk himself and everything) his quirk didn’t react. No steam curled out his body, no intense, bubbling heat eating through his body like a wildfire licking a  forest clean.

Rather, a glacier had melted in the recesses of his stomach, and its cold residue replaced the gasoline that used to inflate his veins and capillaries.

For the first time in his life, he wants to use a blanket.

He wants to burn everything, until his body has the familiar heat, until he can hear the friendly screams that remind him that he is powerful. He wants everything to burn, and everything to crumble underneath his hands while his flames eat him alive the way they did six years ago, when his body adapted to the situation, adapted to the fire and to the burn in the form of gnarled skin and rejected feelings.  Except this time, he hopes he dies and his body isn’t just burnt into the mask of a grotesque monster: but that it burns until his heart withers from the smoke, his memories goes up in flames, and his bones are left in the debris.

As the fear and the cold resides in blocks of ice and frost around his brittle rib cage that rattles with each disastrous breath that’s housed within, he decides he’d rather die than feel this way.

And when he closes his eyes, blue illuminates the back of his eyelids.

He dreams for the first time in a long time, about Shouto. About Natsuo and Fuyumi. (His mother, too).

And for the first time in his life, he dreams about his father in a way Dabi would never see him (and in a way that his father would never look at him): as a dad who was proud when Touya Todoroki received a fire quirk at the age of four, proud that Touya had so much power in the palm of hands, proud that Touya existed.

(Then his dreams warped into him being seven-years-old, vomiting fire while tears and snot crust his face. There's fire spitting out and searing his tongue and eating through the fat and flesh of his body while the dojo his father would push and throw him in reduces into ashes. In a way, his quirk also resembles his mother and Fuyumi's- he's able to make snow too, through the fluttering ashes of everything he touches.

A memory of Fuyumi enters his dream, when she was five and proven to be a late-bloomer when snow swirled around her for the first time, amazing him because it was so beautiful unlike his quirk because his quirk was nothing but flames and disappointment that scared him and disappointed father others. Her father trained with her for the first and last time days after discovering her quirk's existence that lacked the energy Touya's would ever, that didn't carry the same weight of guilt and annihilation like his did. 

But it still killed.

Did you know that her quirk was just as destructive? Dad? Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think that though my quirk ruined everything around me and created smoke signals to warn others from a radius of miles away to stay away, that I exist in the form of raw obliteration of everything that breathes or doesn't, hers was a slow and painful death while mine was quick?

You killed her too that day, you know. 

The cold froze her, starting from the inside. Cold can kill too, an inching death whose time lapse forces people to face the comprehension of an inevitable death that's neither soon nor far, as they slowly lose their mind to unconscious twitching of their fingers and numbness of their physical existence as their mind burns from frostbite and trepidation while being unable to do anything about it).

Todoroki Touya has a nightmare of his existence, before it burns to the ground as a dream of Dabi rises from its ashes and obliterates Touya and all the emotions that come with him.

“You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Dabi arches an eyebrow at Aizawa’s observation. It’s not like Dabi has any real eyebags that could ever form from the patches of dead skin stapled beneath his eyes, and by this point he’s able to puppet his body to act in any way that wouldn’t convey anything he mentally or physically felt, so it’s somewhat disconcerting that Aizawa took one look at him and was able to detect that much.

“And you look like you didn’t either?” Dabi quirks his head, unsure whether or not Aizawa’s attempting to make small-talk.

“But that’s a given.” The man standing on the other side of his bunk bed says. Dabi recognizes that voice. Yamada. “Also, Shouta, you insane jerk -”

“No, not insane. If he didn’t push you off the bed, I would’ve.” The strange dude mutters. Dabi has to take another hot second. He almost didn’t recognize the hero from yesterday, now that his mask is off to reveal nothing more than humorously large dentures fitted into a normal face. Ectoplasm, if he recalls correctly.

“I was waking you guys up, unless if you wanted to be late -” Yamada starts.

Dabi wonders if it’d be appropriate to joke about roasting him alive for giving even him a heart attack when he was startled out of his uncomfortable sleep by the sound of inhuman screeching.

He figures he never really cared about being appropriate, though. However, before he could probably give everyone an aneurysm and disgusted glance, something’s tossed against his chest, that he only catches from reflexes ingrained into him since he was a child.

“Your clothes.” Aizawa explains, nodding towards the bundle of grey in his arms.

Now, Dabi hasn’t ever cared about fashion- as long as he appeared intimidating, he could get down wearing the outfit of the walking dead.

He’s not wearing this. The jumpsuit that he’s currently holding in his hand is definitely way too baggy for his build, and gives him the impression of a train conductor in a clown suit.

He musters a flat stare at Aizawa, who just with is eyes look like they probably never blinked once in their life, gazes back with the same insouciance.

“Can’t I just wear what I’m wearing now? If I’m here to just mop some floors, I’m pretty sure my outfit can handle it.” He gestures towards his grimy white shirt and discolored pants. His jacket with the metal gauntlets have been confiscated, most likely when he was very out of it, and his boots, that are held together by tattered laces and worn leather hanging by mere stitches (haha, almost like him physically and mentally), are sitting at the edge of his bed. All of his clothes are disposable and easily replaceable. When he was younger and lacked control over his quirk that with each use consumed everything and was uncontrollable no matter how much he wished it was, no matter how much his father raged and lashed out over it, the flames would inevitably reduce everything ashes. Including his clothes. So as he grew older, he just grew accustomed to never wearing clothes that he wouldn’t risk burning.

So honestly, probably cleaning up over destructive, hyperactive kids with no sense of self-control was a step up for his usual outfit than the expecting soot, ashes, and flames of his quirk.

“When I said you were basically going to be a janitor- I didn’t mean just doing the dishes or dusting corners.” Aizawa crosses his arms. Ooh, the I-am-being-serious-stance, Dabi can practically visualize his father making the same tone and tight posture. “I meant cleaning up the entire second-year’s mess and property damage.” Aizawa informs snappishly. “We do environment training weekly. As in we take them out to a designed course where their activities usually involve utilising their quirks. We typically have a team to set up the course and to clean up the remains of it after it’s been utterly destroyed by the children,” Dabi’s mind helpfully informs him that an angry gremlin like Bakugou Katsuki exists, “and you’ll be a part of that team.”

“I’m not wearing this,” Dabi says with finality.

Aizawa’s eyes harden.

“What the fuck is that?” Was the first comment he heard the moment he left the bedroom.

Dabi mercifully ignores the obnoxiously rambunctious teacher’s quip. “You look like you’re wearing a trash bag.” She says while adjusting her glasses, her messy hair caught in the screws of it.

“The outfit is technically designed one-size fit all,” The Yamada teacher informs. “So it’s...kind of big on him.”

“Why would you ever consciously put that on?” She scoffs. “He looks like a scarecrow.” Dabi doesn’t know how to tell her that it’s probably more of his face that gives her that impression than the awful outfit.

“Aizawa basically forced him into it. Wish you saw it- Dabi was literally eaten alive by his scarf.”

Dabi easily blocks out the two’s chatter, as he rolls up the sleeves of the jumpsuit. In an alleviating perspective, it reminds him of a prisoner’s uniform, dyed in the color of dulled vomit.

As they approach the end of the hall, that he knows from yesterday opens up to the student dormitory, he senses the watchful eyes of teachers he has roomed with searing into his back and sides, and he suddenly feels sick.

This is really happening.

He knows that this is temporary, as humiliating as it is. He knows that eventually they’ll transfer him to a prison where at least he’ll be in the familiarities of being known as dangerous, or that the League will hunt him down and bust him out of this hellhole before that happens, but even with those reassuring thoughts, he’s still here. He’s still going to have to face this.

This is happening. Being forced onto display as some tamed play-thing for the UA to show-off as if they have something to prove, having a villain decorated as a janitor towards bratty children, towards disgusted staff, towards undeserving heroes who don’t get it . Who don’t understand why he’s a hero, to people who turn a blind eye towards the negatives of the hero system in this society that outweigh the positive of it. Those type of people, who’ll see him degraded to being quirkless and forced into playing House with the rest of UA.

He can’t do this.

Gnashing his teeth, he slows, allowing Yamada and the female teacher catch up, their distrustful and wary eyes still imprinted onto his skin.

“Move. The kids aren’t awake by now, and they don’t know you’re here, other than Bakugou.” Aizawa says. “You won’t ever be in direct contact with the kids-” Dabi doesn’t doubt that it’s more for the kids’ sake than his, though he takes relief in that, “and you’ll be with the clean-up staff, so you probably won’t even see any of the student body.”

That gets Dabi moving.

He doesn’t think he could handle being judged by the students, especially by the ones underneath Aizawa’s care, being quirkless and even doing anything partially positive in this building. They would watch, and take satisfaction in the humiliation of it. And it’s not like he can deny it- it is embarrassing.

And when they all move as a unit to try and appear inconspicuously as possible for six dangerous UA teachers and a recklessly give-it-all (a positive word for the same definition as ‘suicidal’) villain, they enter the student dormitory.

Dabi takes slight pleasure in Bakugou who discreetly chokes on his spoon, milk dribbling out of his mouth and back into his bowl of cereal.

“I forgot your students are usually awake by this point.” The female teacher says, seemingly unconcerned by Bakugou’s presence, to Aizawa, who just grunts.

“I’m pretty sure Iida is awake at this time too, but that’s because he prefers morning showers.”

“That’s weird.” The woman replies.

Bakugou’s eye contact with Dabi is very perseverant, and Dabi resists the urge walk towards him to swiftly take the chair out from underneath him. Though he figures that he prefers a kid who’d stare him right in the eye out of defiance- this is cowardly. Bakugou, who’s safe underneath the watch of six other teachers and probably assuming that Dabi’s quirk is under some restraint and unusable if he’s allowed even to sleep within the school, glares back at him because he knows and believes that  Dabi cannot do anything.

Then again, even when Bakugou doesn’t have the upperhand, when they captured him and he was the one confined and spitting at them brash and bluffing words, he looked Dabi straight in the eye with utter disgust and pride. That thought leaves a bitter aftertaste of his previous satisfaction. He wants to spit it out. He wants to burn the smug  defiance off of Bakugou’s face.

“Bakugou, I would prefer if you don’t discuss about Dabi’s presence before homeroom,” Aizawa says dryly.

“Like I care.” Bakugou scoffs, though his words are testy, and his gaze still fixated in a burning glower at Dabi. Dabi wonders if he’s trying to prove himself from yesterday night, when he was emotionally vulnerable and glancing at him with caution and definite fear.

That helps him recover at the very least, enough for him to smirk in response to Bakugou’s unwavering stare. He even gives a small wave, his actions hiding the hate frosting his insides as if he swallowed shards of a shattered cold glass.

Bakugou’s lips ripple back into an ugly snarl, and Dabi just widens his grin.

“Okay, great reunion. Let’s continue,” The female teacher sighs, and Dabi wonders if she even evaluated her choice of words, because even Aizawa is staring at her with angled brows. “Dabi, we’re heading down to breakfast at this moment in the teacher’s lounge, and I’m just telling you. Don’t touch the raisin bread.” She says, fixating a calculative smile and icy gaze onto him.

“Don’t take it personally, she says that to everyone.” Yamada tells Dabi. Then, his eyes fogs as he appears to look into the distance, before turning to actually face him. “Though, I suppose you should take every comment personally. It’d be the least arrogant thing to do.”

And Dabi can hear a threat, especially one that’s meant for him to identify.

This is such a surreal moment.

Dabi supposes that waking up, unconscious of how he ended up at the lawn of UA, quirkless and somehow labeled not dangerous enough to be allowed to even be in the school and not immediately jailed or exterminated, should be scary.

However, he’s always been the type to not be able to simply worry about the future- being uncaring and living in the present has always been within his nature. Which is probably why he’s munching in his toasted bagel with ease, unable to force himself to care that he’s currently be observed by Aizawa, who’s on his fifth cup of coffee.

After all, most definitely the League will come after him anyways. The last thing he could really remember before all of this , was arguing with fucking Mophead over something mundane. But the actual specifics of it is fuzzy in memory. So though he can’t really guess as to why they’d be involved in drugging him and ditching him at the doorsteps of heroes, he can assume they’d have some idea of his disappearance and would pick him up. He wouldn’t call them friends, and much less a family, but they need him. As much as Shigaraki would rather fucking eat a boot than admit so, they need Dabi’s drive and willingness to destroy everything while being calculative and smart about it. They wouldn’t just let him go so easily. Besides, he knows too much.

“That’s like. Your eighth bagel.” The only female teacher he’s currently met muses.

“Kayama, you’ve literally eaten all the bacon.” Yamada counters with a dry look.

“Yeah, and that’s probably over a hundred-calories! Look at him.” The female teacher who now Dabi understands is Kayama, pouts while gesturing theatrically towards him. “Eating his eighth bagel. He’s thinner than Aizawa’s patience.” She gripes, before grabbing another burnt bacon that’s practically charred (Dabi bets it’s because Yamada’s cooking them), and munching on it viciously. He lifts his hand in acknowledgement, and snickers as her expression darkens.

“Well, I’m off,” Yamada states dramatically. Good, Dabi thinks. He’s annoying. However, before he leaves the lounge, Yamada’s eyes clap onto him, and even though he’s not wearing his stupid shades, there’s something blank and uncharacteristically serious about his glassy gaze, that irritates Dabi. As if he has the right to evaluate him because he’s currently quirkless. He doubts his state of quirklessness is even permanent, and he wishes the teachers would see that, that they would stop staring at him as if he’s powerless. Even without his quirk, he’s a threat and he wants them to at the very least acknowledge that.

“Ah, I gotta go too. The longer I stay here, the more I want to eat,” Kayama whines.

“Nothing wrong with eating. If you want to eat, eat.” Says an old man that Dabi doesn’t recall knowing or even being here. No way , that grandpa cannot be a teacher. “You’re a hero, you need to stay healthy and full of energy.”

Dabi reaches forward towards the bag of bagels on the table, and takes cold gratification at the discreet reaction of every other being in the room, and stillness of atmosphere as the pretense of normality they all tried so hard to replicate as if today was any other day, halts. At least he’s able to instill caution even with the slightest action he does. That he’s still dangerous, and as much as they try to hide it, they still see him that way.

He grabs a ninth bagel, and smugly bites into it, relishing in how everyone’s fear melts into annoyance towards him and at themselves for showing weakness.

“What? I love carbs,” Dabi shrugs, acknowledging their circumspect perspectives towards his unpredictability, and bathing in it. He also loves the overzealous whine from Kayama's direction towards his statement.

“You seem to feel homey.” Yamada says, and he’s still here? But Dabi can decipher the underlying message: no one wants him here, and that he doesn’t deserve to feel so comfortable.

Dabi decides he’s going to eat the rest of the bag of bagels out of spite.

“Don’t you guys have like, real jobs? Get out.” Aizawa scoffs, motioning Kayama and Yamada out of the lounge. “Want to watch them to make sure they don’t gossip outside?” He grunts towards the remaining company, who to Dabi’s surprise, all shuffle out. Even the old man.

However, as he gnaws the rest of his bagel down and reaches for another, he figures out what the others must’ve when they suspiciously left the room: Aizawa wants to get Dabi alone.

Nonchalantly, he slowly starts to eat this bagel too.

“You hate us.” Aizawa states, and Dabi snorts at the obvious being said so seriously as if it’s something profound. “But you hate us because we’re apparently ‘fake’, not because we’re stopping you from being a villain like the majority of you guys do.” Dabi doesn’t want to be grouped with the other villains: the type who just do things for greed or selfish reasons. He’s not like them, though he doesn’t care what they do either. “Why do you hate us? Heroes are all different. Of course not all heroes are good, so why don’t you consider the other end of the spectrum?”

Dabi doesn’t want to talk about this. Aizawa wouldn’t be able to empathize with his outlook, wouldn’t want to view it as respectable. Because there will always be an argument against it, and to Aizawa, the argument is what matters, even if it doesn’t justify the existence of Dabi’s point. “Because even if you’re not a good hero, you’re still benefiting from the entire system,” he replies shortly. “Your morals might not even align for others, and yet, as long as you save people, that’s all that matters.”

“If they’re not harming others, why do their morals matter? Even though I agree, people who are heroes for the sake of reputation and not necessarily out of the good of their heart isn’t the most respectable image or one that should be praised, why does it matter if they’re doing more good than bad? I think they shouldn’t be praised for it, but they still save people.”

Dabi purses his lips. “Well, not all of them do good, but people overlook it because they’re heroes.” He doesn’t want to talk about it, he knows how this will end, especially if discussed with a hero. “Listen, why are we having this conversation? You’re not possibly so stupidly naive that you think if you have one weird, philosophical talk with me then I’ll suddenly view my ways as wrong, even though they’re not good? You think that it’ll change my entire mind?” He spits, but he doesn’t relish in the fire behind his words, and inwardly cringes at it even. He sounds childish without a tight control over his emotions.

“No. I’m just curious.” Aizawa shrugs. “You could’ve been something, you know? You have an amazing quirk, you’re smart and your personality benefits you in terms of strategizing and fighting. But instead you focus all of that on seeing the bad in society and acting on it, which consequently hurts even the innocent and the good. Everything always has a dark side- but becoming part of it to try and fight it results in harming the good in total rather than just the bad.”

Dabi stills. Who gave Aizawa that fucking right to judge him, to assume shit? Isn’t it the heroic thing to think is to give it your all, to become something to become something powerful? He did that, didn’t he, as Dabi? A quirk that’s basically defective in his unadapted body, that basically killed him inside out and then through him? He would never succeed as a hero, but he was able to reign his quirk underneath the personality and title as Dabi. As Dabi, he was powerful and he made it and his dear old dad can fucking eat shit because he made it . That even though he’ll never be good and he’ll never do good and he’ll die being known as Dabi, a pretentious bitch that makes heroes eat shit, at least he acknowledges it. That unlike heroes like him who hides beneath their titles and shallow good acts that don’t magically ‘scale’ out everything shitty they’ve done, he knows he’s bad and he doesn’t attempt to believe otherwise.

He did become something, he became unapologetically Dabi, and he wants to fucking spit it all back at Aizawa, force him to face the truth that Dabi’s only something because he became the opposite of a hero.

But Dabi wouldn’t. Because he doesn’t give out things partially, he doesn’t half-ass shit in spite of what others may think. And there’s no time for people to hear his entire life, and he has no motivation to expose himself and tear him apart at the seams for Aizawa to see. Therefore, he might as well just take things to the grave because Aizawa doesn’t deserve shit from him, not even an explanation or counterargument.

“That’s a pretty arrogant thing to say,” Dabi settles on, his words expectedly lilting and impassive though the unfamiliar coldness chokes him from inside, leaving his fingers twitching and his teeth chattering. (He’s not used to being cold.)

“I’d say the same thing about your insistence on what heroes are like.”

And Aizawa’s watching him again (then again, did he really ever stop?). Dabi doesn’t know what to do with that. Every time a hero landed eyes on him, it’s always been negative. Anger, fear, hatred, disgust, or disappointment. Aizawa’s not necessarily hiding his emotions, but there’s a lack of everything that Dabi’s expecting that makes him shudder, that makes him want to punch the lights out of Aizawa and burn him-

“I guess I’m just curious. I don’t care about your life story and I don’t care about what made you choose to be a villain, because in the end your actions aren’t justified by your life, but I just want to know.”

“You don’t have the right to know.” Dabi replies flippantly, his characteristic indifference concealing the hurricane within. “And are you cutting off my bagel supply?” He questions, slightly offended at Aizawa’s silent movement of tying up the plastic bag almost empty of content.

“You have no reason to eat so many bagels.” Aizawa replies. “And, you’re going to get a stomach cramp-”

“Bet?”

“You are not going to eat this many bagels.” Aizawa retorts sternly. “So, anyways. I’ll let you know that for the rest of today, you’ll be with me. We ran by Recovery Girl with a blood test-” Dabi nearly regorges all of the bagels and wow, he can’t believe it but Aizawa’s right- his stomach is cramping. A blood test. A blood test a blood test a blood test -

He knows that his father probably burned any memories of him, any recollections of his existence after he ran away at the age of fifteen.

But he probably didn’t destroy anything legal; he assumedly just buried it. After all, having him legally labeled as ‘dead’ was probably enough. No need to destroy any innocent health records or files (because he was never taken in for injuries. No hospitals, nothing. Abuse is easy to recognize, after all). No need to destroy records of his blood and DNA. No need to terminate the connection between Touya Todoroki and Enji Todoroki- his assumed death should’ve been enough to send it to the grave, after all.

He’s really going to puke.

And though there’s possibly a higher entity, watching from their throne with disinterest over their boring lives, Dabi decides he’s not going to pray to it. Fuck them. If they haven’t done anything before, they certainly won’t interfere now.

“Are you listening?”

Dabi swallows the bile, the doubt, the insecurity. “No.” He answers truthfully, punctuated with the crack of his knuckles.

At this, Aizawa sighs, and rolls his eyes. Dabi figures Aizawa’s used to people dozing off to his boring logistics. He is a teacher, after all. “Like I said,” Aizawa begins, irritation colouring his tone. “The blood test shows that the drug is still prominent and heavy-”

“When did you take my blood?” Dabi inquires, and Aizawa continues, and Dabi assumes that it was probably when he was fucking out because of the said drug. “And we don’t know for sure when your quirk will return. So I’m going to accompany you for the rest of today in case, while the school orders a pair of quirk inhibitors. We’re going to show you the rest of the cleaning staff, and since today the kids actually are going to fight on the field, you’ll get an eventful day of setting up the arena and cleaning up the mess they leave behind.”

“About the drug thing, shouldn’t you not tell me that?” Dabi snorts.

“You’re basically a crispy weed whose body mass is lighter than this table,” Aizawa comments, and Dabi tries not to be offended. “I could literally body slam you onto the floor and shatter your spine to the point where it’s unrepairable even by Recovery Girl the moment you realize your quirk is back. Also, I told you because you literally can’t do anything about it.”

Dabi, used to years of smothering any emotions on his face, just blinks slowly. “Isn’t that dumb? You finally have a villain who’s caused trouble, kidnapped one of your own students, and has shown to be a relentless killer,” he unapologetically brags, “and you’re keeping him in your school? Around students? What would their parents even say- purposefully putting their children in possible danger?”

“That’s exactly the thing. We have you, a quirkless, unrelentless killer who has a goal in mind- a goal such as erasing all heroes. If we put you in jail, you would’ve broken out, the League would never give up a member like you,” Aizawa expounds. “You would’ve never settled being in a jail cell. Though the risk is high, it’s probably better to keep you here constantly surrounded by pro-heroes while we keep your quirk down either through the drug or quirk inhibitors, than in jail where you would’ve just been broken out even if you still hadn’t regained your quirk.” He finishes, and Dabi can’t deny the truth. He would never just remain in jail. He had to at least eradicate Endeavor first. “Also, you were found specifically at our doorstep. Someone had to place you there purposefully, and we don’t know why. You could easily be lying about not remembering why you were placed here.” Well, Dabi isn’t , but he’s content in being dangerous enough to consider all other options, especially the displeasurable ones. “Your appearance was purposeful by someone, so we might as well keep you here. We can’t just let you go if you were found within the boundaries of UA, without anyone noticing.”

“Fair enough,” Dabi shrugs. “Also, can I have another bagel?” Aizawa doesn’t even spare a breath to toss him another bagel that he neatly catches.

“And of course, due to legal reasons the parents would have to know-” Aizawa continues. Dabi doesn’t let that slide, and chokes down a huge bite of his bagel to quickly interrupt.

“Legal reasons. As in if you had the choice without your school being sued to high heavens, you would’ve never told the parents.” He sneers. And heroes always assumed they were superior due to ethics, that because they simply had a better moral compass, they were heroes. Loads of bullshit.

“I don’t deny that. But that’s because we wanted to give this a chance. Eventually, Principal Nezu will inform the parents. Because when will we ever have this chance, where you, a villain that’s quirkless and contained, to experience what real heroes are like when you seem persistent that heroes are all fake and shallow.” Dabi doesn’t know where Aizawa really falls on his personal spectrum of what a fake or real hero is, but honestly, he’d say Aizawa was closer to being the latter, but that doesn’t excuse the rest of UA or the hero society.

“So what? This entire shit is just to change my mind?” Dabi snarls. Aizawa stays silent. “You think that me being around you guys will suddenly just make me think all heroes are great? It doesn’t matter how good you guys are! It doesn’t matter to me if you guys are good people or if you guys aren’t bad heroes- what matters is that the overarching rule of society revolves around heroes being good. That itself allows too much leeway for heroes to get away with things. The profession of being a hero is too uncontrollable because it’s something citizens worships and look up to, and that itself gives too much power to them to get away with things. Public opinion is already a dangerous tool, and it’s unfair that the role of heroes automatically appeal to it. The reality is, that real heroes are too late.” They were too late with my mom. “That no matter what happens, they can’t stop fake heroes from appearing, and being a hero and offered a status because of it is something out of their control.”

Aizawa takes a moment, something that Dabi feels something remotely kin to gratefulness for because he feels somewhat lightheaded, almost delirious from the chill that’s frosting his breath, from numbing his anger to the point where he feels as if he’s mechanically spewing all this. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to continue arguing because there’s no point if Aizawa could never agree. “Like I said,” Aizawa begins, and those words alone causes Dabi to bristle. “There will always be bad people, and some of them are heroes. Being a villain who kills innocent people and kidnaps children and uses this as justification isn’t much better,” Aizawa sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. Dabi. You’re not wrong, but using that to excuse what you’ve done isn’t right-”

“I never excused what I’ve done. I know I’m a bad person and I’m aware of it. But there are heroes who are just as bad as me, and still think they’re something different, that being a hero makes them fucking special or by default ‘right’ and ‘good’ or some shit,” Dabi hisses. “Fucking heroes. Thinking that having me here, and if I change, it’ll prove that in the end, the heroes always save the day. That they can always be the deciding factor, that you guys saved some poor villain who just went down the wrong path.” Is he really that pathetic?

Sometimes, Dabi wonders if he’s been forced into villainy, or if he chose it. He ignores that topic, that always feels so persistent. Because he chose it. He had to have chose it.

“You think this shit is going to work? All of us, playing house underneath UA as if everything’s going to be okay with me here? As if I’m stupid enough to think that just because some of you guys are good, it makes everything okay? As if some of you guys being good justifies the bad when you guys have so much power in society and so much influence?” He specifically uses the word ‘justify’, emphasizing it with a mocking tone. “Shut up. Just shut up”

And to his surprise, Aizawa does, but now, there’s something decipherable in eyes. Something akin to pity.

Dabi wants to burn him alive until that look in his eyes hardens into hatred.

Aizawa can’t explain it. But there’s something fucked up about Dabi. Obviously there is: people whose apathy runs deep and kills for sadistic pleasure and chases it are never in the right mind. People aren’t inherently supposed to be like that. But there’s something fucked up past that, something fucked up in the way he functions or more so why he functions.

Dabi’s not dumb- in fact he’s frighteningly intuitive and objectively clever.

But there’s this monomaniacal quality to him, something that fucks up whatever intelligence he has and settled deep into his personality that if it were to be ripped straight out of his mangled body and screaming soul- he wouldn’t be Dabi. It’s basically Dabi himself. Aizawa doesn’t believe things are born evil, but the evil can be born into someone. And whatever spawned in the ravine cracked through Dabi’s soul, definitely festered like mold when he was a child. Dabi appears young even with his scars, younger than Aizawa he supposes. It’s pitiful, in a sense. The ugly and parasitic sense of disfigured life that settled in the recesses of Dabi’s weary body, housed in the emptiness of him and gave him a purpose, infected his brain and his actions. It won’t ever leave, and Aizawa knows it. Therefore, when Dabi spat out questions as to why this was happening, why they didn’t just toss him or killed him, Aizawa, though he answered reasonably, couldn’t passionately explain it to him. Because he doesn’t believe in this experiment Nezu’s trying to initiate with Dabi living here. The trepidation that uneases his mind informs him that this will only end badly, because someone like Dabi can’t just change. Changing Dabi requires killing everything of him and rebuilding his entire personality.

Some people just can’t be saved, or sometimes, though only sometimes, aren’t worth saving. Some people aren’t worth the fatigue, aren’t worth the emotional effort to simply save.

Aizawa knows that’s a horrible thing to think, that it’s an awful mindset to have. Because eventually, everyone dies, so what’s to say that people aren’t “worth” saving, aren’t allowed to be happy before that inevitable conclusion?

But just after one night of being with Dabi, of waking up before Dabi did so that he accidentally witnessed the kid’s body defensively curled tight in a way that could only happen through conscious habit and reflexive means, he knew that whatever kept Dabi alive, that whatever forged him into this spiteful being, controlled him over years, and most definitely started when he was a kid. The way he’s reclusive to everything, to the entire situation that would probably even cause Shigaraki to approach warily without the front of appearing nonchalant, told Aizawa that this was his personality. That Dabi wasn’t ever really “human” or a “kid” even before he truly became Dabi, so his personality was always this way. If he became ‘Dabi’ when he was young, and if Aizawa were to try to ‘fix’ him, to at least tear out the root of all his bad deeds and negative outlook on everything, it’d mean terminating his entire personality.

Some people became cruel and hard before they had a personality. Dabi has literally nothing to fall back on if Aizawa were to change him.

He woke up to find someone who wasn't Dabi, but at the same time was, curled up on the bed right beneath him, his bangs clinging onto his pale forehead from sweat, and a sheen of a nightmare coating the nape of his neck. 

Taking one last look at Dabi who had reached over to open the bagel bag the moment Aizawa walked away, he leaves the lounge to find the teachers he forced out all standing there, no doubt listening in because they’re all gossips. “Watch him, won’t you?” He turns to Ectoplasm, knowing that he doesn’t have a class until the second block. It’s already been arranged that Yamada would watch Aizawa’s class for today, so that he could supervise Dabi, but he needs to at least spend the beginning of homeroom with his class to explain their current situation.

“Of course.” Ectoplasm says politely, and Aizawa nods curtly in response.

He inhales heavily as he begins his trek towards the main building of the school, to where his class is.

He needs to at least prepare himself. At the very least, Bakugou, the student he was mostly concerned of towards Dabi, already knows about his existence. Throwing open his classroom door, he nearly walks back out as he sees Bakugou attempt to take Midoriya’s head off with a chair. At least no one appears suspicious of yesterday’s emergency alarm.

Walking up to his teacher’s podium, he waits for his class (for Bakugou) to calm down, before attempting to wrangle their attention straight.

“Class, I have an announcement,” he begins at the exact moment that Kirishima puts Bakugou in a headlock to prevent him from drop-kicking Midoriya’s notebooks. “Bakugou, sit down.” He says dryly, and doesn’t wait for him to pay attention, before moving on. “Before I explain our situation, I would like to say that our circumstances were forced onto us undesirably, and that we decided to take a route that we would never have another chance of reconstructing.”

“Stop using large words,” Kaminari groans. “It makes me feel as though you’re confusing us on how to feel before giving us a big test.”

“Sensei, why was there an emergency alarm last night?” Midoriya suddenly questions, and Aizawa’s eye twitches.

“Aizawa-sensei, when’s our test?” Jirou chirps, her hand unraised.

“Aizawa-sensei-”

“Sensei, someone keeps on stealing my milk from the dormitory fridge-”

“Fucking Deku shut up-”

“So,” Aizawa speaks over the ramble. “High-ranked villain Dabi has been found quirkless at our door this morning, and due to the uncertainty of his presence and exactly what’s wrong with him and why he’s here, we have decided to hire him as our unofficial custodian. Be sure to make a lot of messes and cause tons of property damage. Bakugou, I’m looking at you,” Aizawa interrupts the clamoring of the students.

They all stare at him, processing his words. Oh god . He just broke all of his students.

“Fuckin’ idiots.”

Well, except for Bakugou.

Just as shouts begin to detonate from the masses, he takes his leave.

“Aizawa-sensei, you cannot just do this to us what do you mean Dabi is now our custodian-”

“You mean he’s in the building right now-”

“What the fu-heck do you mean-”

Sighing, he turns around. “Bakugou will answer all your questions,” he finishes, and the entire class silently turns to Bakugou, who’s glowering at him with utter betrayal. Aizawa cracks a smile. “As him anything ,” he adds thickly, just as he leaves the room.

Yamada’s waiting right outside, staring amused at the chaos that erupted within. “I think it’s cruel to leave them with so many questions. Especially since seriously, this type of news probably ignites some sense of panic and fear,” he adds, the second part of his claim more stern.

“Yes.” Aizawa says sympathetically, putting a hand onto his shoulder. “That’s why you’re here to take care of it,” and he shoves Yamada into the classroom and into the wolves. After all, he has Dabi to take care of.

Aizawa knows that Nezu already informed the aiding and background staff of UA, the people who concentrate more on healing, more on making sure the school functions and are honestly more important than Aizawa's role in a sense that they're who truly take care of the student body. But of course, even with Nezu's reassurance that Dabi's basically harmless and though he has the mind of a killer, his physique is weak.

Even Recovery Girl, who didn't even poke him, just took a glance at him in his unconscious state and said that his muscle mass was lacking, and that if he fell on the floor he'd probably break a bone. Given Dabi's high status in the crime world and infamous powerful quirk that kills upon activation, his entire body is weaker than Yamada's alcohol tolerance. 

But even so, Aizawa's sure his role as a supervisor would put some of the staff at ease.

"I'm going to kill him. And then you, for going along with this."

Or not.

Then again, Hound Dog has always been somewhat temperamental. 

"He's not going to be near the kids, he's just going to help us set up equipment. With the actual staff that aren't teachers, he's going to be there with Lunch Rush to help prepare food, and with Recovery Girl to help set up medical equipment, fix records, and basically do whatever she wants. For teh most part, he's just here to do what a janitor does- keep rooms clean, set up the lunch room and clean up after the kids, make sure the toilets are clean, whatever."

"You trust him to be in the medical wing at all? Or be near the food? What happens if he poisons it?" By now, spittle is frothing through Hound Dog's mesh muzzle.

"I'll be watching him." Aizawa says patiently. "And like I said, he's mostly just here to clean up."

"There has to be more to that."

Aizawa knots his lips. He's unsure of how much he's allowed to say, such as mentioning Nezu hoping that somehow they could eliminate their biggest threat by somehow 'conforming' him to the hero society, of somehow 'fixing' his personality, so he doesn't. "There is." He just settles with.

"About him," Recovery Girl pipes up, directing a firm look at Hound Dog who appears as if he wants to fight more on this topic. Aizawa glances at the clock; he needs to run in a second or so, he left Dabi out in the hallway for already a minute. "There's something I need to tell you. Alone." At this, Aizawa takes a step back away from Hound Dog and Lunch Rush, gesturing that he's willing to listen, though he really has to get back to Dabi. After all, though Dabi is quirkless, he still shouldn't be allowed to alone without a babysitter.

"Shoo," Recovery Girl scowls towards Hound Dog and Lunch Rush, and at that, the two do exit the lounge, though Hound Dog appears disgruntled at doing so. Once the door closes behind them, she turns to him, an unnervingly concerned expression contorting her features. "While running Dabi's blood test and putting his fingerprints into the system, I found a file on him."

Interested, Aizawa's entire attention suddenly fixates onto her. 

"His fingerprints connect to a multitude of cold cases over the past six years, most of them appearing to have been done by a vigilante. However, his blood test ran a match with a kid who was said to have died around six years ago, the same time those cold cases cropped up." Her gaze hardens. "It connects back to a Todoroki. Todoroki Touya, underneath Enji's family name."

Chapter Text

Dabi should have not eaten that many bagels.

His stomach (that bitch) typically has a fucking fit every other hour over the hollowness that threatens to send his ribs caving and his organs collapsing within the pit spooned out of his gut. But now that Dabi actually fed it something past five-hundred calories, it’s griping over that .

Feeling unfamiliarly heavy over just a “couple” of bagels, his stomach cramping and overall dying , he’s unable to properly focus on Aizawa’s words more than usual. Even though they’re both standing in the field alone while the people who were here twenty minutes ago just dipped , Dabi’s pretty sure that Aizawa’s talking to himself. Because right now, Dabi’s too caught up in his own mental conversation with his dumbass gut to busy himself with the teacher’s instructions on where to move the heavy equipment to set it up before the children have a fucking field day,

He was birthed into starvation.

Even when Endeavor actually attempted to spoon-feed him as a kid (up until Shouto came along- and then his mouth became the one sporting the silver spoon), trying to get weight on his frail bones and disturbingly gaunt and withered frame, Dabi could never keep anything down. His quirk ate his body alive, greedily licking the fat off his bones and his body simply could never adapt to its presence or demands. Every time he used his quirk, the flames didn’t just sear through his skin; it burned through his calories and cells while broiling his head alive with migraines and frighteningly high fevers. He was a sick kid. A sick kid that from birth heard in cold sweat as doctors claimed in front of him to his old man that he was never going to make it past three. He guesses in some ways they were right: his childhood never made it past his third birthday. At the age of three, he received his quirk. A quirk that doctors warned Endeavor would destroy his wheezing body and thin build. His quirk really be doing it all: starving his body while ruining his strength and stamina to the point where he can’t digest for shit. Like, damn what a fucking power move. It’s like a cycle. Or a two-in-one-deal. Or a shitty combo of cafeteria food and expiration dates.

But he was fed after the manifestation of his quirk, at the very least.

Dabi guesses that for all the wrong reasons, Endeavor really did try and compensate for his quirk usage and hours of training that’d leave him dehydrated from tears and sweat. Father would force high calorie foods down his throat. Mashed sweet potatoes gritty from being callously stirred together with protein powder. Hydration sport drinks whose overly sweet flavor burned his throat easier than the three bowls of scalding beef soup chunky from shreds of dry chicken that never absorbed the oily meal for some dumb reason.  Glasses of fatty milk that left his lactose intolerance reeling and upchucking whatever was remaining in his stomach from hours after an initial vomit session provoked from overeating too quickly.

And after Shouto came along, Dabi gladly starved. The feeling reminded him that he was no longer being acknowledged as weak and his body incapable of growing as that was often the message sent across with the “here-comes-the-airplane” food. He would not longer be constantly reminded of his inability to retain muscle or dignity with each tense and uncomfortable hourly meal time that was just him sitting across from his father, spooning mouthfuls of food into his mouth in such an irritatingly leisure pace, making a game out of how slowly he could eat without his pissing his father to the point of succumbing into a temper that would punish him with being humiliatingly force-fed.

Starving, meant understanding how his sister, who’s invisible to his father alongside baby Natsuo, growing hungry for affection outside of his mother who just grew increasingly exasperated and uncharacteristically agitated (Dabi only noticed when he was ten that it was really rushed fear).

And when he ran away as a dead kid, shuddering in cold alleyways while precariously balancing between sleep, overheating into a fatal fever, or suppressing his quirk to the point where he embraces the cold and freezes to death alongside with his childhood, he starved. Starving was a constant, unlike his dipping or skyrocketing body temperature, eye-jerking sleep schedule, or inconsistent intensity of loneliness.

Even as a villain, his stomach, mute from habit in response to hunger pains, gave him a foolish sense of being human: a very, very mortal label, subjecting him to human needs in spite of the arrogant, godlike power the title Dabi gave him.

Besides. When they were short on food and shoplifting just wasn’t cutting out anymore with their faces plastered for society to judge, he didn’t like the look of hunger scribbled across Toga’s hazed eyes, glassy from malnourishment and her bubbly personality fizzing flat from stomach cramps. Shigaraki did his best to barter for resources through Giran, but it was really never enough.

They had a mutant lizard creature on par with some creation from the Spiderman Universe, for fuck’s sake. He literally ate couch stuffing when he was hungry (or worse, bored). A literal dog.

At least Dabi had some sense of self control. So did Touya.

He wonders if Touya ended up as Dabi in the same way.

Being used to hunger.

Except now that he fucking feeds his stomach and spoils it with ninety-cent bagels, it becomes a whiney bitch - he didn’t raise it to be like this.

To some extent, he probably deserves it. He’s determined to not touch another meal offered by the heroes. It’s oddly humiliating to become even unawaringly dependent on their resources. It’s vulnerability. And the amount he ate, not only was it because he just didn’t have carbs is so long and he never really had bread when in the League because they bought more expendable, long shelf-life foods than something that could mold so easily, but also because he was starving. Even though he’s used to it, it has drawbacks. Ever since he was a kid, he’d eat himself sick from feeling so painfully hungry, even though his digestive tract could never handle it. And once he was Dabi and no longer Touya, he learned to eat whenever and whatever is at hand- to eat as much as he could at once because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance.

He winces.

He’s still hungry, even though his body is teetering on the end of doubling over and retching up soggy bagels. At least he doesn’t have to clean it up.

Then he remembers he’s wearing a custodian outfit and is literally the janitor.

Fuck.

“DABI.”

The annoyance lacing the domineering tone caused Dabi’s whiplash from swallowing down an “aye aye, boss” that normally he’d toss at Shigaraki who’d use the same pitchy, frustrated tone when shrieking Dabi’s name, to a rushed: “what’s up?” At least Aizawa’s stupid voice dragged him out of his hazy conscious of nausea.

“Nothing. Just that you looked a bit dazed. Sure you’re still not on drugs?”

Dabi blearily figures that there’s no way that’s an appropriate comment for a teacher to make in a school environment, and that itself sends a smirk twitching at the ends of his staples.  “God, I wish.” He cracks, ignoring Aizawa’s flat, unimpressed gaze. “Shut it, you look like you’re constantly high.”

And, to his surprise, Aizawa’s eyes fogs as he stares into the distance, and Dabi glances at the direction they’re pointed it. They’ve landed on the group of rowdy kids (oh, definitely Aizawa’s kids since he can hear Bakugou’s scream of first-degree murder above indignant shrieks) from across the playing field to where the Yamada dude appears five seconds away from self-combusting. “God. I wish,” Aizawa echoes, and Dabi, who while is definitely in no way getting friendly or remotely warm to any damn hero other than Chicken Nuggets whose questionable loyalties and ties offer at the very least some sense of opportunity, still gives a one-note hyena bark of laughter as Aizawa’s entire frame shudders out a sigh as five, high-pitched screams give way from the students.

Aizawa has once stared straight into Stain’s yellowed fangs, and pulsing tongue that threatens to eat up society and tear it apart with chipped canines and acid spit. He glared into the soul of underground villains even when shackled and whipped.

He’s looked Mitsuki Bakugou in the eye without flinching.

He can’t bring himself to spare more than two minutes of gazing into Dabi’s (Touya’s) familiar shock of blue eyes.

After Recovery Girl informed him of Dabi’s real identity, he quickly slammed into Nezu’s office, bitterness numbing his tongue with the worry that Dabi could be roasting his temporary babysitter Torino into ashes-

Nezu asked him to keep it a secret.

He doesn’t know why. He assumes the rest of the staff (or at least teachers such as him) has been told, but now he’s not so sure, considering how he feels as though the only one who stared at Dabi with such periodic intensity. Well, there was Hounddog, but his glower gave off more of the “I’m-going-to-piss-on-you-like-some-lightning-struck-tree” vibes.

He’s seen eyes as blue as Dabi’s before. One set deep into Todoroki Shouto’s skull, usually rolling far back into his head every time Bakugou creates commotion.

The others in a pair behind narrowed slits, radiating coldness behind the mask of Endeavor. But it was arrogance that sent chills (or at least in Aizawa’s case, annoyance) down one’s spine.

Not psychopathy birthed out of apathy like Dabi’s were.

Even Shouto’s eyes carried light behind his indifference that he had during freshman year, when he had a goal and was determined to push right through others for it. Anger gave it its hardness.

Dabi, though all temper with an all-consuming personality like his quirk, his eyes’ insouciance wasn’t simply at others- it was at himself as well. Sure, Todoroki initially frosted out relationships, socializing, anything that wasn’t directly related to building up his hero status, though Aizawa’s pretty sure it’s due to a personal (petty) goal of beating his father’s ranking. Dabi’s different. This type of indifference, coldness, wasn’t just at others- Dabi iced out everything not necessarily for a goal, but simply because he just didn’t care . Or at least, it appeared as such.

As if he didn’t care about himself enough to bother with pleasantries.

Aizawa isn’t trying to find some psychoanalysis that’d rationalize Dabi. He frankly doesn’t think the villain deserves it. But it makes sense in his head that people who can’t learn to care about humanity’s effect on themselves or even how they feel, will never care about others either.

It’s not love. It’s not “if you can’t love yourself, how could you love others”- that’s utter bullshit in his head.

It’s “if you don’t care about yourself, how could you care about others?”. And not in the sense of prioritizing others over yourself- but that you frankly just have no care for life, for humanity, for learning through and about it.

He sees it in every action Dabi’s done. In the way that he appears almost partially suicidal for some goal. He wonders if it’s even his goal- and not just the League’s.

He thinks back to Dabi’s apathetic gaze when he encountered Shouto. When Shouto later approached him with clenched fists, angered confusion contorting his typically placid features, humiliation etched deep into their wrinkles.

There’s no way Dabi didn’t know of Shouto’s relationship with him.

He probably just didn’t care.

Aizawa purses his lips. Really. Not someone worth saving- not someone I could probably save.

Not someone he cared enough to save.

He watches as Dabi stare at him across the field as he slowly , very slowly bolts the ramp into place.

And maybe his newfound information of his lineage influenced this thought, but honestly, as he watches Dabi being petty and definitely purposefully useless to infuriate him, he figures that he can definitely see his little brother’s unexpectedly PETTY personality show.

“Just push the damn thing.” He hollers.

“Sorry. You know, you should just kill me off. Like those uh- industrial workers back in America when it was like. More racist. Just kill me. Do it you won’t-”

Aizawa wants to chuck his clipboard at the mop of black hair.

“Is this. Moral? You know, not letting Endeavor know about his dead son’s uh….current position?”

The fact that Dabi is societally labeled psychopath and highly wanted criminal with a body count higher than he was while knocked out on their field last night is probably pushing some sort of legal code onto keeping this under wraps.

“I mean. Is it even legal?” Kan says, voicing out Aizawa’s main concern. “Like. Technically he’s still his son I guess?”

“If he really is Touya, then he’s twenty-one. He’s a legal adult, he’s not a minor and therefore no laws tying to that age would affect this situation right now,” Aizawa rebukes, though he has an uneasy feeling that Endeavor, having some legal family bond with Dabi, who’s definitely illegal in every form, would procure something messy lawsuit.

“I mean, the legal team will sort it out anyways,” Kayama shrugs, disgustingly gnawing on a Twizzler without closing her mouth. “It’s just that. What do we do with the information that Endeavor had another son?”

“That’s literally the least important part- shouldn’t the fact that he’s a wanted villain be more concerning?” Ectoplasm states.

“You know. I think we’re taking it all pretty well, though.” Kayama says, content, and Aizawa stares at her scalding coffee sloshing over the brim of her mug.

“Are you sleep deprived?” Aizawa says, startled that Kayama, someone whose personality tends to imply she’s on an endless supply of crushed smarties that she probably snorts as an energy source, is the logical, self-preserving one. She does take care of her health since she wants to age well with a bright mind and equally glowing skin, therefore he knows she gets at least ten hours of sleep.

He didn’t even know people could sleep that long without their body at least waking them up to pee.

Of course the crackhead personality (excluding Yamada) with a dominatrix persona would be the one with their life on track.

“Of course I am! I was shaken away at three in the morning yesterday to deal with a kid off his bath salts! And then, I couldn’t sleep afterwards because we couldn’t prove he didn’t have his quirk, so I was in a constant state of restlessness that I was going to wake up to the smell of burning bodies!”

Aizawa precariously plucks the trembling cup of coffee out of Kayama’s hands before she officially loses her grip on it. Kayama is always easily hit by sleep-deprivation symptoms. Even when she dips underneath five hours of sleep, something that’s typically constant within the line of hero work (but Kayama just somehow works her away around it), she becomes this quivering, lackluster frayed nerve. He suspects that her quirk makes her naturally more posed towards sleeping, so limiting it probably messes with the hormonal foundation of it.

It’s also shocking, he silently muses, how Kayama was so open, albeit with an aggressive timber that gave him the impression she was probably going to flay his kneecaps with a hair curler. She’s always been emotionally reclusive by nature in the sense that she never shares anything personal, though she doesn’t restrict her natural responses- her personality bold and firm, similar to her emotions: controlled and vibrant.

“In complete fairness, even before Dabi, the fear of waking up to burning bodies was always a constant.” Ectoplasm hums. “Kan's students instilled trauma.”

Aizawa flashbacks to that one blonde from Vlad King’s class who literally breathes and automatically sends half of his class into a catalytic shock, while the other portion experiences an euphemism but with Satan. Sometimes he walks by that kid- Monoma, he believes, and wonders wonders if God meets him at night.

“Honestly, I couldn’t sleep either.” Yamada sighs. “I nearly had a heart attack when I heard him talking to himself the other night.”

Oh. Aizawa remembers that. Through his sweaty, grossly unsatisfactory sleep, he was shuddered awake by two idiots holding a conversation at four in the morning.

“Oh. I was sleeping just fine.” Aizawa snaps. Not true, but not false in the sense that he was normally sleep disturbed anyways. “Before you decided to phone him from across the room to talk about your feelings.”

“What sort of sleepover were you guys having?” Kayama cranks, running the pad of her ring finger underneath a clear eye.

“I wonder how the son of a pro-hero, whose job is literally to instil values and morals into others while doing good for others, ended up raising a villain.” Ectoplasm intervenes, successfully rerouting the track of this conversation.

“I agree. Though I am not naive to believe Enji to be necessarily...the most prominent dad figure, I will not accuse his personality or parenting habits,” Kan begins. And though Aizawa is easily on the fence when it comes to Endeavor, he has to consider that the other teachers haven’t seen Todoroki Shouto.

They haven’t seen how Shouto’s personality and current attitude are fragments of his childhood personality drying as a sculpture held together only by Elmer’s glue. That he had to break his old personality, his old character molded by his dad (his anger, his brashness meant to rebel against his father is only the product of his dad’s behavior in the end) to try and desperately piece it back into a new one.

They didn’t have to witness Shouto’s painful self-discovery, bloody fingerprints inked across the tiled floor as the shards of his broken character slice deep into the fat flesh of his fingers, streaking blood everywhere and mixing into a cherry blossom pink when crudely bled into his glue.

Aizawa only sets his jaw, his teeth working against each other as he sinks into thought.

He has no qualms that Endeavor is a good dad.

He only has to look at Shouto to understand that this kid, lacking in social experience, hardened for a goal of being a hero but having absolutely no want for relationships and expressed willingness to compromise, something that kids, heroes, and just in general people with absolutely selfless intentions by default have, was raised strangely.

He just assumed it was due to distance, though. A distant father figure, someone more of a model than an actual parent. That maybe the Todorokis just grew up cold and underneath stressful expectations and strict rules.

Firm rules, inexpressive parental figures, and overwhelming expectations from a cold father and society towards his family lineage don’t just produce sadistic killers who blaze down villages and attack kids.

They don’t create a religion over an obsessive image to desperately become- especially one that conveys death and murder.

Aizawa’s pretty sure the most that overwhelming family names create are runaways or suicides. Or rebellious teens with an alcohol dependency.

Maybe even shoplifters, rule breakers or snobbish brats who don’t listen to law and think they’re above it and hurt others due to it.

But to the extent where they don’t necessarily believe they’re justified in their behavior, but rather, that they’re doing it for some moral platform?

Aizawa stills, his knuckles flushing red as he grips Kayama’s cactus mug’s handle tightly.

Though it’s known that the League of Villains’ primary political fanbase revolves around edgy teenagers with eight safety pin earrings who only wear black while thinking they’re super introspective of society and therefore like to have a pessimistic, grey outlook on life and focus mainly on the corruption of their surroundings, the idea that the villains themselves actually value it is a whole different camera angle. Sure, he can believe that creatures like the Hero Killer or even normal members of that League probably have either a strong or decently vague comprehension and belief in that view of having to “erase” heroes for a perfectly balanced society- but for one to worship that concept religiously, almost to the point where it’d drive their entire personality and life?

Well.

Dabi is an edgy teenager with eight safety pin earrings who only wears black while thinking he’s super introspective of society and therefore likes to have a pessimistic, grey outlook on life and focuses mainly on the corruption of his surrounding.

And he has daddy issues.

The said dad being the current Number One Pro-Hero, who Aizawa easily suspects cares more about reputation of being a hero and its title than actually the morals he influences onto others.

But enough to create someone like Dabi?

Endeavor, though questionable and sometimes a dick especially during meetings, isn’t necessarily a bad person. Yes, he’s incredibly vain in image and the implications that come with the title of being a pro-hero, but he’s not bad , as in he doesn’t have controversial morals when it comes to people and their lives, though he may prioritize certain values more than others though they may not be necessarily heroic.

“For him to just. Create a personality like Dabi, who honesty, I hate to admit it, his personality somewhat makes sense if he is Endeavor’s son, that’s still very unfathomable.” Yamada finally says.

“Yeah, but blood tests don’t lie.” Aizawa’s eyebrow pinches together.

“No, I can see it. Overbearing father, because let’s be honest- Endeavor has always been very hard and stubborn on even his subordinates.” Ectoplasm mutters. At this, Aizawa snorts loudly, while Kayama chokes on her coffee. He’s had the pleasure of working with him. That was probably the only time he’s ever cared of given credit for his hero work, only because Endeavor pissed him off to the point that he wants to rip him of any public attention.

“I remember I asked him where the restrooms where and his only response was this condescending silence of a disappointed father figure who’s the CEO of some company that he wants me, playing the role of his son, to take over.” Yamada murmurs.

“Oddly specific, are you okay?”  Kan inquiries kindly.

“I feel like he just quoted Fifty Shades of Grey , but in a Wattpad form,” Kayama comments, and Aizawa is utterly lost and by this point as no idea what she’s talking about.

Even though they’re all familiarized to Kayama’s random western references, no one really knows how to continue off of that, until Yamada clears his throat and begins. “You think Dabi thinks we know?”

“I mean. He knows we took his blood test,” Aizawa recalls their earlier conversation. “I don’t know if he’d make that connection though. It’s probably something he hasn’t thought about for a long time- being Touya.” It’s probably something he doesn’t want to think about. Then again, if he actively tries to block it out, it’s inevitable it’s one of those things that’ll always resurface to him . “He’s not dumb. Nevermind, I lied. He definitely knows.”

“Think he’ll use that against us?” Kayama sighs. Aizawa stiffens. He’s really off today- he didn’t even think about that. “We can’t let him know we know unless we know how to use it in our favor. Him? A pro-hero’s, wait not even just that- the Number One hero of current time’s son? That’s straight up blackmail material, that sort of news society would eat up along with media.” She then flashes a wicked smile that’s beautiful through her bleary blinks and drowsy slurs. “If anyone would ever believe him though.”

“Yeah, people will definitely not believe him especially if Endeavor denies.” Aizawa respires heavily. “But he’d probably manipulate his relationship with Endeavor to make us pity him or something.”

“I mean. It is pretty fucked up- how does a pro-hero end up raising someone like Dabi ?” Yamada grunts. Aizawa hesitates. He doesn’t agree with that sentiment. Some people are just like that. Just more susceptive to shit.

“So yeah. I guess that Dabi- uh. Touya?” Ectoplasm begins, before Aizawa can discuss more with Yamada.

“No. Touya’s dead, he’s Dabi now and don’t forget what he’s done,” Yamada, always the surprisingly level-headed one in spite of probably sharing a single brain cell with all the pigeons of trotting around some western Chinatown, advises strictly.

“Right.” He hisses. “Dabi,” Ectoplasm corrects. “Probably felt stressed or had a strained relationship with his father, left home, and got tangled with the wrong people who fed into his bad relationship with heroes, especially his own dad, and thus turned out like this.”

Aizawa wants to agree. It’s logical, and honestly, he shouldn’t be looking too deep into a situation because that’d just be him trying to consciously implement Endeavor of something- something that he’s not necessarily sure of or might not even exist , and is him indirectly trying to find a reasoning for Dabi’s creation, which could be easily mistaken for an excuse. He can’t have that happening, especially when Dabi went after his own kids before.

But then he recalls Dabi, clenching his blankets this morning, sitting up in cold shock, his eyes open but not seeing , jaw clicks tightly and spine crooked from the tight curl he slept in.

He thinks of Dabi, cold and furious at society, at heroes and their titles and rude towards everything and everyone but saying that he knows he’s not any better than heroes, but that heroes are just as bad as him.

He thinks of Dabi, eyes vibrant and prominent when his brain most definitely isn’t in the same reality as everyone else.

He thinks of Dabi, whose blood test returned as Todoroki Touya, who supposedly died seven years ago.

“You know what,” Aizawa finally says. “This is way too much to think about, I honestly can’t bring myself to care anymore. My mind has officially shut down for the day.” He upends the entire pot of coffee sitting innocently on the counter next to Kayama’s drained mug into his mouth. All of it. “I hope all of you guys have an awful day,” he says politely, slamming the empty pot down, as he leave the lounge.

He has to use the bathroom.

Jirou just wanted to use the damn bathroom.

Now, she’s always been somewhat of a gossip freak. Of course, never indulged in rumors or spread them either, or making fun of people or accepting unsavory accusations without a grain of salt.

However, her quirk literally invites all sort of news into her ears even when she just really gotta piss, and due to habit, she loves to listen in on peoples’ conversations

And the teacher lounge’s door was open. She heard Aizawa-sensei’s voice, and naturally, her plugs simply directed their tips towards the source of his voice. She wasn’t even conscious of her being naturally attracted to her teacher’s voice- she supposes she just misses him.

He wasn’t here today during class after his interesting announcement.

She wonders if the announcement was the reason why he’s not here today. It’d make sense, someone like him with his experience and quirk, left to deal with Dabi.

She honestly didn’t have time to give the entire news much thought because she simply couldn’t just process the idea of Dabi, a supervillain suddenly working in their school while presumably quirkless.

She’s planning on doing that at four in the morning when she really gets plunged into philosophy ripped straight out of a Netflix kdrama or a questionable western one like Riverdale , whose morals and randomized messages were probably trademarked by Hallmark already.

Right now, it’s four in the afternoon and she needs to pee .

Instead, she’s awkwardly shuffled against the hallway, her jacks plugged deep into the wall of the teacher lounge, as she pretends as if she’s not going to end up relieving herself all over the wall like some dog against a fire hydrant.

After seven minutes of “lowkey” eavesdropping (she’s just passing by!) she’s learned too much information that’s beginning to make her wonder if she ever discussed it she’s going to get a texted threat from the FBI.

After twelve minutes, and the sound of footsteps that she can hear easily without her jacks, she scampers away from the wall, nearly choking on an inhale when Aizawa (who she even expected to appear because he claimed he had to go) appears.

“Oh. It’s you.” Aizawa squints. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“U-Uh. Bathroom! I really gotta go.” Now that’s definitely not a lie. It’s more so she left out the part that she stood in front of their lounge for twelve minutes just milking out all the gossip.

“Maybe you should’ve went instead of standing out here listening in for the past fifteen minutes.” Aizawa deadpans, and Jesus Jirou nearly pees herself right then and there at the hard glare from Aizawa.

Shame flushes her cheeks at being caught.

“Don’t tell your weird classmates,” Aizawa sighs, his eyes shuttering as he walks around her, leaving her standing in the hall, startled yet relieved by the lack of punishment, while still uneased at possibly disappointing her teacher.

“Yes, Sensei!” She shrieks.

Jirou does eventually make it to the toilet.

And as she finally uses it, she mentally makes a list.

Dabi is Todoroki’s older brother - and Todoroki himself probably doesn’t even know it.

Present-Mic is surprisingly collected.

Teachers are strangely unprofessional in terms of “Bakugou” unprofessional, where swears has no limits.

Endeavor may have be a questionable parent (she thinks of Todoroki, and her gut clenches hard and not because she’s on the toilet).

Midnight-Sensei knows too much about Americanized humor for it to be healthy.

Endeavor may not be a good parent- and in her opinion, that defaults him as not a good person. Some people may not be fitted out to be parents- doesn’t give them an excuse to be a bad one since a child is their responsibility .

Last mental bullet point: Dabi may not be as bad a person.

Sure, he’s done shitty things.

She thinks back to the constipated lump of emotions that settled deep in her stomach when Bakugou was kidnapped. He was cool. And even if she didn’t know him, the idea of a kid, especially one her age, kidnapped would probably provoke a stomach ache. But it made it worse, knowing his favorite bands, knowing that he was a kickass drummer, and that he was surprisingly well-educated in fashion and cosmetics due to his parents and was willing to help her when she simply felt like it. Knowing that his favorite food was a spoonful of hot sauce and mustard (a secret, though), and that he actually loves Sero and Kaminari as Mario Kart buddies and that he actually doesn’t hate Deku and in fact is attempting to do some self-reflection in terms of their relationship and is at least trying to develop some sense of empathy for Midoriya who deserves it, were what left her sore on bed at the middle of the night, her body hurt from the tension tightening up her joints and muscles as she’s unable to relax until Bakugou returned home safe.

Dabi Todoroki is certainly not a good person. And maybe her original statement was wrong anyways- maybe he really is just a bad person. Actions speak louder than one’s backstory anyways.

But maybe he’s much more complex than she’s given credit for: not necessarily a cutboard villain or a cookie cutter one whose dough is made of the same recipe with the ingredients of bullshit, selfishness, greed, and reasonings for being who they are due to selfish, materialistic reasons.

She steps out of her stall, and washes her hands raw, and the ends of her sensitive jacks too.

She wishes she never heard of Dabi’s identity.

Chapter Text

Spite gets you far .

Past broken glass scattered across the glossy wooden floors of the empty house.

Past the bar of expectations his father condescendingly lowered to just above his head, balancing his anger and humiliating amusement at Dabi’s inability to touch the bar- the bar that’s almost within his touch. The bar hovering slightly above his fingers as he sways on the points of his toes (it’s only now that he looks back at the pathetic view that he realizes the bar was never close. If he got too close, his father would’ve automatically yanked it out of grasp- it was only within view just to donate pathetic hope).

Spite got him out of the shadow of his father at least.

And when Dabi barely flickered his cold gaze onto Shigaraki for the first time, inconspicuously trying to work his vision through the cracks of Father to stare the boy dead in the eyes- spite got him through. Resentment clothed in loose insouciance was what got Shigaraki to label him as a nutty as a damn fruitcake like the rest of them, and found him worthy to join (and father, let’s get on our knees to pray; our Touya finally qualifies for something!). Once he joined, he wouldn’t be some powerless homeless vigilante streaking through frosty streets, shoplifting from 7/11 for meals.

He’d be a powerful homeless villain shoplifting from 7/11 and burning down institutions, instead. Yeehaw, buckaroo .

And now, spite got him a job at the UA as a janitor ( Amen, Dabi found his way into the hero world. Father, look at your lost lamb who’s now found! ).

At first, Dabi actually was pretty okay with this to an extent. It’d be fun- he’ll get to make fun of Aizawa, terrorize their Local Hothead™ with just his presence, and send UA down a lawsuit from shrieking demonic parents.

It’s what they deserve. Attempting this dumbass publicity stunt? With a well-known villain who takes pride and acknowledgement in all their entanglements with UA and its students already? In hopes of somehow religiously converting him over to their side? It’s not like he’s so shallow that his entire ideology was constructed on soggy Play-doh.

It’s insulting. Might as well watch them suffering humiliation from their foolishness. It’s not like he chose to be here.

He’d expect after a day or so- or even a week, the League would break him out. He’s still useful to them, they’re unaware that his quirk is temporarily gone (it has to be temporary. He’s nothing without his quirk).  

But in spite of that reassuring thought, that he doesn’t have to be near these brats for so long while he’s quirkless, a parasitic thought numbed his nerves and infected his thoughts. It plagues his mind with flashbacks to the bullets Overhaul manufactured, the ones that left their victims quirkless.

Even when he rests, slouching against the wall as Aizawa blathers on, behind his eyelid rewinds the reel of those recollections, haunting him since the beginning of today. The unidentified drug flowing through his system- what if it causes something along the lines of quirk-erasure? Even though the drug is in their hands, and they have a goddamn serum (but who knows, does it seriously work? Aren’t the effects permanent? Permanent like the failure carved into your bones?)

He needs his quirk.

It’s his and it’s fucking unfair if God decided to rip it out of his bloodstream now, after forcing him through years of hatred and mental and physical pain from the presence of it. If when he finally developed a tolerance and system to control it and it’s just gone , that’s fucked up; Father up in heaven definitely should expect a written complaint delivered from him specially for his manager (if God didn’t have a manager beforehand, then that explains the bullshit of karma organization here). His entire life and worth revolved around the quirk- it’s the only thing that he’s known for whether the acknowledgement is positive or negative. The quirk is literally his green card in the Underground while at the same time evidence of his label of ‘disaster’ and ‘defect’ to his father.

It’s his identity, and if some deity decided just fucking “no”, or if God and Satan aligned on May 15, 2019 to conduct an unholy ritual he’s forced through to experience some godless epiphany, he’s going to fucking set himself on fire with nail polish remover and a half-empty lighter because dammit .  

He grips his broomstick tightly, and continues sweeping the debris.

There’s sooty rubble everywhere across the field, but he’s apparently supposed to dispose all of it after setting it up just an hour ago.

He hates that. He didn’t even get to see the actual fighting occur as he was busy furiously shoving a wire toilet brush down a urinal. If he witnessed the fight, then at least he can gather close-up intel of the students’ quirk and abilities, though he supposes it’s for that reason Aizawa made him scrub the toilets instead.

Jesus. He thought he made a mess with each blaze catching through a village.

Nothing compares to the aftermath of Fire Noodles Night.

“Clean faster.”

At that, Dabi purposefully goes even slower than he already was, sending a deadpan gaze back at Aizawa who’s staring at him with equal disinterest.

“Also, Dabi, you have a visitor tomorrow morning.”

A visitor?

Perhaps Toga infiltrated underneath the guise of a hero? That’d be brilliant, considering how he thought he could hold out for a week but he definitely can’t because it’s been less than twenty-four hours and already he’s having an aneurysm. Physically and mentally.

His body wasn’t really built for physical work like dragging tarps of splintered wood and stone debris across the field. Not like he’d give implications of struggling, but honestly he probably can’t even shovel a grave for himself if needed. He always had his mother’s frail build and chord-whip frame that disturbed the usage of his quirk. As Touya, he’s surprised he made it out of hours of training alive with such a weak body, and was glad for every second that his glass heart continued to flitter against his ribcage like a caged hummingbird.

As Dabi, the risk still stands and is probably made worse, considering how he’s always seconds away from an infection due to his staples, minutes away from starvation, and days away from maybe just ending it all if no one claims his death first. While Touya felt blessed for how his luck always scraped him by, Dabi’s tired of it already. After all, even miracles eventually become mundane and part of boring normality if it happens all the time. His entire life is basically one fucked up magic trick since his body’s joints are still whirring and his organs haven’t shut down yet in spite of everything. His body is literally the baby of bad luck from natural selection’s shitty decision-making that’s running on good luck, since clearly, Mother Nature wanted him thwacked, yet here he is.

“Yeah. Number Two Hero wants to visit you. Don’t worry, I’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t throttle you to death,” Aizawa continues.

And Dabi chokes on air because for a second, he forgot Endeavor wasn’t the Number Two Hero.

By this point, Dabi isn’t entirely sure if UA truly found out about his identity, and frankly, he isn’t sure if he doesn’t want them to. If they do, it’d definitely have drawbacks, but if anything, it’ll hit them more than it’ll ruin him. He just doesn’t know where to go from there.

But if Endeavor found out-

Dabi wants to be the one to watch realization dawn across Dear Ol’ Dad’s face before he snaps his neck (one of them is going to end up dead, and he hopes it’s him- his dad will just go first). He would hate it if the universe decides that he hasn’t already lost enough: his childhood, his siblings, and possibly his quirk , but he needs the satisfaction of forcing realization through Endeavor’s thick skull that his son fucking made it. That his father, in the end, was just as much as a failure as his first-born son because he raised a damn villain . It doesn’t matter if the villain’s morals were more empathetic than his hero of a father- because his father wouldn’t fucking care about ethics, just about the reputation that would be suckerpunched by Dabi’s heritage.

“Shut it.” Dabi calls back after he regains stability, wrangling his voice to normal. “As if you wouldn’t be the one to strangle me first.”

At this, Aizawa just flips him off, and Dabi arches an eyebrow at that, but returns to tossing another wooden beam onto the tarp piled with other shit after setting down his broom. Realy, wouldn't this be more efficient if others worked alongside him?

Then again, this was probably purposeful because Aizawa, that sadistic psychopath whose personality is way too similar to a mature version of Shigaraki at times, probably just wants to see him suffer.

That bitch.

Dabi did stop working earlier because what are they gonna do-

Kill him?

But when he did, the female teacher, that Kayama woman threatened to take away his bagels. Total abuse and exploitation of his labor rights, by the way. (The way she looked ready to put him in a chokehold and flog him to death with that weirdass whip thingy she was carrying definitely didn’t play into his disgruntled acceptance of working).

And when he told Aizawa that Kayama was basically violating his human rights, the teacher just stares him dead in the eye and said bagel eaters didn’t deserve rights.

Dabi hates him with a burning passion, and he’s going to now eat all the bagels every day. Spite does get him far.

“The Second Ranked Hero? Isn’t that the chicken guy?” Dabi inquires jokingly, feeling childish satisfaction at Aizawa being in the dark on how much Dabi really knows about that half-assed oviraptorosaur.

“Hawks. Don’t call him chicken, he’ll take offense to that.” Yeah, I know, that’s why I said it .

“Pretty sure there’s a McDonalds character that looks just like him.” Dabi replies instead. And he expects Aizawa to simply ignore his commentary, or at least procure a sharp look. But instead, Aizawa’s expression, blank as usual, says without even looking up from his phone:

“Yeah. He does.” And he shows him what’s on his screen, and it’s the chicken McDonalds character that Dabi referenced.

“Jesus, she even has the dumb goggles-”

And Dabi stares in horrified amusement as Aizawa even cracks a smile. I made that. I made him smile . Dabi didn’t even think he was capable of influencing any sort of wholesome emotion out of others.

“I can’t believe you even remember the goggles if you weren’t even sure of his identity.” Aizawa muses, and any uncited pride Dabi felt deflates. Aizawa really is that observant.

“Pretty sure the only reason I knew what he looked like including his glasses was because I knew he looked like that Mcdonalds girl.” He states nonchalantly.

“Wow. I hate you.”

“That’s actually so unprofessional.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be conversing with you right now.” Any evidence of laugher is flattened out his expression. “Get to work.”

Dabi doesn’t start picking up wooden panels until Aizawa lifts his clipboard threateningly.

They decided to give no implications of knowing his true identity. If Dabi doesn’t bring it up first, then neither will they- it’s better to leave it in the dark until Dabi makes his first move and consequently hints towards his plans before they do.

Unfortunately, though years of hero work especially within the Underground would probably make him more compliant to time than the rest of his coworkers, Aizawa’s never been truly patient. Sure, he’s definitely more resistant in the sense that he’ll know when to force himself to hold back, but that’s like forcing himself not to scratch an itch: unlike others, he’s more aware of the irritating rash plaguing his body and screaming its existence.

It doesn’t help that he’s still stuck with Dabi, who hasn’t been deemed by Nezu to be allowed to work out of Aizawa’s presence. To be fair, it's only the first day.

Only the first day and already he wants to knock the villain’s head against the sharp end of a table.

“Can’t the kids do their own laundry?” Dabi grumbles, as he flips another shirt crusted with mud inside-out so that the sparkles clinging on the outside are less prone to falling off in the wash. He eyes the leopard print decorating its outside. Yep. Definitely Kaminari’s.

Aizawa has an intense anime-flashback to Kaminari frying the drying machine to the point where all its contents did actually dry efficiently quick, but in consequence smelled like burnt bacon for the remainder of the week.

Then that one time Mineta was stuck in the washer after Mina shoved him in, prompting a giant rift between his class. Two groups were lead by Hagakure and Bakugou (odd but deadly combination) and Iida and a reluctant Yaoyorozu on whether or not they should call proper adult supervision to get him out, or if they should set just continue to wash their clothes like normal and indirectly cleanse Mineta of his dirty thoughts if he made it out alive.

It’s easy to figure which idea belongs to which group.

Then, Aizawa stumbles across a forgotten memory that he buried deep in his mind that nearly gives his throat an allergic reaction. Kirishima once put in too much detergent and the entire carpet soaked with suds, and an unaware Kaminari collided into the laundry room screaming with Bakugou on his heels, before activating his quirk. All twelve students standing on the sopping carpet were simultaneously fried to the point where Todoroki’s left side set on fire in unison with his right, that froze the soapy ground and sent ice crawling up the walls in a span of two seconds while a bonfire spread throughout his body and turned all seven washing machines in the room into furnaces.

After that, for the rest of the week Aizawa had to deal with kids wearing sweaty, old uniforms as everyone’s clean clothes were incinerated, and the newest shipment of school uniforms that late in the school year would deliver only after the weekend.

“No.” He replies shortly to Dabi, who’s staring at him calculatively, and Aizawa figures that Dabi must’ve figured something was up due to his unusually long time to answer his question.

Aizawa has seen some things.

“Aren’t they old enough?”

Aizawa wants to shoot back if he knew how to wash his clothes considering how he appears to look like he washes only every two weeks, before deciding that can’t really be up to choice, and that to some unfortunate extent, bathing is considered a privilege.

Not that Dabi, an actually morally dubious villain deserves it.

It’s not like Touya Todoroki didn’t come from a rich household. And while he’s well aware that the Todoroki household may not be the best environment, especially for children, Dabi really didn’t have to go down the path of villainy. Despite all the pages of analysis Aizawa could probably write to comprehend the kid’s childhood and downfall into the depths of scum where morals and values are wasted and twisted to either directly or indirectly harm others, it doesn’t mean shit in the end because it doesn’t offer any sort of relief to people who suffer due to those morals, to the decisions he made. Dabi could’ve stolen money, could’ve called for a hero, could’ve done other things that would’ve saved his hide without hurting others. Could’ve robbed one of his dad’s platinum credit card before deciding to shank others for money.

Could’ve rung better heroes than decide to consider Stain’s philosophy. He didn’t give other heroes a chance to defend.

Then again, Aizawa figures that if Dabi’s own father was a hero and was assumedly the person he least trusted, it wouldn’t necessarily make sense to a young, impressionable child who’s learned off of only what he’s given (his father was the only role model he had) to instinctively go to heroes, the one thing his father strived to be.

It’s almost sad. Pitiful, to understand Dabi’s mindset that’s so blind to the bigger picture outside of his house and outside of his father, but at the same time, unfortunate. Because by this point, Dabi’s made his own decisions rather than asking or accepting help.

Then again, it’s not really his fault if he didn’t ask for help? Isn’t it our jobs to offer it first?

Aizawa rids of those thoughts. They’re doing laundry- not holding a one-sided therapy session where the actual patient isn’t even aware of it in the first place.  

He backtracks to Dabi’s original jab towards his students. His kids are smart, in spite of the fact that they’re probably the reason why the nearest IKEA overstocked on laundry machines due to how they used to buy eighteen of them every two months since none of them should be allowed to touch any machinery without adult supervision. They were able to create their own class scheduling for laundry, and an entire system that provides roles for people for that week. Even Bakugou follows it- Aizawa knows that Bakugou’s quite clean on his own and responsible for his own mess and items (surprisingly unsurprising), but Bakugou actually cooperates with the list in spite of his insistence that he’s not here to aid or befriend the class. He’s seen him do Mina’s portion of the laundry when she couldn’t figure out why her Pepsi-Bismol colored wardrobe needed to be washed separately from the entire class. He didn’t even know modern clothes still had to be separated. “Listen. They may not really know how to operate this thing,” Aizawa begins, patting the machine. Dabi waits expectantly. When Aizawa doesn’t continue, Dabi gestures wildly with his left hand.

“And?”

“What? No, that’s it.” Aizawa finishes, and Dabi chokes on a snort.

“Wait, you can’t put that in there.” Aizawa says, interrupting Dabi’s coughs, seeing what he was struggling to do.

“What?” Dabi blinks, swallowing the lasts of his fit. “It’s not colored, though. It’s white,” he says, referring to how Aizawa made him separate the whites and colored articles of clothing. They’re only sorting through the male clothing, therefore they don’t necessarily have to worry about female undergarments that have wire or other materials that require special care. While Aizawa knows that all the kids don’t bother to not separate their laundry by gender even though school rules technically state so, it’s not that big of an issue as long as Mineta isn’t the one collecting and folding the laundry.

“Yeah, but you see this? It’s wool. Can’t put it in hot water. And we have to hand dry it, too.”

Dabi screws his face. “How are any of these kids going to survive on their own as adults, much less become ‘heroes’ if they can’t do this themselves?” His taunting tone is obvious, but it goes unacknowledged by Aizawa.

“They won’t.” Aizawa responds flatly, ripping the wool sweater out from Dabi’s hands and tossing it aside. “Get sorting,” he kicks the plastic clothing bin roughly, ignoring Dabi’s continuous grumbles. “This is just temporary, because the kids are currently busy suffering from Kayama’s training at the moment.” He cracks a wry grin, unable to keep it under with his next comment: “besides. We have you now, might as well take advantage of that. You have Class 1-B’s mess to deal with, too, since the two of them are in the same dorm building.”

He dodges the toss of dirty underwear at his face.

Without his quirk, it’s almost as if the most prominent traits of his physical body drastically inverted.

He used to be constantly starving even though he could never eat anything or keep anything down.

Now, at the sight of the lunch tray placed in front of him, Dabi feels nauseated.

He’s tired. He just wants to sleep. At least that much from before with his quirk never really changed. But the idea of sleeping sets him off- he used to prepare himself for sleep knowing that he’d heat up to the point where sweat moistens the healthy patches of his Frankenstein skin. Last night, he was cold even when he was weighted by the unfamiliar feel of the offered blanket. It was oddly vulnerable. He hated it.

Sleeping without his quirk feels like accepting the reality he’s tossed into. A reality where his quirk may not be a thing anymore.

Don’t think about it. Let’s say it is the quirk-removing serum that Overhaul manufactured. Didn’t he create an antidote alongside it? But did it work? He’s had this conversation already. Erase.

“Um.” Dabi croaks, his guts curdling at the thought of truly never retrieving his quirk again, and instead, stares at the tray so that Aizawa wouldn’t see his eyes. He knew they were always expressive even when his face was physically marred to the point where his muscles can’t strain against the scars to outwardly convey his feelings.

“What? Did you think we wouldn’t feed you?” Aizawa states dryly. The said teacher is currently mixing through the rice of his own tray of food, coating all the grains of rice thoroughly with the simple sauce paired with it.

“No. Just not hungry,” he grunts, glancing at the tray. He slowly looks up and around the teacher’s lounge, before his eyes land on something. Aizawa follows his line of gaze, before snapping:

“No, no more bagels. Eat real food, or don’t eat anything at all. I don’t care if you refuse to eat because of childish pride or some other reason, your health is not my concern even though it really should be, but I’d rather avoid you throwing up because all you ate was bread.”

Dabi’s lips twist into a wry grimace. At least Aizawa’s more candid about his indifference towards Dabi’s state. That really, UA doesn’t give a shit what happens to him. He could be dead and it’d be fine- they’re just finessing the situation and trying to get the most out of it before realizing that he’s nothing. That they’ll get nothing out of him, that he’s beyond repair.

Soon, they’ll discard him for the trash he is as well. He’s better off being honest with himself anyways.

It’s just a shame that they don’t see the cruelty of their actions, even if he can’t necessarily say he isn’t trash. He still believes his self-reflection and perception of the morality of their society is at the very least more honest, more real.

“You haven’t eaten this past day, and when we found you, you vomited up drugs and was severely dehydrated. You spent this entire morning and noontime working as well. You should eat.” Aizawa prods, though seems more focused on his own food.

Or not.

Dabi notes how Aizawa’s eyes flicker up from his own meal that he’s slowly spooning into his mouth, and though it’s discreet, it doesn’t escape Dabi’s notice.

Gross . The entire scene reminds him too much of childhood. Of his father sitting across from him after dismissing his siblings who licked their plates clean, his impatience mounting as Dabi purposely avoids eating.

Aizawa won’t force-feed me though. His knee jerks against his spindly fingers clutching the joint. Probably. Aizawa might just though, because in the end Dabi is technically their legal responsibility. And he’s a villain. It’s not like he’s going to feel bad about trying to keep him alive through even forceful techniques.

That thought alone sends every individual disk of his spine clunking like the keys of a piano, his spine instinctively hunching over posessively. Dumb. Who gives a shit. If Aizawa does spoon feed you, then it’s not the end of the world. He’s not going to shovel it down like Enji did . Or maybe he would. It’d still be humiliating. Gross. Violating.

His throat closes, and his tongue dries, feeling heavy and fat in his mouth.

He was never good with dealing with stress or emotions, and he’s never been good with dealing with tears.  

He doesn’t even know if he can even cry anymore- by this point, he’s sure at least one of his eye’s tear duct was damaged from the burn underneath it.

As a kid, he was always a crier. He cried easily from frustration, from anger, from always losing against his father and always a scalding lump of temper would force its way up his throat, threatening to spill out his mouth in gasps and eyes in tears.

The first thing he did after running away as a burnt cadaver of Touya Todoroki was bury the butt of his palms against his eyebags and cranked up his quirk. He’s disappointed after the pain that his right eye still sheds tears.

Dabi doesn’t cry because he can’t. Instead, he has a handful of eye infections because of his lack of a proper drainage system for his eyes! Cool!!

Well, if Aizawa makes him choke on his meal and it triggers his fight or bitch-cry instinct, at least he just has to pretend like he got shit in his right eye.

He spins the plastic spoon between his fingers. He remembers going to school as a child. Of attending high school up until his second year. He used to have his own metal utensils.

He likes that he’s now given disposable ones. Reminds him this is all temporary. Reassures him.

Dabi slowly stirs the rice. The smell is enticing. And Dabi hasn’t had a real meal in months- usually the League just ate rice cakes, junk food, and canned foods that they were able to steal from markets within the shady confines of darker districts. Sometimes, when Dabi visits, Giran scrounges up pathetic leftovers of half-eaten cakes or overly sweet desserts. He always carefully folded those leftovers in relatively clean napkins, stuffing them in individual shitty napkin-packaged contents into his pockets to bring home to Toga. He never liked sweets, anyways.

Sometimes, usually at least once a week, they’re able to find microwavable meals or instant noodles that they’d split amongst them. There’s always beer around. Dabi avoids alcohol- he has a low tolerance and drinking alcohol while his unstable body hosted a fire quirk? He isn’t sure if it’d do anything, but he’s not willing to test the limits of his weirdass body.

Then, a gurgle threatens the silence.

Dabi shakes himself out of his muddled thoughts at the sound, flinching and quickly looks up. Aizawa’s blessedly still staring at his own food.

But there’s no way he didn’t hear Dabi’s stomach just fucking grumble.

“Just eat, if you’re hungry. I literally do not care if you do or don’t.” Aizawa says, radiating the patience from an impatient man. It unnerves him and provokes his stubbornness- Aizawa said that with the same attitude his father would have when Dabi was misbehaving. Sure, it’s under different circumstances and though he believes the majority of the hero world is corrupt, there’s no way someone could be as shitty as his father just because they’re a hero. But still- Dabi hates being told what to do or what not to do and Aizawa just did both at once. Dabi knots his lips. He doesn’t want their assets, their help, their fucking charity service. If he eats the food, he can imagine it being reported in the news months later, how UA tried their best to help out an evil, irrational villain by feeding him sauced rice, how they did their best and he even ate some and they all were naive to think that he just accepted their love and kindness.

Fuck that.

“I’m not eating this.” He says dodgily.

“Suit yourself.” Aizawa says.

For the next ten minutes, Dabi pretends as if he doesn’t lowkey regret or wish he was shoveling real food into his mouth, that he wasn’t starving and that just the food being there in front of him is like a punch to his gut. He pretends as though nothing’s wrong, as Aizawa, without hesitance, cleans up his tray and grabs Dabi’s too.

Dabi simply curls in on himself for the remaining two minutes of the lunch block, being sure to loosen his posture and act normal when Aizawa returns.

He’s hungry.

And he knows he’s just going to turn down dinner too. (And later, he does.)

It’s almost like a game.

A game where they all have to spot the villain. Because who can rest, knowing that Dabi resides among them.

UA is meant to be safe. Todoroki understands that better than anyone- it resonates within him. That here, within UA walls, he’s above his father’s grasp. Not far away, but above . Here, he understands his worth lies above his father’s standards, above his words and above his family name.

Todoroki when he first joined, did it in terms of spite.

He thought spite would get him far.

That spite would get him past his broken mother, the ghost of his older sister and brother, and the stories that haunt his family and follows him with each wretched creak of his hollow house that groans every night at the tall tales it spins from the memories it witnessed.

He thought it’d get him past Natsuo’s dusty room, bare of his existence as he incinerated it clean. As if he even had a presence here, living as a quirkless disappointment. With his father never paying him attention and his mother coddling Shouto, there really wasn’t much of him to even destroy in this house. He was barely written in the family books.

He exists in every chapter of Shouto’s life, though. As the one who stayed up eating sugary cereal that he snuck past his dad, as the older brother who really started testing his father’s limits once he was near adulthood and Shouto was still twelve, even sneaking him out some nights to fast food restaurants or to the nearby beach despite Fuyumi’s disapproval.

But when Natsuo left, the meek oxygen residing in his room, untouched by Natsuo’s frosty breath, only served to fuel the bonfire of resentment that flared within Shouto.

He thought the fire of spite would get him far past Fuyumi’s checkpoint (grave) in their family tree as well. Fuyumi, who became more of a mother to Shouto than mom could become in her broken mind. Fuyumi, who’s holding to their father’s legacy by its seams, trying to drag it back into distance with their disappointing ones and staple them together because sewing takes too much time that no one’s willing to offer. So instead, she heavily staples the dead, blemished and wrinkled skin of their macabre existences to their father’s healthy, blazing one like some mutated ragdoll of a family.

He thought spite would get him past the empty room that remains locked, but used to always remain open just for him. Touya always left his door open, knowing Shouto would eventually seek him out. Once Shouto turned nine and Touya turned dead, the door remained locked after his father ransacked it and boiled it clean of his memories.  But it’s not like his father can touch the ones that remain in his mind. He remembers Touya vividly, and perhaps it’s because his life drastically greyed without his presence, that his mind glorified what it was like back when Touya was present. His personality was so bright and it burned Shouto’s greyscale life, leaving colors seared into his mind as if he stared into the sun for too long. Kind-hearted Touya. Temperamental Touya. All of him. The eldest brother, Fuyumi’s twin, someone who was too alive in such a dead environment, whose sympathetic personality was a combination of Natsuo and Fuyumi’s melted into molten gold, whose heat burned those who got too close but its brilliant glimmer drove them mad to want , forged in the fires of their hellish household.

Touya died apparently to third-degree burns after setting himself on fire one day. Touya never had a steady control over his quirk after all. This happened during a hellbent argument with their father, and Touya, spiraling into unbridled anger, activated his quirk.

Shouto was never confided more.

Shouto bets that his death was what really started the fire in the pits of his stomach to begin with.

And the spite only grew.

Spite would get him far . It got him through his father’s training, it got him to UA, and it got him to the Sports Festival.

That is until he realized spite meant he was forever living underneath the shadow of his father’s existence, of his influence in Shouto’s life. Spite chained him down, and kept him snarling and raging at his father. It meant that in the end, his father truly got a hand in everything he’s done, even in his anger and his hatred, and honestly? He hated that more than he hated his father.

UA placed him on a podium above daddy dearest.

UA was his place, his place of learning and growth and realizing that his father can go suck his dick and that he has absolutely no BDE (he learned that word from Camie).

And now he knows that Dabi is a temporary resident in their dorms? Dabi didn’t deserve UA. Dabi, unsympathetic and immoral, who has an insatiable hunger to cut through them and watch them bleed- he doesn’t deserve UA.

Though he has no qualms against disbelieving Aizawa (though perhaps last year he might’ve- he’s grown a LOT in UA), he has absolutely no trust in Dabi.

Dabi kidnapped Bakugou- right out from his vision, in fact. More than once. Dabi has set villages on fire, has looked him in the eye and mocked his existence within his first year, has stared at him through unseeing, blind eyes with a glassy gaze that conveyed nothing but galaxies far away from reality, far away from sanity but still grounded . Grounded enough to understand where he is and what he’s doing, though his mind seemed to be in an alternate dimension where only his rules are law.

It’s as if Dabi has transcended their normal society, their normal world and their normal laws of the universe and into something different. Maybe it was really a descent. A descent into a hell, perhaps.

(Or maybe Todoroki’s being dramatic. Maybe Dabi really was just on drugs, who knows.)

And that was nothing compared to the blonde girl who definitely runs a knife blog.

But he hates Dabi’s affect on UA.

Now, everyone’s traveling to bathrooms in a group as if expecting to find the villain in one of the stalls unclogging one of the toilets furiously.

Or that they’d return to their bedroom and find Dabi there, fixing their bedsheets.

The situation of it all is just hilariously impossible to imagine- Dabi working? Underneath heroes? A definite bs feat.  

Aizawa hasn’t even disclosed how they managed to even end up in this situation. And he knows he’s not the only one concerned about this. Throughout training on the course, he saw Midoriya’s clear lack of focus as he accidentally body-slammed Kaminari dead (there’s no way Midoriya in his right mind would actively harm anyone other than possibly Bakugou, only because Bakugou would break all of his own bones first out of anger if Midoriya held back). He witnessed Uraraka send Mineta floating up higher than sixty-feet before being startled out of thought by his distant cries, and sending him plummeting back down to earth before catching him last minute and leaving him reeling and vomiting over Iida’s shoes (though, Todoroki suspects that Uraraka may not have necessarily not done that not on purpose). He saw even Bakugou get punched in the kneecaps by Sero who looked utterly terrified to have done that to his friend, as well as unsure as to what to do after that because he probably didn’t expect to even get near Bakugou, much less incapacitate him.

Though, Todoroki isn’t even sure why he’s surprised. Bakugou would definitely be the most emotionally conflicted- the kid dealt with Dabi and probably even talked to him on more than one occasion. Out of all of them, he’s had the most interactions and time spent with that villain. Also, Sero’s a lowkey badass and he definitely wouldn’t put it past him to ducktape Bakugou’s elbows together.

“God, this is so scary.”

“I know. I hope op doesn’t die.” Kaminari murmurs.

Todoroki blinks. Right. They’re watching a scary movie and he submerged himself into his thoughts by accident. There was an unsaid agreement that none of them were going to bed early in spite of it being a Monday. No one wanted to be left alone while knowing that Dabi was in the same building as them. And the fact that none of them actually saw the villain even briefly, only fed to their nightmarish imaginations of where Dabi could be.

Though Todoroki wants to say that he’d simply be angry when he saw him, and definitely not scared and instead would feel an urge to hurt the moment he saw Dabi (his motivator christened spite has definitely returned in the presence of villains, especially from reoccurring and overly prominent ones in his life), he knows that he might just freeze when he sees Dabi. Would Dabi be able to even touch someone supposedly quirkless?

(But Dabi wouldn’t hesitate a second, would he? No, if he caught Todoroki quirkless, he’d kill him without a second glance.)

“Op is a fucking dumbass and white. No way op ain’t gonna get murked.” Sero whispers, and Todoroki has no idea if two-thirds of what he just said was even Japanese. “Smh.” Sero sighs. Todoroki, bewildered for a second, wondered if Sero just sneezed. “Look, she’s heading back into the basement. Where she knows a demon was summoned there sixty-nine years ago by a psychotic grandma. She deserves to get possessed, like, honestly.”

“Awe c’mon. No one deserves that,” Hagakure says nicely, and to her side, freckled Midoriya nods furiously.

“Except for her.” Bakugou says deadpanned, as suddenly, the basement floor combusts, crackling open to reveal a flurry of blackened hands with chipped nails that flourish dramatically out between the cracks.

A pale, ashen man(?) with a greasy long mane and an inverted spine tumbles out of the cracks, landing on all fours with his torso twisted 360 degrees once.

Eight screams erupts from the audience, and at least one person is sobbing. The crying’s a given- there’s always someone crying in general.

“OhmyGODIcan’tdothis-” Kirishima is simpering now, with Mina empathetically stroking his hairy knee.

“It’s like... a spider. ” Jirou whispers, and Todoroki instinctively wants to reach out to her. It’s common knowledge that she has a solid fear for arachnids. “A spider that’s birthed from an incestous relationship why is it coming closer I- oh my god what the everliving FUCK is that -” Jirou scrabbles over as the creature scrambles against the wooden floor that grates its palms and knees, making the creature leave a streak of red with each step. As Jirou trips over five other people on the couch, she collapses onto Mina’s lap in front of Kirishima, and Mina just silently strokes the withering girl.

The creature’s silence only serves the trepidation and intensifying atmosphere of horror and fear, and as it runs towards the screen even Todoroki shuts his eyes, only to hear Kaminari’s voice say in a hushed, distorted voice: “It is speed.” He looks over, at Kaminari whose skin lost all color to resemble ashes, and eyes wide and distant as it fixates at the screen, his eyes posture slack.

“It took Kaminari. Oh my god guys it took Kaminari- ” Midoriya wheezes, panicking puncturing the fluidity of his words with harsh respirations.

“Shh, shh,” Mina says soothingly, as she slaps Kaminari hard in the face, and Todoroki’s eye twitches at the familiar sound. Kaminari’s eyelids flutter over dry eyes, and he slowly shrieks, making the first noise since the past seven minutes, the longest the kid has ever been conscious and mute at the same time. Mina simply just gestures for him to lean against her leg from where he’s sitting on the floor.

Todoroki rarely interacts with the pink alien, but honestly, she appears so warm. Her personality just radiates one of an old Asian lady stirring stew who would feed you warm chili until you’re full. God, he wants to be Kirishima’s knee at the moment.

“Ice-bitch,”

Todoroki hates himself for actually responding without hesitation to that call. Bakugou, who has perched himself on the couch’s arm, precariously balancing on the toes of his squat like some fucked up seagull, is glaring at the screen.

And not because he cares about Bakugou or whatever, but honestly more for the sake of not getting his teeth stolen at night by him, he wisely decides against calling out his shaky posture, unkempt hair and sallow skin that’s sure sign of eye bags.

Dabi’s plain existence probaby gets to him on bad nights- and now that Dabi is within a five-mile radius of their presence?

Todoroki honestly worries for Bakugou to an extent. Sure, he’s an asshole with complete inconsideration for others while being entirely too sensitive of things relating to himself, but it’s not like Bakugou’s a bad guy . In fact, Bakugou, though he’s quite new to it (and Todoroki has to remind himself that he is too), is beginning to discreetly dip his toes into the shallow end of the kiddie-pool of friendship, as he’s beginning to accommodate Kirishima for the majority of the part, even allowing his mother-hen nature to flourish underneath unnatural compliancy.

“See that girl running away from the soggy freak with limbs are like a crippled giraffe and is totally her father? Yeah, that’s you.” He leers.

Never mind, Bakugou’s a bitch, and he’s going to kill him.

Before Todoroki can slip off his sandal and whack Bakugou’s unsteady feet and off of his good Christian Couch, a cliche scream echoes through the room from the television, and Todoroki can barely comprehend the sudden weight on his shoulder from Kaminari clambering onto the couch to crowd Todoroki’s right side in panic, and Todoroki nudges against Bakugou in consequence.

Which results in an even louder noise resonating from Bakugou’s palms as an explosion sets off, and Todoroki feels the intense heat radiating from it as he watches in horror as the bombs subside to reveal a charred portion of their couch.

His heart punching his ribcage, he takes a faulty breath before smarting: “Bakugou. Really. I thought you weren’t scared of horror movies-”

Bakugou, who’s clearly not fazed enough to not feel an instinctive need to kill Todoroki, crinkles his lips back to reveal a glistening snarl, and Todoroki’s ready to smother him with a pillow that he steals from underneath Kaminari (who’s still clinging onto his forearm with a bruising grip), when suddenly, a second grasp clamps over his shoulder.

He sets fire to his entire left side as ice frosts over his right.

More screams sound through the haze of confusion and panic, and he rips away from the tight grip on his right shoulder, freaking out because what the fuck Dabi’s touching-

And he whirls around through the cloud of smoke and crispy feathers from the pillow he combusted in his hands leaving its remains shoddy, charred, and frosty all at once, to see Aizawa-sensei stare back at him, with his familiar unimpressed expression comically lightened from the feathers catching in his unruly hair and shaved ice coating his shoulders.

“Oh. Aizawa-sensei,” he greets breathlessly, his body still stiff from the sudden shock and fear from the random hand landing on his shoulder.

“Hello, Todoroki. Hello, the rest of the class that is up past their curfew on a weekday.” He retorts dryly.

Uncomfortable greetings weakly leave the rest of his classmates.

“Mind telling me why you’re watching a definite R-rated scene right now?”

They all pretend as though the reincarnation of an ax murderer isn’t cannibalizing his own daughter on the screen at the moment.

“What? What R-rated scene?” Sero’s voice cracks as the creature lets out an animalistic shriek.

“Hey. If we’re going to become heroes, gotta know all the realistic scenes we’ll come across.” Mina says confidently in spite of Aizawa-sensei’s withering gaze.

At this, Aizawa-sensei sighs dramatically, and they all stiffen at their professor’s look of utter murder that scrunched his features for a second, before his expression laxes into his typically placid countenance. “I understand, if you guys are coping with the news I unfairly dropped on you today. I regret that I was unable to be here with you today to help you through it, and adapt to it. I was busy with our resident janitor.”

Todoroki blinks, brightening through his dim fear from earlier (he was not scared of the movie. No matter what Bakugou says, he’s not scared of horror movies. Just because he happens to prefer Pixar and Disney movies such as Wall-E does NOT correlate to his tolerance towards horror). “I’m just going to tell you now. He’s still being treated like a villain, and our security will not slack on him. But he is utterly harmless. His quirk is gone, and at the moment he’s subdued. Remember, Dabi is not known for physical strength. Without his quirk, I can reassure you this entire class, yes, even Mineta, could bodyslam him.”

Todoroki takes comfort in that, as well as his friends’ light chortle at Aizawa-sensei’s harmless jab towards Mineta. By this point, Mineta’s somewhat of a class mascot, but it’s still rare for Aizawa-sensei to tolerate any sort of mockery towards fellow classmates if it’s not Bakugou, so it’s always a treat when he does.

“But why have him here? If he’s quirkless just. I don’t know, send him to jail?” Kaminari questions not impolitely.

“It’s,” Aizawa-sensei’s studying all of them, as if evaluating them to see how much they can handle. Now, Todoroki would not ever take Aizawa-sensei to lie to them, but to withhold information if he believes it’s better for them? Yes. Besides, the only reason why Aizawa-sensei wouldn’t lie to them is probably due to legal reasons, which is not a very solid base of credibility. He subconsciously straightens his back as if trying to prove himself more capable of taking any news given. “It’s complicated. But it’s one of those situations where we’ll most likely never encounter again, and we want to see if we’re able to influence Dabi’s personality at all. Now, I’m not saying he deserves a second chance; not everyone deserves that. But I am saying that he can certainly prove himself worthy of one if he does end up learning something from us. If we send him to jail, most likely his team will break him out, and it certainly won’t help his view on heroes. Besides, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the jailing system is questionable due to the criminals being grouped together despite their difference in crimes and overall character. I won’t put it lightly, but jail time for someone like Dabi could result in death or worse.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.” Todoroki isn’t surprised that Bakugou spoke up. He actually assumed the boy would’ve raged earlier. Even now, his voice is startlingly collected despite the topic of discussion. “I don’t care- he choose to become a fucking villain, he-” Bakugou’s sputtering now, eruptions of anger clipping his tone and the tempo of his speech. “He fucking did shit to us, you fucking remember? It’s not like you could ever forget,” and he’s choking, and Todoroki desperately wants to talk him down because while Bakugou has the right ideas that Todoroki honestly agrees with, the boy has never been good at conveying his message or point. Ever. “He’s a villain and that’s by fucking choice it’s not like he decided to make that choice because of something small. He’s seriously screwed up you haven’t actually talked to him or seen him or how he believes in that Stain horseshit. He’s not just going to change because he’s our fucking custodian, and if he dies in jail, good -”

Todoroki intervenes, knowing that Bakugou won’t appreciate it but if he doesn’t sound patronizing or dismissive, then it’ll be fine. “Aizawa-sensei, I agree with Bakugou. Why should we bother?”

“Because if we can reform Dabi, then that speaks measures, don’t we?”

“So we’re doing this for reputation ?” And now, Bakugou sounds absolutely livid and Todoroki’s alarms are going off because he’s been tossed through this cycle before. He never wants to compare the two because their personalities are absolutely contradictory, but every time Bakugou enters an argument, his opinion stubborn and steadfast, his bullheadedness always reminded him of Touya, always stammering yet glued to his argument and refusing to back down against his father.

“No. Your safety comes first. If we can at the very least appeal to Dabi to some extent during his short time here, then it’ll benefit us and be a lot more secure than sending him to jail. Besides,” Aizawa-sensei has recluded back into hesitancy, but Bakugou’s clear simmering probably pushes him to confess: “Dabi appeared on our lawn like this. Someone must’ve left Dabi defenseless for us. We can’t send him to jail without knowing how the conditions of his appearance and why he’s here. I’m sorry. I’m sincerely sorry that we are compromising your safety, and that you are left sleeping knowing Dabi is in this building.” Aizawa-sensei then bows , an absolute violation of appropriateness, and Todoroki feels uncomfortable because he never experienced adults in his life who own up to mistakes or even privately regret their decisions. He didn’t know adults even did that. It’s not like they have to, after all.

“By tomorrow morning, your parents will be notified of Dabi’s presence.”

Todoroki winces. His father will definitely be enraged by this type of news. He then sideyes Bakugou, who positively ashens , looking something akin to fear .

He flashbacks to Bakugou’s mother, whose zeal and lack of hesitance to physical responses honestly scared him at first, before he realized that she’s simply socially overwhelming and tolerates no bullshit, and decides that he’d rather have his old man to deal with than Bakugou’s mother. At least with his father Todoroki doesn’t bother to consider his feelings, however, navigating with a mom who means the best but has an incorrigible personality actually requires emotional investment, something that he can’t deal with. Maybe his father really has emotionally evolved and is trying to some extent to self-reflect on his actions as a parent, but Todoroki’s past forgiving even if he’s willing to acknowledge development. He doesn’t owe Enji any sort of emotional reciprocation, so if he bothers to spit on Aizawa-sensei or UA’s efforts, even though Todoroki privately doesn’t agree with what they’re investing their time into at the moment, he will fight his father.

“You know. I was sort of mad at you for letting this happen,” Kaminari admits. And that frankness, though Todoroki definitely by this point lacks any filter with his father, he would never be so open about any opposition towards someone he actually respects such as Aizawa-sensei. Todoroki actually inhales his own spit at Kaminari’s lack of fear. “But honestly, after hearing you have to deal with our parents over it? Like this entire student body? Lmao, I actually feel bad for you now.”

For someone who confided that he sleeps with his blanket covering his toes out of fear of Bakugou gnawing them off out of anger at night like the gremlin he is, Kaminari’s honestly opinionated and doesn’t let others step over his thoughts.

BDE. He’s only learned that word from Camie just two days ago, but he can easily identify the definition of it when he sees it.

He’s also never heard anyone other than Kaminari say “LMAO” out loud before. It’s frankly unnerving and he hates it and he hopes Kaminari never says it again.

“Fair, but I don’t know. I’m not angry at you. I’m actually quite curious about what will happen to Dabi. After all, it’s our chance to maybe save someone,” Mina says optimistically, though she doesn’t say more. Mina always has quite positive reinforcement, though she tends to lack actual ideas or rationality to elaborate on her beliefs.

Todoroki doesn’t see Dabi past saving.

“I’m glad you guys all have different but honest opinions. Talk it amongst yourselves. And do not hesitate to come talk to me about them as well. We will accommodate to any reasonable requests that concern Dabi.” He says. Kaminari raises his hands. “This does not mean we will suddenly afford to stock your kitchen with KFC fried chicken for every day of the week.” Kaminari’s hand lowers. “Now, it’s eleven. Past your curfew. Bed. Unless if any of you have concerns unrelated to KFC or to rubber ducks, clean up and head upstairs. You are able to sleep together down here for comfort and security reasons as long as I don’t catch you in a dorm and you don’t tell other adults that I encouraged nor referenced to such a preposterous idea.” Aizawa-sensei says flatly. When no one moves, Aizawa-sensei’s right eyebrow glitches harshly, and everyone scrabbles up, and Todoroki quickly shakes any smoky feathers off of him and runs.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe Dabi had a hard past. Family situation. I don’t know though.” Jirou murmurs.

It’s almost like their entire classroom simply moved up to Kaminari’s room, all of them rooting through his drawers stashed with chips and guzzling soft pop even though they all brushed their teeth just moments ago.

Of course, the dormitories are separated by gender, but it’s not like they’re planning on sleeping in the same room together. And if they do, Todoroki doesn’t really see the harm in doing so because they already broken the rules by being in the same dorm with the girls, so might as well go all out. And Mineta would definitely be forced to return to his dorm by that point- he’s not even in here. Todoroki has a suspicion that there was a reason why Mina arrived so late, saying she had to “lock things up”. So yes, it should be relatively okay for all of them to couch together.

Besides, he has no interest in the idea of romance, and honestly is quite more curious in Midoriya possibly being All Might’s love child and Aizawa-sensei being a secret 7/11 coupon dealer.

Jirou’s continuation snaps him out of those theories (he swears he’s seen Aizawa-sensei hoarding coupons). “Like. Having such a hatred for heroes? At such a young age? He probably had a messed up childhood. I don’t know, though,” she tacks on the last part for insurance.

“I don’t care. Having a bad background doesn’t justify what you’ve done.” Todoroki responds coldly. And for the first time in his life, he wishes Bakugou wasn’t dead to the conversation. To be honest, Bakugou even being up at eleven was pushing his normal sleeping schedule, which is impressive considering his strict self-discipline and own pacing. Then again, Todoroki doesn’t doubt that Bakugou probably slept awfully yesterday as well. It’s just that he knows for a fact that Bakugou wouldn’t go easy on Dabi’s presence, hence he wants him to be awake for indirect support as they share similar views. On any other day, he’d love not interacting with Bakugou’s arrogance and superiority-complex that blindsides any sort of intuition or self-reflection from his part. He would’ve loved that Bakugou was knocked out on Kaminari’s bed wearing boxers with cherry prints right now. But currently, he needs a solid sense of moral unity from someone who would probably use someone (Midoriya) as a punching bag the moment someone attempts to justify Dabi.

Having a tragic childhood sucks, he intimately knows that , but that doesn’t excuse what Dabi’s done. What every villain in that corrupt and twisted League has done, dragging innocents or just people without their consent into their work.

Just look at him. Look at Fuyumi and Natsuo. His mom. His dad. Touya. Everything that compiles his childhood- and he didn’t turn out like someone like Dabi.

Sucks. You have a crappy childhood. Get over it.  I didn’t turn out into a psychopathic killer who slaughtered families and children.

“I’m not saying it justifies anything!” Jirou says, exasperated and fearful of being misunderstood. “It’s just that I think it might explain his hatred for heroes.” And Todoroki glances at her. That’s dumb. He literally has Endeavor as his father, and yet he strove to become a hero even before he really knew what it meant to be one.  Then again, Dabi could’ve had very different experiences that lead to his creation. Doesn’t mean Todoroki isn’t annoyed. Perhaps he’s biased, though.

“No. But Dabi’s mentally... off . That much is obvious. Either he was born like that and whatever situation he grew up with made it turn for the worse, or he was born fine and the situation turned him like that ,” Tokoyami theorizes, and Todoroki watches with sick fascination as he ironically eats sour gummy worms.

“Tokoyami, do you like worms?” Todoroki questions innocently.

At this, Kaminari makes a face while everyone else freezes, though Tokoyami himself seems unperturbed by this comment, and says, “no. I just like sour things.”

“I mean. I guess we can’t really know what defines the moral grey line for Dabi, don’t we?” Tsuyu croaks. Todoroki likes Tsuyu. He always goes to her first for any social advice. While his closer friends such as Iida, Uraraka and Midoriya (are they actually his friends? He supposes he does have friends) are probably more adapted to his personality, Tsuyu is a frighteningly perceptive. It’s not necessarily empathy that she has that makes her understand one’s situation, as she seems detached from whatever readings she makes of a person, and more so she’s objective but at the same time, much too personal and emotionally comprehensive to be just that.

She’s like a wise old grandma who offers advice and tea alongside Granny Mina who serves stew.

“Whatever turned Dabi into Dabi is probably inexcusable alongside what he’s done to us. I think, we can empathize and understand whatever method turned him into someone so mentally unstable, but at the same time, due to what he’s done especially to us, we have every right to also judge him based on those actions. We can’t judge him for what he’s become, but we definitely can judge him for what he’s done.” Tsuyu concludes.

“Oh hey. That rhymes,” Kaminari chirps groggily from the side, and Jirou gives a hard whack against his noggin. “Jirou that was extremely unnecessary.” he says, monotone.

Todoroki looks away so he’s not held witness to what may end up being a murder scene, as he watches Jirou menacingly grab a wooden bat out of the extremely messy room’s corner. He’s unwilling to testify later in court for being on the crime scene of first-degree murder. He side eyes Bakugou’s slump figure on Kaminari’s bed, next to Sero who also turned in early.

Todoroki isn’t really used to being awake past eleven, as well. Only time he was, was back when he was at home and Touya would hesitantly take him along with him to one of his weird midnight-strolls that their father definitely didn’t permit, perching him on his shoulders as they walk to a nearby convenience store where Touya would splurge on snacks and sugar for Shouto.

“I think we’re all thinking too deep. Dabi lives with us, everything’s sort of falling apart, but nothing’s happened and we’re within the walls of UA where teachers can restrain Dabi if needed.” Kirishima says through a yawn. “Dabi’s dangerous, for sure, and we should be on our guard, but we don’t deserve to feel scared even during the day in UA. There’s no point in worrying. Let’s just put faith in the teachers, and hope for the best.” Flimsy advice, but honestly, probably the best for their mentality.

 “Maybe we should all attempt to sleep it off.” Shoji says collectively. He glowers at Kaminari who’s burrowing underneath twelve jackets composing a makeshift bed on the floor. “In our appropriate dorms and in our separate beds.”

“That’s no fun. C’mon, Shoji. We’re in high school, gotta live it up a little! Slumber parties and sleepovers!” Kirishima proclaims.

“Absolutely not!” Iida clasps his hands. “We must return to our dorms, we’ve already broken curfew and strict, school regulations! Everyone, off!”

No one bothers to move, that is, before Midoriya suddenly asks: “Where did Ojiro and Mineta go?”

“Ojiro’s still showering. So is Sato. Koda turned in, and Mineta,” Mina’s vibrant skin pales to a grossly discolored grey. “I shoved Mineta in the closet. Next to the girl’s wing. The closet wasn’t locked. I only propped it close with a broomstick.”

In a flurry of whispered shouts and legs, Todoroki watches as the entire female population attempt to fight their way past the bedroom door.

“How did they even do this?”

At this, Aizawa simply claps a knobby hand onto his shoulder. “Listen. This is why you’re here. It’s because of incidents of the students of UA outside of the arena and everywhere else where they're not supposed to be this dumb.”

Dabi’s tired eyes sweeps across the dim room. A charred corner of the couch has smoke still curling off the irreparable burn that ate through its stuffing. Feathers of what he can barely identify to be a pillow are strewn all over the floor. It’ll be a definite pain in the ass to clean up on carpet. “What the fuck did they do?”

Dabi just wants to return to bed and collapse - his arms are concerningly sore in the sense that they’re straining against the tight constraint of the dead skin enveloping his flesh and muscles, and he’s stressed . He’s never been good with dealing with stress, in spite of his calm and uncaring demeanor. He’s a tight knot of hatred and spite and starting anxiety caught in the fibers of his chest, tied taunt and never to be unraveled.

This situation isn’t even that bad, he just has to wait it out. He just has to play house with the staff and dumb students who he doesn’t even have to interact with until Shigaraki does something about this bullshit of a situation.

Or even Hawks. Now, there’s no way that Hawks really is nothing more than a double-agent of some sort, it’s obvious. Man’s not cut out for villain work despite everything. Being a villain means being selfish enough to get what they want, and being open about it. Sure, as a hero you can do all that- but you have a reputation to upkeep, meaning it has to be discreet. But, even if Hawks really can never be one of them, in all their meetings Dabi will always hold the upperhand because if Hawks is ever seen with him, he’ll lose . He’ll lose everything, no matter what the hero agency says. He’ll lose connections to the underground and the League, and at least part of his public favor if the Hero Agency doesn’t save his ass.

And Dabi knows that the agency won’t- Hawks is nothing more than a minor sacrifice if it means salvaging their face by cutting ties with him.

He bets Hawks knows it too.

Hawks will at the very least have to cooperate with Dabi at this moment if he doesn’t want his cover as a wannabe-villain blown. And Hawks himself even scheduled an appointment with him.

Great. He’ll be saved and use Hawks to escape.

But what about your quirk? It’s gone, forever the League won’t need you Shigaraki will snuff you out and your father was really right, huh? In the end, you didn’t amount to anything, you didn’t even get to prove him wrong-

“-abi!”

Grunting, he rounds to the source of his name, and barely recovers from stiffening at the sight of Aizawa’s puncturing gaze, sharp from mistrust and judgement, yet absorbing every twitch of his facial expression. Dabi fluidly sutures his expression together, tightening the stitches so that nothing leaks through.

Yeah, Aizawa might be a pro-hero whose career revolves around dealing with villains.

But Dabi grew up with one and his entire life naturally revolves around hiding and deceptiveness, even to his siblings. One mistake, one slip of vulnerability conveys too many things he can’t control, too many interpretations. Weakness in the eyes of his father. And fear to Shouto, who simpers at the sight of pain lacing through Touya’s screwed countenance that couldn’t collect itself quick enough. Anger, that burnt through the expression he stapled across his face, and showed too much to his mother who recoiled.

It’d be insulting if after all those painful lessons, someone he barely knows such as Aizawa saw through him (then again, even as Touya, did he really know any of his siblings?).

Aizawa squints for a second.

Good luck. It’s not like Dabi even has anything of himself to really hide anymore.

“Did you hear me?”

“Uh, clean up after your students like the nanny I am because they’re incapable of doing remotely the normalest things since they’re spoiled as fuck?”

“Close. I said, ‘use cold water on the carpet’. Though I suppose you know that- you probably have to deal with burn marks yourself quite often.”

Dabi honestly has no idea what he’s implying, but he hates Aizawa’s cool tone so he’s going to ignore it.

“I’ll head up to grab the bleach. Meanwhile, stay here and begin vacuuming the feathers.”

He hates being told what to do. Shigaraki could testify. But, Dabi still grudgingly stalks over to the closet shown to him earlier, where brooms and vacuums are left untouched by any of the brats. He opens the door, and is welcomed by a billow of dust that sends his nose crinkling.

Beginning to unravel the cord of an old vacuum cleaner that looks as though it hasn’t been touched in the last decade, he swears under his breath as the clunky thing smacks against his ankle.

Great, it just fucking committed ankle-scooter on him.

He brashly yanks it out, ignoring how the wire pulls an entire museum of artifacts out from the closet.

Sighing, he reaches down to find the end of the wire for the plug, so that he can try and get this shit done, only to find his gaze land on a pair of bare feet standing at the end of the couch.

Aizawa wore cat slippers.

Sharply glancing upwards, his heart stuttering from shock, his eyes claps onto Todoroki Shouto.

Jesus FUCKING Christ I’m going to commit arson .

Shouto opens his mouth.

“Uh. Yeah. I forgot my water.”

Todoroki, whose tongue felt drier than his personality this past half hour, came downstairs to find a glass of water.

He is now encountering a Grade A villain, nonchalantly gripping a vacuum cleaner upside down with the confidence of a man who’s done something wrong but is going to ignore it until it dies, and staring him dead in the eyes.

“You’re holding the vacuum cleaner upside-down.”

“No I’m not.”

Todoroki stares at him, his expression contorting with each second and impassive countenance.

“All the shit is falling out.” Todoroki says, slight distress at all the debris and dust floating out due to Dabi’s manhandling of the vacuum leaves his facial features scrunching slightly.

“No it’s not.” Dabi says, as a Lego block clatters out the vacuum’s system. “And don’t swear. You’re like what, sixteen? Swearing isn’t cool young man.”

Todoroki doesn’t know how to respond to that. To Dabi’s odd nonchalance towards this entire situation, as if he deserves to act okay in his presence.

After all he’s done.

Some nights, Todoroki would rise out his bed at three in the morning with his sweat physically frozen as his quirks manifested during his nightmares. He’d go down to the living room for water to find Bakugou excreting a strong scent of caramelized sugar (he swears Bakugou’s the reason they have a rat problem, and not because of his trashy personality that probably attracts fleas).

They don’t ever talk about it.

Todoroki has a suspicion Bakugou’s vaguely aware he has a distant family problem, but that’s expected out of a general audience because of his father’s fame and uncommon status. But he bets Bakugou has a darker theory of the status’ influence within their life behind closed doors.

But Todoroki knows , unlike Bakugou who simply can do nothing more than assume, that Bakugou’s nightmares, spawned from deep-set insecurity that he pathetically lashes out at others, and trauma of the kidnapping incident, must include Dabi.

Dabi, who acts as though he owes them nothing, acting like he belongs.

He doesn’t even seem ashamed to be their janitor. Todoroki has nothing against janitors or the cleaning staff and is well aware of their importance in society. But for someone as prideful and blindingly arrogant as Dabi, who’s pretentious enough to believe his villainy and actions are justified on some weird moral basis from Stain, he wants him to feel humiliated. Awful. Gross, for being reduced to cleaning up after his enemies’ messes.

Todoroki knows he’s a resentful and petty child- such a resolve was developed once Natsuo left for college, years after Touya was pronounced dead, and for a decade after he realized Fuyumi’s backbone was spinned out of spiderwebs and kindness that was strong in a sense that she would never break underneath his father’s hand, but could only defend her sanity and never attack nor prevent.

Dabi reminds him too much of his father: stubborn in his own stance to the point where they go through irrational means to obtain them.

And Dabi’s temper. He’s viewed it. Seen it during the training camp.

“How pathetic, Todoroki Shouto.” They were mocking, yes. But there was a personal sense of anger, resentment (Todoroki may not be the best at identifying emotions or even basic social cues, but he can easily recognize an old friend that dictated his entire life since childhood), something too intimate and too bright and too anxiety-inducing that left Todoroki crying to Aizawa-sensei later because who gave Dabi the right to say those words with such intimate bitterness? Who gave Dabi the right to judge Todoroki and his abilities and decisions simply because they had different moral standpoints and Todoroki decided to become a hero? It made him angry, dealing with tears of stress knowing that he would never be able to make Dabi eat those words simply because they would never be able to reach that point in conversation again.

Dabi. A villain who takes and can’t understand others, who wants to force others to view his way and if they don’t, it doesn’t matter if what he believes is an opinion- he automatically decides they have an inferior sense of intuition and simply just aren’t good enough, aren’t perceptive enough and are fools for not seeing shit his way.

“Hey. Kid. Stop thinking too hard. You’ve been standing there for like three minutes and if you were deciding whether or not to punch me, you should really just make your decision now before it’s too late and the mood gets too awkward.”

“Killing and punching are two very different things.”

Dabi sucks in air at that, but he doesn’t appear remotely deterred, and to Todoroki’s disdain, his cracked and pruney lip quirks from amusement.

For once in his life, he’s thankful that years of growing up in the Todoroki household has fucked up his face’s ability to unconsciously respond to any outside stimulus and therefore makes him act as though he has a permanent paralysis within his facial nervous system. Because there’s no way that Dabi, no matter how observant he may be, would be able to solve whatever’s going on in his mind through his expression. Years of actively repressing any facial responses or unwanted reactions has became muscle memory.

The only way Dabi could ever decipher what he’s thinking would have to be if he was Midoriya but with eight more years of experience, or one of Todoroki’s siblings. And even the latter is really out of chance, because Natsuo, who suffers underneath another form of abuse from their father, can never really understand Shouto, they’re technically strangers. But they share the same bloodline and many memories from when the were younger and more reckless, and Natsuo was always there for him, even if Todoroki didn’t particularly appeal to his type of comfort. With his siblings, he’d willingly try and convey his emotions though he lacked the experience to.

“Oi, come here.”

Dazed, Todoroki narrows his eyes to convey utter revulsion towards Dabi. “Kid, c’mon.” Dabi gestures.

“What do you want? You think that you suddenly work here we give a shit about you?” Todoroki spits. He doesn’t specify that they don’t trust the strength of the leash around Dabi’s neck, since he doesn’t want to give the villain any satisfaction of knowing that he’s the reason why none of them can sleep properly tonight. That sadistic bastard.

Dabi actually does make a face at that. “Really. Swearing, very disdainful.” He murmurs. “Is this a phase you’re going through? Edgy phase? Teenagers all go through that, right? I mean, clearly I did.”

Todoroki isn’t entirely sure what he’s getting at, but he’s becoming more frustrated by Dabi’s lack of remorse or something deeper than shallow indifference.

“But really, swearing doesn’t make you look cool or tough.” Dabi’s tongue kisses the back of his teeth. “Anyways, seriously, come here for a hot sec, then you can go up for your beauty sleep after being hydrated.”

He hates the lack of formality from Dabi’s behalf.

He despises that he doesn’t acknowledge his inferior position as he’s physically weaker than all of them, that he has no reason or right to act smug or so confident.

But Todoroki just sets his jaw, and walks towards him. “How the fuck do I turn this on?” Dabi inquires, bemused, rattling the vacuum and sending clouds of dust billowing out of its vents. Todoroki recoils, coughing. “You’d think the red pedal would be like, an ‘on’ button or some shit-”

“Really? You can’t turn this on?”

“Shut up. I know your secret.” Todoroki stiffens. He’s not entirely sure what the secret is but he doesn’t like the idea of Dabi knowing anything about him past public information. Dabi leans in close, and Todoroki takes satisfaction that the man is only half a head taller than him. “None of you guys know how to use a washing machine. Thank me later- I sorted through all your dumb colored clothes.” Todoroki takes a second, confused, before a realization dawns across him.

“Wait, did you sort the clothes by color?”

“Yeah, you know how awful it was? Like? Also, more than half of your class wears All Might pajamas, unless if you have that one weirdo who has eight pairs of the same set.”

Todoroki quickly jumps to Midoriya’s defense. “I. What’s wrong with the second option? Huh?”

“Wait, you serious? Damn. Well, know that none of your white shirts will be stained a pee-color, you’re welcome.”

“You don’t have to sort them. By color, I mean.”

“What? Doesn’t the colors bleed or some shit-”

“That applies to old clothes. Modern clothing doesn’t like, transfer colors.”

“Are you fucking.” Dabi stares at him, his rough fiddling with the vacuum cleaner halted as his jaw goes slack, the only real emotion Todoroki has seen from him all night. “That little bitch -”

“Don’t fucking swear,” Todoroki spits back Dabi’s message.

“Shut up, I’m older, I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re a quirkless villain who directly attacked a hero-in-training. You shut up.”

“No you. You’re the one who came down here to make sure you didn’t dehydrate and then diehydrate.”

“What? What does that even have to do with anything-”

“Look, I just need you to tell me how to turn this thing on -”

“You don’t belong here stop acting so informal and casual- even if you may not be human enough to understand you nearly killed my friend and you messed around with him because you’re fucked up , understand that you don’t deserve to act so carefree around here-”

“Why are you holding the vacuum cleaner upside-down?”

Todoroki, used to that voice of authority, quickly shuts up because this situation feels too similar to an argument he’d usually hold with Bakugou, and Aizawa-sensei’s sudden insertion only amplifies that feel. He rounds to the source of the tired and irritated voice, bowing slightly at Aizawa-sensei who’s glaring (or just staring, very hard to tell considering how he has a naturally disgruntled visage). The teacher’s arms are twisted in some flexible, aerobatic move to try and carry the eight bottles of unidentified chemical sprays that Todoroki is pretty sure would permanently burn off his scars if ever applied.

“It’s not .” Dabi insists.

“See, upside-down!” Todoroki gestures.

“Todoroki, we need to clean up after Bakugou’s mess, please head upstairs if you have no business.”

“Didn’t you already do that yesterday?” Todoroki inquires, confused.

“That was yesterday. This is today. Go upstairs, it’s past your bedtime. And I know the rest of your classmates are probably still awake- chase them to bed before I decide to tell Kayama-san that you guys don’t deserve mercy within the fifty-one minutes you have her for modern arts.”

Todoroki, whose flight or right instincts were literally triggered by that threat, tosses back the rest of his water like when he was a kid and hated the taste of medicine so every time he was given cough syrup (worse, if it was grape flavored ) he’d knock it back like a shot. Wiping his mouth of moisture, he gives one last glower of absolute mistrust and spite that he could muster at Dabi before stomping off.

Aizawa and Dabi works in silence, and Aizawa glances cautiously at Dabi. He isn’t sure what they talked about, but Dabi knows who Todoroki is- intimately, in fact. But Dabi appears absolutely undeterred. And while Aizawa is well aware that kids can easily obscure their emotions especially if their parent is someone as demanding as a selfishly ambitious pro-hero, Dabi is probably mentally unstable.

No sane and morally grounded mind person could just kill people. It’s that, or their environment couldn’t nurture a sane and morally grounded person and so they killed it.

But Dabi’s objectively intelligent and presumably observant.

Dabi’s lack of outward reaction towards Todoroki displeases Aizawa. If Dabi seriously just has no feelings for Todoroki, then that’s just boring. (And maybe, maybe it’s more than that. Maybe he just needs one little thing, even if it’s a reach and only obtained through bent perspectives and foolish hope, to act as sketchy proof that there’s still possibilities and hope left in Dabi. Even if that hope can’t go anywhere and he frankly has no faith in development for the better, he needs something from whatever deity is cackling at the play he’s puppeteering at the moment, that they’re not wasting their time, sanity, and safety for a completely hopeless case.)

“You’re staring at me. What?” And there it is. Maybe to others, it sounds normal, expected from someone who’s all broken glass and cutting tongue to sound so clipped and sharp- but that’s not Dabi. Dabi is languid movements and uncooperative actions that forces other into an unfair grey area of uncomfortability.

Not tense, wound, and tight.

He’s the exact opposite.

So Dabi really isn’t all that unaffected .

Aizawa hates how light his load suddenly feels. This shouldn’t change anything.

“Nothing. It’s just that you missed a spot.”

He doesn’t even feel that bothered by Dabi’s middle finger.

As Dabi turns to grudgingly snip off the rest of the blackened fabric (they've resorted to simply patching up the furniture next to opening their draining wallets). "You know, don't you have that...creation girl or whatever?" Aizawa doesn't respond, preparing a snippy response to Dabi making any comments about his students. "Why don't you just ask her to make you new furniture?"

"That's unprofessional unless if she offers first." Aizawa replies shortly. Sighing, he glances at the clock, squinting through the dim lighting. "It's almost twelve. Go take a shower- if you don't remember where it is ask one of the other teachers for directions. Hawks wants the meeting to be early, since that's the only free time he really has." Dabi snorts at that, but sets down his fabric scissors anyways. 

"Oi, Aizawa." 

"Don't tell me you're going to fight me over showering, too. We'll deal with your crappy eating habits later, but a conversation over hygiene is not acceptable."

At that, Dabi makes a face. "No, I was just going to tell you that I know."

Aizawa narrows his eyes. Is this about the blood testing? About us knowing his true identity?

"I know you fucking crossed me back there. Yeah, yeah, thought I wouldn't find out, huh? Well, your emotionally-confused Todoroki student here spilled about the entire laundry thing and how I didn't have to separate by color. Bitch." 

"Look, Dabi." Aizawa sighs heavily, turning to him, his voice painted in seriousness. "Look...it's just that...I hate your guts, so I don't care."  He states flatly. "Go shower, you smell like burnt rubber."

"Fuckin' sadist, making me make hard choices like if that light blue is blue enough to be in colored or not. Jerky assmat I-" Dabi continues to grumble, kicking aside bottles of cleaners as he storms off.

"Dabi, you didn't even put away the vacuum cleaner."

A faint "fuck you!"  is shouted in response from down the hallway, and Aizawa rolls his eyes, before staring at the awful mess that he still has to fix. I mean. It's twelve. And instead, he just places the vacuum back in place and stacks the cleaners on the shelf deep in the cluttered closet. He'll just have Dabi finish this mess by tomorrow night- after all, he's not the janitor here.

Chapter Text

"Maybe Dabi dipped. Moved to Disneyland or something. He always seemed like a Florida man- bet we'll see him in headlines of somethin' like 'Crocodile Cannibal Streaker Identified as Former Japanese League Villain, Now Killing People with Kindness, Using a Meat Tenderiser Named 'Kindness'," Spinner concludes.

Shigaraki stares. "The League only has six members left in total, and if you keep talking, that number will go down to five."

"Okay, but like! Think about it!"

Shigaraki continues gazing at Spinner, as if just maintaining eye contact can convey the carwrecked inferno of primal rage at the stupidity of this conversation. "I think. You need to shut the hell up."

"I don't think Dabi's a Florida-man," Toga wrinkles her nose.

"Mm, yeah." Mr. Compress agrees sagely. "Those types of people are on stimulants. Crackheads of the genetic pool. Dabi's too nonexistent all the time to be one. He's like. Probably from somewhere slow. Like Maine."

"What the hell is a 'Maine'?" Spinner frowns.

"Exactly."

"Fifty-nine." Shigaraki finally calculates. 

"What?" Spinner tilts his head.

"That's the trajectory needed to successfully catapult you out the second floor window."

"You don't need a catapult to do that!" Toga scoffs.

"Dabi could very likely and fortunately be dead," Mr. Compress inputs suddenly, and Shigaraki's already tired from trying to keep up with the direction of this conversation.

“Oh yeah, maybe he died. Maybe killed!” Twice murmurs, his fingers playing a broken rhythm that does nothing but irritate Shigaraki, resulting in his right hand harmonising with his tremors in the form of uncontrollable twitches. He has begun to break free of his distinctive need to scratch at his neck, but after recent events, his deformed fingers, crooked from pain and confused nerves, feel the need to grip and claw. A function he couldn't really do, since he lost half a hand. In a way, it solved its own problem. By ruining his hand’s motor systems, he couldn’t revert to his old coping mechanism. He’s also in a state where he couldn’t properly bandage it up by himself, so he relied on the others to do it for him. 

That was a mistake.

His deformed cast is only redeemable by Toga's unicorn stickers replacing the medical tape that was supposed to hold it together. It's falling apart faster than his patience and inexorable sense of identity when surrounded by members whose (1) cohabiting braincell is vibrating at a nonexistent frequency. 

“If Dabi died, it’d be all over the news. And if he was killed by a villain, then the rumors would be everywhere. Hero or villain, killing someone as infamous as Dabi is a reputation-changer,” he grits out. They’re finally holding this conversation, now that he’s woken up from his drug-induced coma and has been forced by Spinner into playing an improvised game of poker. Shigaraki's minorly suspicious about whether or not the random wins Twice is gaining is because he's making up the rules as they go along. 

“Maybe he died in an accident,” Spinner suggests, his tongue toying around his gums as uncharacteristic concern flares his nostrils in a heaving sigh. “Like. I don’t know. Got hit by a car.” Shigaraki guesses that with all the damage the League took, it’s comprehensible why Dabi’s inconclusive disappearance would be worrying, even though Spinner never really interacted with the man. 

“Okay, but where could Dabi go that no one would recognize his body? If Dabi got hit by a car, once again, he'd be all over the news,” Shigaraki counters, impatience seeping into his timbre, as he slides the stack of Smarties over to Toga, who won. “The thing is, he looks like reanimated burnt rubber - no one’s going to mistake his body for anything else, even without the head. And if it's a villain that killed him, they’d let us know, either as a threat or a warning.” His voice grows grating, bordering on a snarl as stress and irritation toward the man in question cranks to a boil in the back of his mind. "It shouldn't be so quiet."

"Or maybe he really is in Maine," Toga offers.

"No." 

She sticks her tongue out at him.

Dabi’s random disappearances and radio silence were always a nuisance, but the man was at least pragmatic enough to respond to business-related texts. He may not have an emotional attachment to them, but he had a professional one.

Which is why the lack of response to Shigaraki’s order for him to return is abnormal. Because at the very least, Dabi would’ve replied with a challenging quip; he could never just use a simple ‘okay’ or ‘got it’. Instead, he always needs to always establish his dominance, because Dabi feels the need to constantly step over his title as “boss”, like a neighborhood bully.

He recalls meeting him for the first time. Dabi had been accompanied by a wildly animated girl, whose glazed, frantic eyes suggested substance abuse.

It took Shigaraki four hours and one barfight to realise that her personality is just naturally jacked on Pixie Stixs, and that she has absolutely little to zero concept of forethought. 

Really, it was a ride. Shigaraki can practically recall the feelings that flared the moment Dabi introduced himself with his smart-ass answer and lidded eyes that radiate purposeful laziness. Dabi, whose hollow loyalty and what he was willing to trade for membership were laid casually bare, as if he had no real interest. But there were spinning black holes in his eyes, spitting out promises and cigarette ash that suggested that for their own safety, they should take him in before someone else did.

He wanted to put a fist through Dabi’s mouth, uncurling it the moment it breaks through the gate of teeth, letting his fingers disintegrate him from the inside out, starting with his sharp tongue. Now, the fact that his hand was torn into three withered fingers that are blotchy shades of blue and yellow, means that the person facing it could be killed with only two warnings and not four. If he could barely control himself enough to not disperse Dabi into dried blood with all five of his fingers, then he doesn’t doubt he would have at least rotted away part of his already fucked up face with a suspicious slip of his third finger.

Normally, it frightens him and curdles his insides to think that he has to deal with having to rely on just two fingers to interact with anything- if he can even get past the fact that he doesn’t know if he can properly feel or move those fingers anymore.

Yet, for the first time since he's noticed this fact, he doesn’t feel as angry. As long as Dabi is the first victim of his recklessness, somehow, his anger doesn't appear as strong anymore. 

Of course, he figures that if he could deal with Bakugou’s taunts and arrogant actions, he can probably ease himself out of killing Dabi the moment his lanky grasshopper legs cross their threshold, even if he has an insatiable urge to decapitate his brittle, Saltine-cracker kneecaps. 

Because now, months after they met, he’s able to rip off the red-lensed glasses that prevented him from thinking clearly and see what’s underneath that layer of arrogant nonchalance and charisma. Dabi’s personality could be summed up in a ten-minute Powerpoint with rudimentary 2008 animation, on that one recess bully with an oblivious and dense personality mistaken for suave aloofness, whose self-esteem is completely built on the fact his early growth-spurt grew him head taller than everybody else.

So while Shigaraki can reflect that Dabi’s first impression of him being childish is justifiable (if not condescendingly shallow), he has every damn right to say that Dabi is moreso. He finds every opportunity to randomly challenge Shigaraki’s authority, as if needing to constantly establish independence and solidarity from the group, even though the fucker is just as messed up as the rest of them. By now, he’s established that he’s simply not worth his time and energy. Especially since it appears that Dabi isn’t even aware he’s being rude and offensively blunt, despite his default pettiness. It’s a silent, leering victory on Shigaraki’s behalf though. Unlike Dabi, he’s able to force himself to mature because that’s what the League needs. Also, there’s an inward gloat at possessing basic comprehension skills beyond that of a rebellious teenager, unlike a certain crispy stalk of bamboo.

“Well, maybe Dabi’s death wasn’t an accident,” Twice murmurs nervously. “Shut up. Like anyone could take out Dabi.” The nervous purse of his lips hardens into an etched scowl, his brows furrowing through the previous wrinkle of anxiety hitching up the corners of his eyes.

“Dabi does seem like he has the guaranteed survival rate of a Cartoon Network protagonist, only to die because he tripped over a garbage can,” Mr. Compress says dryly.

“Sometimes I think Dabi's super respectable and dignified, and don't get me wrong, he is," Spinner begins. "But I've also seen him nearly choke to death on the wooden spoon that comes with those tiny ice cream cups, and I genuinely don't think he ever recovered from that."

“Just. Be quiet.” Shigaraki scowls, unable to help but notice the unintentional bite to his words, and presses his lips into a flaky line as Spinner averts his gaze. He’s pissed, but he doesn’t want to take it out on the others. The League, diminished due to their injured, and the arrests of less than half of their already minuscule group, is verging on powerless. As much as he detests saying it, Dabi’s a gem. With cutting instincts, wrangled control over his destructive quirk, and surprising cooperation that his personality may not initially suggest, he almost fits snugly as a gear within the mechanism of their plans. Short of Compress, he also probably has the most useful strategic input when it comes to League activities, even if he has inconvenient habits that tiptoe the line of disturbing those exact same plans.

Dabi's biggest advantage is that he is probably one of the most clever and active players in the League. It’s true that he’s as unhinged as his scars, clinging on only by the mere staples, but who doesn’t have some issues? He just doesn’t let his emotions or shifted mentality affect the productivity of his work.

Dabi’s almost the perfect pawn. If only he didn’t see them as his pawns. 

Shigaraki lacks faith in Dabi’s loyalty. He has a personal goal that he’s reaching by using them, but other than that mutually beneficial relationship, he has no emotional ties to them. Shigaraki knows that Dabi wouldn’t hesitate to burn their world to ashes if it got in his way. So he turns a blind eye to such a dangerously traitorous character, as he'll utilise Dabi's obsession for their own benefit, up until it no longer aligns with their goals. Because they need Dabi. While some people might consider Nomus their aces, he knows it’s Dabi, the joker card, that they can’t afford to lose. After the incident with Bakugou Katsuki, they’re desperate. He’s desperate. And yeah, Dabi’s a fucking loser who burns all their recruits and has questionable judgment, considering that his current BFF is a raw KFC bucket reanimated on legs, who Dabi himself supports the theory that he's an undercover agent, but they need actual members, not just recruits.

“We should really put a tracker on the kid.” Mr. Compress sighs, swirling the bourbon within his grimy glass. Kurogiri was the one who kept the bar clean. If he was still here, the glasses would never be gross. Shigaraki tastes something bitter seeping through the cracks of his lips at that thought. Kurogiri, respected and decently liked (or at least, not hated) by the rest of the League, the type of person to make sure they don’t all die from starvation or idiocy, is still in jail.

"OMG, like those chips they put in dogs?" Shigaraki blanks out of his own thoughts, unable to connect the dots between Toga's nonsensical existence and their reality. "You know when they like. Stab chips into dogs and like they become like a GPS?"

"No."

"I don't think that's how it works," Spinner, who's trying to dislodge a Smartie from between his teeth, nearly takes Toga out with a flying shard of the candy.

“I miss Dabi,” Toga gripes, now eating their substitute game chips as well. "Like. I swear it's a thing! Like, it's like an electronic tick and- oh maybe it's not a GPS maybe it's just like. An ID or sum but still-" And Shigaraki feels as though his quirk consumed his gut and he’s swimming in stomach acid. Dabi probably doesn’t miss Toga. And Shigaraki, while he knows better than to truly love another person (and knows he isn’t capable of doing so in the first place), at least relishes in the girl’s company. Even Twice’s sometimes. She’s really a character, and in a world where he can only feel pressured with making decisions for an entire mouvement and he’s isolated from social interaction for multiple reasons, her jovial attitude is appreciated. Her willingness to understand him is a new experience, her startling acceptance as well. Her empathy isn’t condescending or coddling; it’s simply a sense of reassurance and the feeling that he’s not so far gone to the point where he's alone.

“Shiggy, can you do my hair for me?” Toga suddenly asks. 

"Toga. You know that if you let Shigaraki do your hair he'll probably accidentally raze off your hairline and give you early balding, right?" Spinner informs gently, and he's not wrong, exactly. Shigaraki still feels an intensely disconnected sense of homicidal urge towards that example, however.

"Shiggy, c'mon. Please? Dabs isn't here to do it for me, and he only does it when he wants to get rid of me, anyways."

“No.” Shigaraki scowls, feeling less uncomfortable for the first time since Father’s permanent removal from his face, simply because Toga can see his resolute disdain. 

His three fingers’ inconsistent shakes against their hard cast quiet down into tiny hitches, because Father. Shigaraki feels fine communicating with his group without Father, even if he'd prefer otherwise, especially if Dabi was around, but the moment other villains see him (and he remembers how Giran lowers his shades at his bare expression, vulnerable to the judgment of others) he feels nauseous. He doesn’t give a shit about his appearance. The more fucked up, the more of a testament to their abilities and reputation; it’s probably a similar sentiment to Dabi’s with his own messed up mug. It was the fact that he could never properly reign his emotions, his temper, and his untamed facial reactions the way that Dabi could, that makes him uneasy. It reveals too much and portrays him as a child. 

“Shiggy, please, just this once,” she drawls, hearts on her tongue and stars in her eyes.

Shigaraki can only snark a quick, “don’t call me that.”

If he touches her hair, she might not even have any to tie up.

“Please! Without Dabs around, I can’t pull up my buns evenly ‘cause I can’t see the back of my head,” she grumbles, her lips pouting. “I can’t do my nails right without him, either.”

“I don’t think Dabi’s absence is the issue. Rather, it’s the fact that you just suck at this,” Spinner says sympathetically, and Shigaraki eyes the pool of red polish coating the girl’s fingers up to her second knuckle. The substance is emitting a strong, chemical odor that even he can identify through his weak nose. 

“Spinner, I’ll gut you,” Toga says coolly from the ground, where she’s lying on her stomach, her feet no longer swaying in the air as she stares at him dangerously.

“Toga, you look like you had a menstrual cycle over your nails.” 

This time, Toga does physically react and Shigaraki pretends that she didn’t just waste Spinner with a knee to his groin.

“I’m sure Dabi will be back. Can’t promise he’ll do your hair, though,” Spinner wheezes, clearly not having learned his lesson. “I mean, Dabi’s been gone for weeks before.”

“Yeah, but he always answered texts when it came to discussing tactics and future plans. Even when he disappeared for three months that one time, the moment I told him Toga was upset because his pasty ass was gone, he sent a selfie of him flashing a peace-sign with broken Ray-Bans behind a Texas-themed Wendys.” Shigaraki grumbles. He remembers seeing that picture, deciding to block Dabi’s number for the next couple days, and let Toga whine. When Dabi finally returned, she stabbed him in the knee with a dull pencil. After that, he mysteriously stopped leaving for more than two weeks without notifying them of his continued ‘living’ status, be it through appearing every other week with stolen supplies, or a selfie radiating strong 2002 energy through low-quality pixels and an inappropriate use of his camera flash, always of him always doing the same thumbs-up pose and dead expression, usually with evidence of his pyromaniac behaviours in the background as the photo's main light source.

“Maybe he hasn’t seen your text yet?”

Perhaps, but he had once sent Dabi a text, unbeknownst to the fact that his phone was in the same room as him. Shigaraki’s drowning heart nearly went into cardiac arrest when a loud, one-note shriek rang through the living room. Dabi ran inside to find the source of the noise by digging through the couch he was on to pull out his scratched flip phone. Two seconds later, he received a text from Dabi, who was still in the same room, saying: “gotchue boss", somehow still managing to misspell a two-word sentence.

“I don’t know. Even if he was sleeping, trust me when I say he would’ve woken up to my text,” Shigaraki murmurs, realising he hasn't ever properly recovered from that memory. 

“I’m so bored without Dabi around,” Toga pouts. Shigaraki’s lips knot. 

He’s not jealous.

The thing is, despite Dabi’s rude aloofness, he’s somehow a favourite of every other resident villain. Shigaraki’s their leader and has known some of them longer than Dabi. Yet when he joined, he managed to integrate despite his condescending introduction and superiority-complex. He was a Toga favorite within minutes. Sure, they arrived as a unit, but he doubts that they actually knew each other before joining. 

It’s as if he emits some sort of atmosphere that everyone wants to transcend above; they want to be acknowledged, special, in Dabi’s eyes. They cling to any sort of derogatory comment or dismissive word he tosses their way, like dogs to scraps.

He hates that.

He's not jealous.

It’s just that even Spinner and Twice, who only ever received scathing remarks and uncooperative glowers from the scarred man, end up comforted by his presence. Dabi doesn’t necessarily ignore their efforts or presence, he simply doesn’t care enough to critique or discriminate against them most of the time.

He dislikes Dabi.

Bitterly, he reminds himself that no one else does.

He doesn’t think Dabi even notices how much his reputation as a cold, hardened member precedes him despite his grand and mysterious atmosphere. It implies some sort of mystical mind, when the reality is that it is clearly empty, that bitch is empty, considering how he’s as emotionally self-aware as an alpaca with indigestion. There is nothing in Dabi's brain. Him standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall with a distant expression isn't an aesthetical portrayal of his deep thoughts- it is not! He is not there. Dabi's mind is a literal black Windows screensaver with the single logo bouncing within its limits, and every once in a while, hitting a corner! Nothing! There's nothing!

(In the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s judging Dabi too harshly. At this point in their relationship, they’re on the friendlier side of acquaintances, as they’re willing to put effort into their partnership in order to progress towards their goals. And Dabi’s not the biggest asshole possible - he’s just indifferent and arrogant.)

(That bothers Shigaraki more than he’d like to admit.)

“You think Dabi’s doing something important right now?” Spinner questions.

“Yeah, probably getting high,” Twice scoffs, unaware of how correct he is. “Or not! Dabi’s a good guy, drug-free,” he suddenly adds, his previously patronizing tone replaced with one of nervous concern. 

“Twice. He kills people.”  

Not one to listen to common sense or to Mr. Compress in general, Twice shrugs, not at all phased, "at least he’s drug-free!”

“Well, I mean. Maybe he should do drugs because he’s a villain-” Twice suddenly contradicts himself with a supercilious tone. And Shigaraki can detect a nervous breakdown when he sees it. He grimaces, unsure of how to react. However, Toga just reaches to her side, where Twice’s mask lays, and quietly pulls it over his contorted expression and rambling mouth. His unintelligent blathering simmers into quiet hiccups. Thank God. You know, Dabi would’ve said something collecting to drag Twice back down to earth. He doesn’t even mean to, he just says whatever he wants and it always works out. 

Shigaraki dropkicks that thought out of his mind. 

“If Dabi doesn’t respond in an hour or so, we’re going to have to put off our next raid.” He snarls. They were planning on stopping a shipment of weapons so they could have something use as currency in the Underground. Normally, they’d rely on Kurogiri’s abilities to steal compartments of items, but without him, they depended on firepower as a distraction while Mr. Compress grabbed everything. Without Dabi, they can’t expect things to go as smoothly. They always have the Nomu, of course, but Shigaraki would prefer to not utilize them and diminish their stealth. 

“We can’t really afford to put off, Giran’s demand has been going up.” Spinner remarks. 

“Yeah but- are you shedding?” Spinner has the decency to appear embarrassed as he slowly lowers his claws from his leg, where scales are flaking off. Shigaraki grimaces and tries not to think about how if Dabi were there, that bitch would’ve commented on how much it looks like Shigaraki scratching off layers of skin on his neck. The knobs of his fingers twitch reflexively and he grits his teeth, his mood soured even further by the invasive thought.

“Anyways, this shipment of weapons is reportedly being guarded by soldiers this time due to our constant raids,” he snaps, only to pause before disgruntledly adding, “and without Dabi, we can’t expect to get out unscathed. Toga’s capable, but her quirk is useless if it’s just soldiers who don’t have good quirks- or any for that matter. For now, we lie low until Dabi returns.”

“Dabi always looks so lonely, I hope he’s having fun. Wish he wanted to have fun with us, though.” Toga breathes. Everyone goes silent at the random, uncharacteristic seriousness in her tone, her grin faltering. 

The patch of scarred skin near Shigaraki’s neck tingles uncomfortably over the delicacy of the ordeal.

An upset Toga means an upsetting situation.

“It’s been three days. Dabi’s been gone for three weeks before.” Mr. Compress hums.

“When Dabi returns, you can stab him,” Shigaraki offers his own form of comfort. 

“I don’t want to stab Dabi!” Toga whines. That’s a first. “While I want to drink his blood, and I want to get to know him more because I love him because he’s such a good hair-braider and he’s the only one who’ll sneak me into movies, I want him to be safe and loving me too,” she groans. Movies? “And Dabi already bleeds enough, he's like a mobile open wound, so he's just boring. Like. Why can't he be more fun? Like? Get rabies or something!” She gripes, her voice muffled by her scabby knees against her chest as she burrows her face between them. 

“Movies?” Twice questions, dejection seeping into his tone. “You guys watch movies? Movies sound like fun. Haven’t seen one in a while. Or maybe ever. I mean, movies are dumb who needs them? You do.”

“Only when I get really upset, like after Magne died. Dabi can’t deal with my emotions through communication because he sucks, so he bribes me with materialistic things,” she says matter-of-factly. Her vocabulary expanding to words beyond three syllables gives her statement an unusual and imaginative smug edge.

"Isn't that just a sugar daddy."

No one replies to that for a moment, before rather dismissively, Mr. Compress, not even bothering to look Spinner in the eye, says hollowly, "I pretend Not to See That. I Will Not See."

“I miss Dabi’s blood!" Toga steamrolls over Spinner's awful alternate reality with the grace and care of a SoundCloud rapper. "I could always see it on his staples. The blood between his colorful skin makes him so pretty!” Her eyes flush with sparkles, drastically changing her previously sorrowful demeanor. “He looks like a bruised apple,” she gurgles happily.

"He literally is a rotten apple," Shigaraki grunts. "Probably has worms, too."

“Do you want to make me bleed, Toga?” Twice questions with the pathetic excitement of a young puppy.

“No. I let people I love bleed. Dabi’s just an exception,” she states sorely. To the side, Mr. Compress chokes on a one-note bark of laughter at Twice’s dejected expression, which is somehow visible through his mask.

“K.O.” Spinner says from the side. This time, Shigaraki really does take his leave when Twice lunges at him.

Aizawa isn’t sure whether Dabi is a little shit on purpose, or just isn’t aware that his default character is glitchy and disturbingly there.

Normally, Aizawa can easily tune out Midoriya’s rambling, Bakugou’s shouting, and if necessary, Iida’s orders, which seem to increase in volume with every second his classmates ignore him. However, Dabi doesn’t even have to do anything for Aizawa to be overly-aware of his presence.

It’s not even the fact that he slaughtered people for reasons that Aizawa doesn’t even want to attempt to understand (he doesn’t deserve it). It’s just his character. It’s too loud, even when the loudest noise he’s probably ever made come from his stomach.

Pursing his lips, he sets aside his laptop. It was getting too hot to sit on his leg and the brightness of the screen was scorching to his eyes in the dim bedroom.

“Hey, Aizawa-”

Blearily, he glances at Yamada in a mute response. 

“Are you returning to class tomorrow?”

Aizawa muses. While he doesn’t care about how his choices would affect Dabi, he does want to attempt to procure an environment that would nurture any possible change in him. He may not have high hopes or expectations, but he already has low standards anyway. If something does happen, that means he’d be unexpectedly pleased. Besides, it’d be a failure on his part if he didn’t try his best, even in what’s likely a fruitless case.

He doesn’t want to blame his lack of effort on someone else. It's not fair to Dabi.

Therefore, he doesn’t voice the reasoning behind what he says next. “No. I already emailed Nezu about it.” No point in telling a room full of teachers that he doesn’t believe Dabi’s personality or attitude toward heroes will improuve on its own, especially with the subject in question currently on the bunk below him. Although he might not see his words as necessarily harsh or negative, he doesn’t put it past Dabi to interpret everything he says as insulting or humiliating.

“Okay. I’m guessing we’re sticking to the same schedule as today? I’ll take homeroom hours and whenever the kids don’t have a class, and we can ask for a substitute for your subjects?”

“Probably. Wait for Nezu to confirm, though.” Ectoplasm says, rolling up his matted, fuzzy socks. “Also, this is the first time in years since college that I ever roomed with anyone. It’s nice, and definitely a lot more pleasant than my previous experiences.  Last time I checked, my first roommate, who always ended up blackout drunk and never did their part of the chores, was still better company than my second one, who didn’t flush.”

“Wait, I was your second roommate," Yamada stills.

Ectoplasm lowers his reading glasses. “Exactly.” 

Before Yamada can create a cold-case murder, Dabi’s head appears over the top of Aizawa’s bunk, promptly startling Aizawa into clocking him in the head with the nearest object.

Heedless of the fact that he murdered Aizawa's resting heart rate and that he just got decked by an old, clunky laptop that's constantly running with a malfunctioning heatstroke, Dabi props his gritty chin against the wooden edge, utterly undeterred. “Oi, Aizawa.” 

“What.”

“I need to use the bathroom.” 

At this, he inhales sharply. He knows Dabi chose to ask at the last minute, after Aizawa had already submerged himself in his work and is in bed. Once he gets under the covers, it’s over for everyone else, and there’s no way Dabi hasn't picked up on that. 

But Dabi’s going to be annoying if he doesn’t get what he wants. He eyes Yamada, whose limp, washed hair is currently being tied to a coat hanger by Ectoplasm. If Dabi takes his damn washroom break, then at least he’ll have to deal with one less questionable person. “Yeah. Fine. Wait by the door for me,” he grunts.

Dabi’s maddening smirk splits, as he bounces off his bottom bunk and to the door. 

Not even bothering with the ladder and instead just sliding from his bunk to the floor, Aizawa follows and begins to supervise his walk down the hall and into the teacher’s singular bathroom, unlocking it for him.

He waits outside for Dabi to finish, and two minutes in the waiting process, he wishes that he’d brought his phone.

Two becomes five minutes, still without a single toilet flush to indicate that Dabi’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing.

Suspicious, Aizawa knocks sharply against the door.

“Dabi?” He calls firmly. He receives no response.

Cursing, he paws through his pajama pockets for the staff bypass key.

He doesn’t think Dabi would try something stupid; there isn’t even a window in this bathroom. The worst thing that he can even imagine him doing in there is using some illegal substance he snuck in. 

As he harshly jiggles the lock with his key, Aizawa’s finally hears a muffled voice from inside. “Yeah, yeah, shit just. Just give me a sec.” 

He gives a momentarily lapse of secondary silence, allowing the boy to stew in his panic inside, because he deserves it for literally making him hall-monitor him to the bathrooms like they're in elementary school, after he was already in bed. 

“Dabi, I’m coming in,” he says, resolute. It’s almost one in the morning, he is not doing this right now. Unlocking the door, he pushes it open, his mouvements controlled and passive as he did get a response, albeit a panicked one.

He expected to find the man with a cigarette or some pathetically limp roll of lye. He was even prepared to cover his mouth and nostrils with the collar of his shirt if he walked into a cloud of fumes.

Instead, he nearly runs into Dabi’s scrawny chicken leg, propped up against a sink that’s been stained red, while boy himself clutches sopping towel papers. They’re not soaked with just water, based on how they look like they’ve been dunked in very concentrated watermelon Kool-Aid.

His eyes run along the stretched, swollen, keloid-disturbed piercings within his living skin, welling with blood. Some of them are not even embedded with metal, as the staples had popped off.

“I." He stares at Dabi. "Listen. I don't want to make this uncomfortable for you-"

"It already is."

"By not commenting on this-"

"Just leave me on 'read' IRL. Just. Don't say anything."

"But I frankly don't even know what to make of this like, what."

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dabi laughs mirthlessly through clenched teeth. “Cleaning my staples.”

Aizawa squints.

"It looks like you're deconstructing your body like a Lego-man held together with zippers."

And now it's Dabi's turn to echo, "what."

"Isn't this a waste of paper?"

"Wow," Dabi gasps. "I'm so not eco-friendly, this literal personified forest-fire of a man, killing the trees-"

“Is this a daily thing for you?" Because Aizawa genuinely does not think he can deal with Dabi's sass right now, because his patience is thinner than the boy himself. 

At this, Dabi doesn’t respond, his lips exfoliating against one another as his jaw works in irritation, no doubt over Aizawa’s presence. “It’s not like I have showers often. The one I had earlier was probably the first in a while. Usually, I just do this. If I take a shower, I can’t really take care of specific areas of my body I should pay more attention to.” Aizawa contains a hiss. Open wounds sting something awful upon contact with water; how much physical pain does Dabi go through, letting water beat against his infected piercings?

“But I doubt your staples are supposed to come out often. Why’d they do that?” Aizawa inquires, squinting. At this, Dabi’s temper projects through shrinking pupils and a twisted scowl. The tightening of his grip creates a comical ‘squish’ from his handful of wet and sudsy towels. Aizawa ignores it in favor of asking, “Is it because of all the labor?”

The way Dabi's staples groan and shift painfully within their sockets when he sets down his leg is all the confirmation needed. Even as he looks him in the eye and gives a solid “no”, Aizawa’s already made up his mind. He internally curses. All they’ve done today was clean up the arena and Bakugou and Todoroki’s mess in the living room, with only the former concerning a considerable amount of physical activity. Of course, Dabi, whose entire body is probably running on adrenaline and fumes, could very well break down after just an hour of everything they’d done today. A school day lasts seven hours.

Dabi's body is literally as sturdy as Walmart's Great Value plastic water bottles.

“Dabi, we’re going to see Recovery Girl, and I’ll be sure to not push your body that hard again.”

“I’m fine, my body’s fucked up and there’s nothing you can do that’ll change it. And it’s not like I haven’t faced way worse. This is just some heavy lifting.”

“You’re not fine, you just don’t want help. And your body isn’t fit for heavy-lifting.” Aizawa catches a gleam in Dabi’s eyes, accompanied by a sharp exhale. He wonders exactly what part of his words wounded his pride. Or maybe he’s looking too deeply into things. “Dabi. I’m not doing this for my own pleasure either,” he harshly says. While he feels disgusted by the tone he’s adopting at the moment, he knows that it’s what Dabi needs in order to accept his offer. He needs Aizawa’s resentful attitude and bitter timbre. His pride and other coding won’t allow it otherwise.

It’s honestly a tragedy that the boy only recognizes comfort through pain and degradation.

Relief mutes the glittering caution and distrust in Dabi’s eyes. Aizawa can only stare at his posture, a sudden slouch highlighted by the creaking of his bones and whines of his staples.

Really, a pitiful figure.

“Follow me,” Aizawa says shortly, refusing to allow his tight and flippant demeanor to slip. Leading the villain to the medical wing, he finds Recovery Girl’s office and gestures for him to sit on one of the cots. Using the wing’s phone, he dials the doctor’s private number, which was only made known for use in emergencies.

“Hello?” Upon obtaining her distant greeting from the other side, he continues. “This is Aizawa Shouta, Eraserhead. I’m here to request your assistance for a certain staff member.” 

“Who is it? I already told young Midoriya that as a lesson, I’m not bandaging any non-life-threatening injuries until the next month. So unless he’s able to get me a raise-”

“No, not him." He pauses. "Wait. Can you even legally do that?"

"And? What's your point?"

Aizawa decides not to pursue this point, feeling a sense of camaraderie over her total apathy towards Midoriya's daily workout-breakdown zoomba regime.

"It's Dabi." 

There’s silence from the other end and he feels his stomach churn. Dabi does not need to experience a hero turning him down, especially since it probably wouldn’t be for the first time. It certainly wouldn’t help Aizawa at all. Finally, her response unravels the knot of tension sitting in the center of his lungs: “I’m on my way."

Hanging up the phone after thanking her, he turns to Dabi, who’s once again, doing his signature move of staring at him unnervingly without a definable expression. 

“Yes?”

“I didn’t know she wasn’t in her office. You shouldn’t have called.”

“Why wouldn’t I? Your body is injured, and probably due to my irresponsibility. Besides, it’s her job.” 

“I am fine. You’re overreacting,” Dabi grits out, hot anger flushing his cheeks with scarlet. “If you’re insistent, then we could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow. You’re hurt right now, and a lot of your wounds look infected. It’d be better to fix them all now, rather than later.” Dabi actually looks downright miserable, which is disconcerting. He hasn’t seen him so expressive, especially in a way that could be labeled “vulnerable” by someone as stony as the villain. 

“You shouldn’t have called her in.”

Aizawa stares.

The audacity.

"Then you shouldn't have called me out of bed. Looks like we're both going to be suffering tonight." He fails to not sound smugly resentful.

"That's different," Dabi snaps. His voice, hardened by years of immorality, sounded like the sickly whine of a wronged child for a second. Not for the first time that day, Aizawa finds himself intensely put off by knowledge that this villain is technically only a few years older than the seniors of this school. 

“It’s not like it fucking matters. I don’t give a shit what you guys do in the first place. I’m a villain, and always will be,” Dabi mutters. However, Aizawa’s been in this tiring game long enough to know that it’s not resignation colouring his tone. It’s indignation, sour and curdling his words into a ball of rot and decay to spit at Aizawa from the back of the classroom using a bendy straw. “You said so yourself, you don’t care.” 

“I don’t,” Aizawa says, not for himself, but to reassure the damaged piece of work that’s seated across from him at one in the morning, in a sleeping school with dark corridors, empty rooms, and hollow spirits. “Dabi. When I said I don’t care, it’s not because you deserve people not caring for you. It’s because I see you as someone I have no attachment to.” And Aizawa was too close, too close to saying he deserved medical attention and care as a human being. He’s not one for degradation, but if Dabi doesn’t value the lives of others, then why should society care about his? Yet there is an even more disorientating thought, that if he says Dabi deserves anything remotely kind or humane, it would anger him beyond reason. “Just because I happen to have an unprofessional opinion, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve anything outside of it.” Aizawa restrains himself from launching into a possibly-bullshit lecture on how Dabi has potential or the ability or whatever. All that would accomplish is screwing a scowl his face.

Dabi’s a minefield so unstable that even a bomb squad couldn't safely put him down.

A minefield that he keeps coming back to.

Vaguely, Aizawa suddenly feels indignant. He barely has the willpower to function throughout his classes and now he has to monkeybar his way through a warzone?

“But I don’t care. I don’t want this and I don’t care what you’re offering, whether or not ‘I deserve it’. All this does is piss me off and make you guys look foolish. Keep me around as an experiment if you want. But don’t push me around for your own benefit, thinking you’re hot shit for doing it. You’re feeding me, bandaging me, not because you care - and I don’t even want you to care so don’t bother changing up your words- but because you have to so you can say, ‘oh, I tried,’ when the media finds out about me and starts saying how disillusioned I am. You’re all just playing saints in a manipulative game you created.” 

For a second, Aizawa could see Touya Todoroki and how Dabi could have spawned from his recesses.

He has a feeling Touya Todoroki, has expressed the exact same sentiments Dabi did, to his father.

The ability to peek into Dabi’s past as Touya, so fascinating and captivating, grabs him by the spine and shakes- hard. If he looks for too long, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to blur those two enough identities to keep himself grounded in the reality of what Dabi has done.

“No, I didn’t force you to eat," Aizawa retorts. "I didn’t do anything for you.” He glances at the clock. It will be at least ten minutes before Recovery Girl arrives, since she lives off campus since the school doesn't allow her to house her cats. “I felt that if I offered, even out of responsibility rather than care, you would’ve been offended. You have a lot of pride, considering your situation.” His attention narrows in on how Dabi’s throat constricts, jutting out his jugular as his jaw screws tightly shut. Progress. At least he is affected by the words and not always impassive. It also means his responses aren’t limited to anger, but possibly also the same type of upset repression that dangerously toes the line of uncontrollable weeping that he often sees on Bakugou. Aizawa can work with that.

Aizawa finally brings his extended pause to an end with, “We don’t offer you help because you don’t want it, just like you said. But just because you’re not offered help, or any other opportunities, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” Just look at Todoroki Shouto, he thinks. Clearly there were options other than turning out the way you did.

“I can figure them out on my own.” Dabi replies nonchalantly, but the strain against his jaw is vicious now. 

And Aizawa, Aizawa so wants to grip the boy firmly, to tell him that he can’t, or at the very least, that he has shit judgment and he will literally fling him into an open pit of Minecraft lava the way he's seen Bakugou do it to his own friends when playing it on the TV through their rented Xbox. “Anything bad that could happen probably has over these past few days. You’re never going to get another opportunity like this. Don’t let it slip by,” Aizawa finally says. “Even if you hate it, even if you don’t want to-” even if you’re scared, he thinks, but he knows when to hold back. He doesn’t want to lose him. "At least try to see other perspectives. Maybe you think you’ve already seen it all, and what you’ve seen cannot be forgiven, but this is a completely different environment. This might not change your mind, but at least you can say that you tried.” Aizawa purposefully throws in an echo of Dabi’s previous words. “And if you don’t, then what does that say about you?” He leaves it up to interpretation, though he’s hoping Dabi will decide that if he doesn’t at least try to understand their side of things, that means he’s either scared (a coward, in Dabi’s eyes), or his viewpoints on society can’t be credible. 

Judging the unsettling tear in the puckered holes of the staples burrowed in the hollows of his cheeks, set off by the tightening of his jaw, Dabi probably interprets it that way, too.

“How was your meeting with Todoroki Shouto?” Aizawa changes the subject quickly to keep Dabi from stewing on it and internally combusting.

Dabi doesn’t react to the name aside from arching an eyebrow. A guise of nonchalance that Aizawa doesn’t like. “Him? Pretentious.”

“And not you?”

“Nah. I’m just an asshole who’s confident in the things I’ve worked for.” 

"You're a pyromaniac and a kidnapper."

"And I'm good at both of those things!"

Aizawa is going to launch him into the sun.

“Besides, Todoroki seems way too arrogant for someone who spouts narrow-minded shit.”

“Like what?”

At this, Dabi glances at Aizawa for the first time that night. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Elaborating on what he meant about Shouto meant explaining everything. He can’t just half-ass something as important as what the boy’s words meant to him. So Dabi drops the entire subject. 

Besides, the remnants of what Aizawa decided to dump on him are drowning him in a smoothie of erupting anger and probably prophesised sleep-deprivation.

Because he’s right. Even though he’s secure in his beliefs about heroes and the society built around them, he knows that if he doesn’t try to view things from the upcoming heroes’ perspectives, his own viewpoints become questionable. 

And the way Aizawa finished that little TedTalk, with that incorrigible gaze, really fucks his goat.

Now that Aizawa’s officially soured his mood and killed off his will to live, he’s barricaded himself in his own mind, completely ignoring the hero.

That might’ve been a mistake. There’s a reason he never focuses on himself for more than a minute. Now he’s too aware of the white walls around him, the red cross symbol plastered everywhere, and the weird paper crinkling beneath him on a medical bed.

He always hated hospitals and anything remotely related to them.

When he watched his father take Shouto to a trusted family doctor who wouldn’t expose their secrets, he never thought he’d hate hospitals more than the doctor himself. The doctor who documented Touya’s burns, Fuyumi’s irreversible tremors, Natsuo’s bruises, which suspiciously grew alongside his newly sowed temper, and Shouto’s burn. Touya would watch him quietly file the information in a cabinet coated in dust, confidentiality shielding it from public eyes. 

Then he actually visited a hospital for the first time in his life. He remembers not even being eleven yet and sitting next to Shouto’s hospital bed, half of his brother’s face hidden within a tomb of tight bandages. The hospital came home with them a week later in the form of the overwhelming minty smell of the greasy ointment Fuyumi would slather across the burn.

His mother, in the confines of a hospital, still locked in her room and dreamily gazing out the window. 

He hadn’t visited her. Wouldn't visit her. And if Touya had abandoned his mother; Touya, the son whose face hadn’t been cradled in the soft, calloused palms of his mother’s hands since the age of seven, then Dabi would just spit back that she abandoned him first. 

Abandoned him due to his shock of orange hair, hardening eyes, and irreversible temper, for that outweighed the memories of her calling him strong. Strong Touya, who’d watch over Fuyumi and Natsuo, a duty that he suffered for.

She can hate him for all that Dabi cares. And for all Touya cares? 

Well, who’s Touya?

Through weak, silent hiccups and the cries of children in a desolate land, he cursed her to rot in that hospital eons ago. 

Like he is now.

Sitting here, exposed by torn seams and bent, bloody staples, seated at the edge of a medical bed with Aizawa beside him. This isn’t even a hospital.

If anything, it actually gives him the same feeling that the family doctor’s office did. He fucking hated that place and burned it a year after he became Dabi, only to regret it. Now he’s left shivering awake at night wondering if the doctor saved the only documented evidence of their abuse online, or if Dabi really destroyed the only copy due to his own stupidity and impulsive actions. Which shouldn’t matter anyways, because it’s not like anyone would ever bring their father to court (but that reason still isn't enough to dull the edge of his remorse).

Through sharpened vision that feels strangely disconnected from his actual mind, he warily eyes his too-familiar, too-uncomfortable surroundings, then Aizawa, who’s glancing at the clock.

It’s not like they really give a shit about him. Aizawa’s countenance is naturally bitchy and unforgiving, a perfect mask against everything, but Dabi is confident that Aizawa doesn’t believe in him. 

And why should he?

Dabi can’t be saved. He doesn’t want to be saved because he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need kindness, gift-wrapped in pity and shallow tears that couldn't drown his past no matter how much they cry. He needs brutal truth that cuts like glass to challenge the thickness of his burnt skin, harsh enough to show that it cares enough to be candid.

“Dabi, what’d you talk about with Todoroki?”

God. We’re still talking about this?

“We went over this,” he says dryly, already with half a mind to simply ignore the man.

“Do you hate him? Are you disappointed in how he turned out, as a growing hero?” Those questions are innocent enough, but they still alarm him. They’d be very fitting if Aizawa knew about his relationship with the Todorokis. It’s something he’s beginning to suspect more and more, and its the lack of confirmation jars him. 

At least he doesn’t even have to lie for an answer. Dabi snorts. “Yeah, of course I’m disappointed.” He mutters. He’s disappointed because he thought that out of all of his siblings, even his own twin, Shouto would be the most like him. Not enough to get his hopes up, but the reality of it still affects him. Seeing and talking to him, hearing the disdain coloring the boy’s timbre, something he had fully prepared himself for, left him unsure about his own decisions and who he became. Not sure how to think. Maybe he's disappointed that Shouto hasn’t crashed and burned like he did. Sure, he pulled himself out of the rubble of his disaster as Dabi, but he still had to shatter into pieces in order to pull a Frankenstein by using those fragments, moutivation, and some fishing wire. 

He’s an awful person and he’s fully prepared to admit that.  But he’s also someone who was fucked over by heroes to the point that the trauma is his only motivation. So of course he’s disappointed that Shouto ended up wanting to be a pro-hero.

He’s disappointed that the only person who could understand him is also the person who he can never be. All because of the one qualification that truly separates them and marks him as the defective failure.

It’s lonely on the bottom.

But it’s dumb to reminisce, and whatever mud has been stirred with a sharp stick in the pit of his stomach is his own fault for failing to entirely annihilate the hope that he’ll have company. Maybe having that conversation, proving that his relationship with Shouto is shattered to the point of no return, is better in the long run.

(It’s lonely at the bottom.)

Because Shouto made it. Shouto got past his father and is so like Dabi in many ways, but the rattling line that keeps their lives parallel yet never crossing, is the death of closure, keeping their lives at a permanent distance. Dabi’s just desperately pathetic, even though he knows he’s not- because he can’t be. He has to have a purpose and his purpose has to have an effect and he has to see Endeavor dead. Shouto was always the golden boy, not that Dabi blames him for his dad’s favouritism. He knows it’s not necessarily a good thing either (he just wishes that he was favoured in that way too, not seen as a last resort or a “make do with what you have” object), but of course, he’s seen more of his dad than Shouto might have.

They’re still so similar.

Similar enough, at least, to bother him, to irritate Dabi’s burnt and infected waterlines, to make him want to place another burn on Shouto’s face (strong Touya. Watched over Fuyumi and Natsuo, but never Shouto. His father stole their brother away from them, and his mother didn’t trust him around him).

When he saw Shouto at night, wanting a glass of water, all he wanted to do was bury his nails into the boy’s shoulder and look him dead in the eye, pretending that desperation and hate aren’t seeping out of the seams of his stitches as he screams: how did you do it? How did he get past his father and become a hero and continue liking heroes after everything that happened? How is he so naive to not see that he can’t change it from the inside out, that the entire infrastructure must be torn to oblivion? Or maybe how could he see it that way and not Touya? (How did he end up so much like Touya, who was hated by his mom because he was a monster like his dad, yet be genuinely loved by her even though she knew he looked enough like Endeavor to sear his face with water? The same face that Touya had?).

How can Shouto see that image of a good hero when Touya Todoroki stayed awake for years of his life staring at his bedroom ceiling, battered and disgusted, attempting to find hope or other possibilities that wouldn’t ultimately lead to a path of villainy? (And so what if he chose to become Dabi? Dabi isn’t Touya).

“You seem to be thinking a lot.”

He simply glares tiredly at Aizawa, who remains unaffected by it. “It got to you when you saw Todoroki,” he continues.

“Of course it did. He’s the son of the first-ranking pro-hero.” Dabi chuckles weakly, amusement and aloofness guarding his overheating mind. 

It wasn’t just that.

He saw Shouto and his first thought was that he was so tall. Tall, firm shoulders and pronounced features. Dabi dared to think that Shouto was actually broader in terms of build and limbs than him, despite retaining the slimness of a young, developing boy. 

Then Shouto swore like eighty times and he silently cursed Natsuo, because when he left, he had instilled good, Christian morals into his little brother.

His unintentional snark and oblivious nature was new. 

Dabi knows that he has that quality- Hawks never fails to bring it up. But Shouto wasn’t supposed to. He was a rambunctious eleven-year-old. Although shy and submissive to authority and other students his age, at home, he was searching for adventure, always rambling and talkative about the books he read, the strange bug species he found in the garden, or what new burn ointment Fuyumi found that worked better. He always talked about Fuyumi. He was never shy about what he wanted- begging him to take him out at night to the nearest McDonalds while father was asleep, or even to the 7/11 around the block to buy pastries. 

It’s chilling to reach the conclusion that he was probably Shouto’s only friend up until UA. He lived the most important social stages of his life without other friends. 

No wonder the Shouto he met lacked luster and the same talkative nature that he even showed strangers when they were younger. Shouto wasn't even shy to scream at neighbor they hated for always threatening to call the police on them for “making too much noise” (it’s not like they could control Endeavor's yelling, Fuyumi's Furby whose eyes glowed in the dark and would randomly wake up even after they ripped out its batteries, or Natsuo's overall personality as a questionable subspecies of the same Furby genre).

He knew Shouto when he was a kid. Even if they were strangers invading each others’ private lives now. Shouto liked tea eggs, cold soba with enough soy sauce to kill his liver, and The Little Prince read in Fuyumi’s teacher voice. He liked All Might, shadow puppets, and that one Indiana Jones film they always borrowed from the library to watch at night, bundled up in blankets in his room with their old CD player. As Indiana Jones cracked his whip, he and Shouto would clumsily mouth the English phrases Jones would state at the climax of the movie, skimming the subtitles to know how cool they sound. “You lost today, kid. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

And then, one that Dabi took to heart, how Indy snarled each time his father referred to him by his given name- ”Don’t call me Junior.”

God.

He’s in the same building as Shouto for the first time in six years and he already knows he’s lost him. He never really had Shouto in the first place. But the way he’ll sometimes automatically think of him the moment he stepped by a dandelion puff field or Family Mart selling hot tea-eggs, even if he doesn't feel anything while doing so, is startling.

That those memories are so alive and prominent in his identity, prepared to resurface even unwillingly, disturbs him. Shouto probably doesn’t even remember him past a few things. In fact, once he started growing older and was pushed into training, their visits and talks lessened to the point where the year before Touya left, they couldn’t muster a smile or maintain eye-contact those rare times they saw each other. He would wish to connect, that they’d have a chance to talk, but each time they encountered each other in the house, Shouto would go find Fuyumi while pretending that he didn’t see Touya. And Touya wouldn’t chase after him.

They fell apart into strangers, and Touya watched.

The year he left, when he noticed Endeavor grabbing Shouto’s wrist, hard and demanding, he had stepped in to yank his brother away from Endeavor, teetering on his heels as he spat in his father’s face while the man slapped him. 

But it wasn’t the smack that left him reeling. It was that during the commotion, the kid shouted. The second Touya laid a hand on Shouto’s delicate, bird-boned wrist to pull him behind him, the kid shrieked.

It was purposeful, too, Shouto knew who grabbed him. His eyes were grounded, clear with glittering suspicion, and staring directly at Touya as he recoiled, a snarl tearing across his too-young face. He didn’t even notice his father depart after the hit because the devastation bearing down on his soul was no longer just from him. Yes, Shouto apologised right away after, awkwardly because they were strangers, but by that point, Touya already knew he had been forgotten by another family member.

It’s not Shouto’s fault. Shouto, who was only visited by Fuyumi because she could properly care for his wounds while Touya could only engage in arguments with their father after Shouto left the dojo. Shouto, who wasn’t scared of Natsuo because his mother didn’t feed disdain through fearful gazes.

The fact that Touya scared mom had scared Shouto. Shouto, who was too young to properly build a visual of Touya beyond his temper and snarls and was constantly kept away from him for more than a year, had a distorted view of his eldest brother.

He couldn’t protect Shouto as Touya.

If Aizawa wasn’t here right now, Dabi would clamp his head in his hands, allow his stuttering heart and uncontrollable breathing to amplify in the confines of his arms, and remind himself that he’s here as Dabi. If Shouto looked at him and knew he was Touya, knew that his older brother Touya became this and his mother’s suspicious glances, father’s leers, and his own avoidance of him were right, he thinks he’d spew out whatever gunk is left in his body. But he doesn’t. He just stares at the clock, struggling to match his heartbeat to its ticks because he can’t afford to break now. Shouto’s opinion doesn’t matter to him as Dabi. And Touya, if Touya even exists anymore, doesn’t have the right to judge Shouto’s opinion.

He can’t think about this anymore. 

He makes himself focus on the environment. The sterile, hospital-esque environment. 

It's just two souls in a medical room full of Dabi’s ghost. Ghosts that shouldn't exist because he had stopped thinking about Shouto’s teary eye contrasting with his bandaged one, of his mother’s wispy hair blending in with her papery hospital gown. Ghosts that exist in the whispers of Natsuo's distant and volatile shouts that contrast Fuyumi's eerily loud sobs.

He has no right to think of them, and he shouldn't care about them because that was Touya’s job. Not Dabi’s. And Touya, the everlasting disappointment, had failed. Jobs like that don’t give second chances.

Then the door opens, shattering the surreal atmosphere shrouding him and Aizawa.

“Hello.” A short granny totters in, and Dabi’s taken back, because damn, considering this, he wouldn’t be surprised if half of UA's staff turned out to be nursing home residents. 

This is the second old person he’s seen trotting around the hallways of this godforsaken school. 

“This is Recovery Girl.” 

That’s not a girl. She’s not a senior, she’s an elderly senior.  

Dabi awkwardly nods in greeting. Normally he’d completely ignore heroes, or most people in general, even when directly addressed, but he’s tired. He wants to get this over with, even if it means being slightly more compliant than usual.

The grandma is staring at him, and her thin, wrinkly lips are pursed. At least, more than is usual for a granny. “I can’t use my quirk on him. He’s too weak.” He bristles at that, because she literally looks like her entire spinal chord would shatter if he tipped her over. “I’ll have to patch him up traditionally. After this, be sure you let him rest well and gather enough energy. Then take him back, and I’ll attempt to heal him as much as his body can handle.” She finishes her initial assessment by reaching toward a cabinet stocked with supplies, pulling out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads, medical staples, a disposable medical needle and string, and pricier things that he can’t identify. His thighs and tongue go numb at the sight.

He’s always cleaned and crudely patched his wounds himself. He doesn’t like the idea of someone else prodding around his body and applying new staples or stitches. Dabi can feel his lungs crinkling dryly as she approaches him while snapping on latex gloves. He hates himself for it, but his eyes, wide and dry, dart to Aizawa.

Dabi internally curses when Aizawa’s eyes immediately clap with his, drinking in the sight of fear that he failed to bury in the depths of his gaze.

“How long will this take?” Aizawa questions.

“To do this all individually, and then apply antibiotics and bandages? Maybe around three hours maximum. I’ve taken blood tests to check-” Recovery Girl's explanation is making him feel light-headed and she hasn't even done anything yet. Worse yet, apparently heedless of his discomfort, she continues on, “- for diseases and infections. Young man, are you sexually active in any way?”

“If you’re taking my blood tests, I don’t think it matters how I got my diseases. But no,” Dabi responds. He simply isn’t interested in the idea of anything remotely sexual. Even if he was, there’s really no way anyone would find a person like him physically attractive, and secondly, he literally has the stamina and pain sensitivity of a scoliosis patient. He can't.

“Hm. I see. Anyways, Dabi, your blood tests show concerningly low macromolecule and vitamin intake, and you look like you have disturbingly low bone density, but I can’t be sure without a test. Though I’m sure I'm right judging by your stature." And he swears she's looking for a fight. "You’re also fit for a lot of other health problems if you don’t have them already. Really, I’m surprised you’re still alive and functioning.” Dabi feels like that’s a given, so he doesn’t respond. “And I suggest you tell me if you feel physical pain anywhere-” he wants to laugh at that, “- or any other signs of discomfort. I don’t have medical files on you-" Even if you knew about Touya, you still won’t find anything, he thinks. “-so I won’t know how to help you without your input.”

“I ain’t telling you anything, and I don’t want your help," Dabi says. 

The granny completely ignores him and turns to Aizawa. “He’ll have to come in daily though, for me to check on his bandages and to reapply gauze and bandages. We can set up a schedule later.” And hey, he came here under the impression that this was a one-time thing. He whips his head over to Aizawa, whose expression probably has not changed in the last thirty years of his sleep-deprived life, making sure utter betrayal is scribbled across his taunt countenance.

“We. We shouldn’t do this. You guys both have work in a couple hours. You’ll end up going to sleep late if you do this. I’ve lived like this for so long, I can last another day.” Dabi grunts. He’s not doing it for their sake, but he makes it sound like it to convince them to let him free. Just the sight of the old grandma with frail, veiny hands threading the medical string through its hooked needle is sending a jolt of anxiety to curb-stomp all his nerves.

Granny looks at Aizawa, something deadpanned in her countenance. "Remind me to set him up with a school counselor, as well, as I'm not professionally trained to listen his excuses."

And elderly or not, Dabi will not hesitate to square up, and knock her dentures into the back of her throat to watch her choke. 

"Really." He grits. "I'm fine. You must be tired," the same way I am of your bullshit.

“Sweetie," and he's literally going to throw hands, "this is my job, I have to be on the clock no matter what. Besides, these look painful.” 

Well duh, he inwardly rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t give a shit. Pain is simply something he just had to grow accustomed to, and he did quite well, considering how he still hasn’t broken apart like Legos.

“Eraserhead, thank you for calling me here. You can leave and grab some rest.” Recovery Girl motions towards the door and Dabi pointedly doesn’t look at Aizawa. Honestly, he doesn’t want him here. There’s no way he’s getting through this without hitched breaths and stuttering flinches, or at the worst, fucking tears.

But at the same time, Aizawa is probably the only hero, the only adult, and essentially only person in this entire hellish environment of miniature satans, dead memories, and spiraling sense of uselessness and self-deprecation who can transport him out of his thoughts. Sure, his methods of doing so are anger-inducing, self-righteous scorning rants that force Dabi to reevaluate some shit even though Aizawa frankly has no right to do such, but still. Works out.

He might not trust this fucker, but there’s this sense of reliance, that Aizawa’s a good man. A good hero. Really- the best out of the worst. Stain might approve, and Dabi, more possessive on the ideology that good heroes don’t exist as much as Stain probably believes, can’t really discount the realness of them either. And maybe he doesn’t care if there are good heroes, because even with them the entire system is corrupt, but it’s nice knowing that decent men exist despite it.

There are liars and selfish heroes who want everything that comes with the title without really fulfilling the morals of one, but at least Aizawa’s the type to be candid about it, if he even is that type. He doesn’t seem like he wants any title. Unlike every other hero he’s interacted with. He's also not stupidly self-righteous, such as Chicken Nuggets, who sometimes arrives with chips that he ditches at their spot for Dabi to take home because he’s a fucking waste of money. He's a definite liar. The man’s a stereotyped hero through and through - he’s coded to be selfless and kind to others, kind enough to bury himself deep in a sketchy affiliation with the type of people he’d directly disapprove of for the better good. 

Hawks is manipulative and has his own internal moral ideology built from rusted nails, charisma, and empathy that lets him see past the plastic nature of the hero society- empathy that also wouldn’t agree with the League’s view on innocent lives being nothing more than acceptable losses. 

Hawks could never be a villain, even if he’s able to understand their platform and view on the hero society. That’s because Hawks can’t do what they do: dig themselves a grave by assigning values on human lives, and making decisions for them that they have no right to make.

Something about Aizawa being here is like the bitter truth. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t straight up ask Aizawa if he found Dabi a hopeless case. It’s not like he doesn’t already know the answer. And he’s not a coward. It’s not fear.

It’s not. Because he wants to be a hopeless case. He has to be a hopeless case (if he’s not, then that means everything he’s done wasn’t necessary. Him cutting out Fuyumi, ditching Shouto and Natsuo, his mom, killing all those people, would be considered ultimately pointless. It'd mean he was running away, and that Touya, not failing because he couldn’t do it, but because he wouldn’t do it).

(Dabi does not know what he'd do with himself if that was the case.)

“No, I’ll stay. I have paperwork to do, I’m going to grab that and come back down.” Aizawa finally says, and Dabi can’t find it in his exhausted self to even hate himself for the relief that massages the wrinkles out his forehead. 

And Aizawa stays, up to the last swathe of one of the countless rolls of bandages Recovery Girl used on him. By this point, he feels like a Taco Bell wrap, and he is frankly not here for it. He can’t imagine sleeping like this. All his wounds (so his entire body) is still stinging from whatever balm she slathered on, after bubbling from being washed with hydrogen peroxide.

He doesn’t thank Recovery Girl, but nodded awkwardly instead.

Aizawa hadn’t said anything throughout the three hours, him tapping away on his crappy laptop, filling the empty room with ASMR. He hadn’t even flinched when Dabi protested against removing his shirt and pants. He currently feels depressingly upset that he was overreacting over stripping. He utilises and shows-off his scars on his face. He isn’t sure why he’s suddenly against exposing the extent of them, as they shroud his hips, thighs, chest, and ankles.

And now, his limbs stiff with swathes of white, and some of his staples replaced with sterilized ones and bits of his deeper lacerations stitched and plastered underneath a band-aid, he feels itchy in all those areas that he can’t even scratch. Cool. His joints, feeling tight and squeezed within his dead skin and grinding against one another, and his body tugging at the metal clips and in pain, he wonders if visiting Recovery Girl each day and just disinfecting his wounds really mean anything. Because in the end, the pain that he’s lived with for years due to his scars and long-term effects from them aren’t just going to go away, and it’s not like another infection is going to hurt more. These three hours weren’t worth fighting off an irritated wound. Three hours of swirling silence, numbness along his thighs and tailbone, and dread as the moment to slide off the bed grows closer, as he knows the moment he does that his staples will catch brutally against his flesh. 

But worse of all, he had three hours of diverging from his surroundings and into his mind, feeling a horrifyingly large pit gape at the bottom of his lungs as he’s deprived of reality, watching impassively as his memories tear along his veins like it’s the dots of some paper, showing the way to cut. 

And he has to do this daily?

All he knows is that he’s grateful towards Aizawa’s silence, yet, angry that Aizawa’s choice to stay forced him to feel that for him in the first place. Because there’s no way these three hours weren’t a sense of curious hell for him too.

As they return to the dorm, awkwardly side-by-side in the spacey hallways, they don’t say anything either, and Dabi remembers when he first came, he didn’t really want to. Yet, he suddenly does, a day after being forced through torture from the very same man.

It’s the same emotion that procures whenever he’s slouching next to Twice or Shigaraki- wanting to interact not because he wants to socialise, but because they’re curious, and so is he, in the sense like he’s a cat who found a new tattered thread of an old rug. Aizawa’s just another raggedly split yarn sprouting out the edge of the ugly rug.

“Dabi,” Aizawa begins, as they stop in front of their dorm room.  “In a couple hours you have to wake up to meet Pro-Hero, Hawks.” He says, with knotted lips that express too many possible emotions for Dabi to accurately interpret. 

“Fun.” He replies, too exhausted and mentally not alive and just drained because he fucking spent seven hours cleaning up after children, he has no will to even think about the words leaving his mouth.

“I personally wasn’t sure if I wanted you to meet a pro-hero so quickly, knowing your view on them.” Dabi snorts. “But Hawks has an interesting personality. I’m hoping you’re willing to give him a chance, because I know he would for you.” Dabi’s guts clench at the irony of this situation. He did give Hawks a chance, simply because he could possibly be of use, even if he knows Hawks could never be one of them. He’s not underestimating Hawks’ persistence and willingness to indulge in the morally compromising, but he knows he won’t agree with the League’s own moral code.

Hawks may be the light-hearted, fun hero that plays suave to the media, but he’s seen his determination backing up his belief of whatever he views to be right justice. They may have different ideals and moral compasses guiding them through their dark journeys in cloudy nights, but he doesn’t doubt that their willingness to wade through blood is almost parallel. Hawks may say to simply ignore the bad and focus on the good, but Dabi says to throw the whole society out and rebuild it from scratch. Much more effortless. And fun.

Hawks is dangerous, even if he’s not qualified to be part of the League. 

He has to be careful with how he talks to Hawks.

He also dreads it too. Because though he’d take pleasure in Hawks struggling to not utterly blow his cover, he’d want Dabi to “believe in the good”, to visualise heroes the way he does, and he’s already receiving that unoriginal lecture from deadbeat, monotone Aizawa who has no passion in his face and no light in his eyes. 

Someone’s going to die if it’s someone as stubborn and persistently animated as Hawks, and god he hopes it's himself.

“Dabi?”

“Hm? No, I heard you. Yep, can’t wait to meet this McDonald’s mascot.”

Toga’s upset.

And no one can help that.

The way that Spinner seems remotely sympathetic yet unconcerned about the source of her sadness upsets her, even though she can’t really blame him. Although she loves him and his company, they’re not really close (yet). And Twice just cries with her. When he cries, she wants to cry more. Her crying only produces stress on his part.

She misses Dabi. And she’s scared for him as well. At least if he was on a murder spree, incinerating bodies to produce a hazy bonfire composed by streamers of gold and red and blue , he could’ve invited her along. She loves his fire. They never fail to test her impulse-control and tempt her to try and capture a few of their beautiful, sea-glass lights in the palms of her hands.

He even promised to take her with him the next time he decided to use his quirk in such a dramatic manner, since she wanted to make authentic s’mores in the prettiest way possible. The bigger the fire, the hotter, the more intense, the more vibrant it is in the vortex of nothingness that always surrounds their world. 

She even has a bag of stale marshmallows and a half-eaten chocolate bar Dabi gifted her after snatching it from Giran’s house, all tucked away in her ratty pillowcase. Dabi hates sweets, and while he doesn’t particularly like her, she knows he prefers her company over the others! At least, he prefers her enough to take her to visit the blue lights. 

And s’mores!

The rats got into her graham crackers though, which makes her sad and angry. But it’s not like rats knew she was saving them for a special occasion. She can’t just kill them knowing that it’s not really their fault. (That didn’t stop her from dissecting a large one that she found sniffing behind the cracked toilet bowl in their bathroom. It was just too cute for her not to try and find out what made it so adorable. She made sure to treat it with care so that it knew it was loved at least once in its life. She knows it would’ve died without that experience otherwise, therefore she took the liberty of honouring it through guts and pins).

Trotting along the sidewalk, absent-mindedly avoiding the cracks in the cement, she peers through the broken windows of the impoverished neighborhood she wandered into. 

She wonders if the children she saw the other day are still around.

There was a cute girl, perhaps around her age, with a waifish figure built out of pitiful bird bones, and large, very blue eyes, like Dabi’s, set deep in the hollows of her sockets. 

They’re friends, and Toga wants to approach her sometime soon. She’s cute. 

Toga’s mind quickly invents a photo reel of the girl’s dismembered parts slick with blood.

A part of Toga always feels a little uncertain of this. While the sight of such a dolled up photoshoot makes her cheeks flush over the excitement and joy of partaking in its beautiful creation, a part of her wonders if maybe she shouldn’t constantly indulge in this act. It always feels like the people who become her creations never really appreciate it the way she does. It’s weird; no matter how hard she tries, that feeling appears to be a constant variable amongst her models. 

She supposes she’ll just have to keep on trying.

With a groan, she comes to the conclusion that no children are going to show up this late at night, especially not the girl she was planning on following home to learn more about. She supposes she’ll have to find entertainment back at home. Her mood worsens. Usually, that entertainment is Shiggy (who’s not in a good mood after cancelling the raid), Twice (who’s probably still crying - and her heart simply shatters at that notion), and Dabs. 

Right. Dabi.

Coming out here, wandering around with only her pet knife for company, she was hoping that Dabi might just appear, or maybe she’d find a distraction like the girl. In reality, she’s just infested with sadness to the point that it’s burrowing through her organs. That’s not cute at all. She’s worried to the point where glitter might spew from her guts, not to mention slightly lost. Literally. She’s not entirely sure which street she’s on. 

That is, until she finds Shigaraki, sulking ahead like her. She had lost the skip in her step once she started thinking of Dabi (not like he really left her thoughts at all), but now...

“SHIGGY!” She shrieks vivaciously, her spirit slightly revived. But overall, Dabi’s presence (or lack of it, really) still overwhelms her reality. Even as she approaches Shigaraki, delighted to find another member to join her, everything feels like a film, and she’s the audience. 

Dabi’s not here. He’s no longer playing in this act.

Her fingers twitch. 

She wants to stab him, to know his flesh and pumping blood is alive and physically staining the tips of her fingers as evidence. Stabbing him draws her out from being a bystander, a little girl who can’t visualize herself as anything else, into being an important actor for this moment, of this reality that others bear witness to. 

And she wants to play in the same script as Dabi, preferably forever.

“Toga, I was looking for you,” Shigaraki sighs. “Twice was supposed to come with me, but he’s too busy crying.” He grunts. At this, Toga tilts her head, her grin expanding mischievously. 

“Aww, that’s sweet! Shiggy, I was just wandering around. I love you too!”

She can’t see Shigaraki’s face, but she ignores whatever expression he must be making behind his unkempt bangs. All she knows and comprehends is that Shigaraki loves her, and she needs something like that right now. Or maybe Shiggy doesn’t love her. That’s okay too. He just thinks that. She also used to think she couldn’t love. “But Twice, ah, we should get home quickly,” she says determinedly. She doesn’t want Twice to cry.

“You’re lost.” It wasn’t even spoken like a question. “Follow me,” Shigaraki orders lightly, gesturing for her to follow. Skidding up to his side, her head barely reaching his bony shoulder, she glances at his right hand. She always wants to hold his hand. To know what his hands feel like, knobby and flaking skin from the crevices of his palm, with blood crusting in the grooves of his fingernails. She wants to slot her fingers through his fingers and watch blood explode from her hand.

But right now, his hand is stiff in a crusty cast held together by Dabi’s old medical staples and scotch tape, the ointment slathered on his raw flesh probably expired. 

She wants to see his hand, see the exposed joint dusted red, but Shiggy hadn’t taken off his My Little Pony sticker cast yet.

No touching . If she rips off the cast, then she’d kill all the ponies. So she lets her arms continue to swing by her side before retrieving a switchblade stabbed into a fold of her skirt as if it was a sheathe, simply to open and close it for the clicky sound. After a couple of seconds of that repeated action, Shigaraki grumbles, “can you stop that sound?”

“Hm, nope! It’s nice,” Toga comments. And perhaps she was too mesmerised by the sound, by the calming repetition of the anxious and hastening clicks of her switchblade, trembling in excitement to halt its noises in a sudden to land on the blade jutted out to its full length, before plunging into something soft and squishy and oozing gold and shimmers that contrasts the hardness of the clickity-clacks and rings-

She didn’t even feel the first jab into her neck and could barely digest the growl ripped out Shiggy beside her. Buckling as her body withers, smacking and bringing down Shiggy, who was next to her, the shriek tunnels out of her throat as an uncute wheeze. Victim to her sudden and unexplained instability, she’s scared, and it feels like mud pie and dirt soup with wilted leaves clog her arteries, filling her lungs. And the dirty feeling isn’t because of the pain from the pavement greeting her in a hug as her body flails on it against her will like a gutted fish, but because everything’s happening too fast and what about Shiggy what’s happening to Shiggy-

Her ears, growing lavender cotton and bubblegum swirls that she can vaguely see alongside the splotches of black shrouding her view, can somewhat decipher that it’s Shigaraki’s voice that’s shouting and snarling above her.

And that goes silent too, and though her heartbeat can’t quicken and it simply won’t move and for a second she thinks anti-climatically that maybe it’s simply going to slow to a stop, she knows that fear is still stimulating parts of her body that’s barely responsive. 

Her gaze, lolling wildly in its field of vision, pursuing a lost goal of trying to locate Shiggy, fixates through a sheen of tears on a pair of boots next to her face that she doesn’t recognise, and are too polished and fresh to belong to a resident of this neighborhood.

And her fear quickly takes the backseat as her anger flares up. Toga sees red because she was already upset, mad, and terrified and suddenly this is happening, because of this person. This person, who’s probably stressing out Shiggy, Shiggy whose hand is hurting after their last fight with the new villain, and giving her dried glue and glitter that lost its sparkle. That’s mean, and clearly, they’ve never experienced love or actual consideration of others’ because how could they-

Vaguely, though her hands are too numb to be the reason to tell her she dropped Switchy, she knows that her blade is no longer in her grasp and if it was, it would’ve been useless in her limp hands. It’s as if wet cement hardened in her bloodstream because her limbs are too heavy, heavy like the fog clouding up her mind and her eyes. All Toga can see and think now through the haze of scarlet are crimson clouds crying happy, holographic tears of sticky red where Dabi’s waiting underneath them on a sunflower field. The sunflowers themselves are spotting human eyes gathering in their pits of seeds, with thorns that are diamond-sharp, jutting out their blackened stems that reminds her of gross licorice. Dabi’s laughing, trampling on the flowers, dancing with Shigaraki next to him who’s bonding with him. They notice her. They wave at her. 

Other people appear. People that she encountered who accepted her or didn’t care if they didn’t understand her and felt no need to judge her, are stabbing their fingers against the thorns of the sunflower stems, every eye protruding out from all of the flowers are fixated on her even as the people move them around. 

Sunflowers always face the sun.

The blood welling on the pads of the peoples’ fingers are held into a thumbs-up towards her, gesturing for her to show them her love.

And though her consciousness ceases along with her spasms, the image of Magne wildly gesturing for her to join them underneath a hailstorm of limbs remains vivid up until the very last second.

Chapter Text

“I saw him.”

It was so dramatically spoken, that Jirou nearly trips over Todoroki’s gangly-ass leg. “Oh, that’s nice. Who?” Midoriya inquires curiously, spooning curry into his mouth from his tray.

Jirou normally doesn’t sit amongst them, but recently, her lunch group consisting of her, Koda, and Tokoyami had gradually incorporated itself with Midoriya’s usual group. She seats herself across from Todoroki, next to Momo who greets her with a wave. Flushing, Jirou beams back. She never thought she’d expand her relationships and connections to someone almost contradictory of her likes and character, such as Momo. It’s refreshing, and she truly enjoys Momo’s presence. 

“Dabi.” Todoroki replies, his usual deadpanned tone and visage ruining the dramatics of his answer, but still able to draw a gasp out of Aoyama.

And Midoriya, apparently.

Midoriya’s spoon clatters in his esophagus like a utensil stuck in the garbage disposal, that’s only cemented through the inhuman sound that fights it way through his throat. Yep. Garbage disposal. Iida smacks the small boy’s back, sending the spoon flying out and clattering loudly in a puddle of spit and curry on the table.

No one seems to notice, however, considering the rest of the table’s stillness, that’s only disturbed by Mineta’s low whine of despair tables down.

“What’d you guys talk about?” Kaminari asks, hushed, his eyes wide and curious.

Jirou’s heart races.  Dabi Todoroki. Dabi is a Todoroki, Dabi is Shouto Todoroki’s brother, probably elder brother DabiisaTodo-

She shoves a scoop of mushed peas into her mouth because she’s pretty sure she was clenching her jaw tight enough to crack a tooth.

Tasting the slop in her mouth, she suddenly decides she should’ve went with the split tooth, than surrendering to the taste of the food. She aggressively lashes out her stress from knowing Dabi’s secret onto her mashed potatoes, slamming it violently with the end of her silverware. 

Two tables down, Mineta shivers harshly from this sixth sense of danger, though its trigger remains unbeknownst to him.

“He’s a jerk.” Todoroki grumbles. And his weird, plot-twist of a Kardashian family is none of her business- Jirou’s well aware. But she’s so curious and she’s worried. Worried for how this’ll turn out- even sorta for Dabi, but more so for his next course of action. “He doesn’t regret anything he’s done, and he doesn’t feel shame.” Todoroki scowls, the most emotion she’s seen out of the boy contorting his features into anger. 

She wants to know who Dabi is. She didn’t even know Todoroki had siblings. But it’s not like she could go up and ask, hey, Todoroki, you got any long-lost siblings that happen to be around Dabi’s current age and may have had hidden morally dubious ambitions driven by what appears to be from parental mistreatment?  

Maybe if she was Midoriya, she would’ve felt safe enough to inquire that.

The last conversation she had with Todoroki was this morning when she walked in on his body complying out of what she’s believing to be sleep-deprivation to Kaminari’s demands, as he was lying on the floor with his mouth open, and full of oatmeal. Conversation was rather short, and it wasn't even between her and Todoroki, since he was busy being Kaminari's portable thermos.

Kaminari didn't actually talk that much, either, since he was busy spooning mouthfuls of oatmeal out of Todoroki's mouth and into his mouth, and was busy recovering from Jirou's uppercut by that point.

So yeah. She doesn’t think she frankly has enough respect for Todoroki to suddenly become intimately close with him like Midoriya is. And it’s not like she’s going to make an opening to construct a theory worthy of Buzzfeed Unsolved by exposing what Aizawa-sensei told her to keep a secret to Todoroki.

She doesn’t even feel guilty for hiding Dabi’s real identity- it’s none of her business. 

But it is a shame.

It’s not really fair to Todoroki. And Dabi , her mind unhelpfully supplies, and she stabs her peas extra-hard (it only procures a sickening squish that causes Todoroki’s eye to twitch harshly across from her). Dabi doesn’t deserve shit. It’s not like he’s missing any information like Todoroki is- he’s given all his cards flipped and bared to him, and if he still chose that path down to hell, that’s a him problem that she’s in no way obliged to solve or frankly give a crap about.

But I wonder. What Dabi was like. As a Todoroki, was he kind?

It’s easy to imagine where Dabi spawned from, given that she’s seen Todoroki’s initial attitude. It was admittedly pretentious- haughty but obliviously so. Narrow minded.

But Todoroki grew out of that- he was given a chance to.

What about Dabi? Was he ever given a chance?

She knots her lips. Despite all this thinking, she feels no sympathy for Dabi, and honestly, would feel disgusted if she did. 

And what about Endeavor? You heard the theories that the adults were making. Yeah. She did walk in on thirty-year-old, adrenaline-driven adults making fanfic headcanons of Dabi and Endeavor’s relationship, but who’s she to judge? How could Endeavor be that bad, that it created Dabi? After all, Todoroki turned out fine. 

She swallows harshly at the possibility that maybe, Todoroki could’ve easily ended up as Dabi given what he was like before he befriended Midoriya, before he truly found stability in his identity. 

She’s only sixteen- this is way too much to think about. 

(She wonders how old Dabi was when he wasn’t given a choice to not think about this.)

And the scariest part is that Dabi is conclusively a Todoroki. And that the household must be private enough that the media didn’t even know about a missing Todoroki, at least to her knowledge. If the doors of that family are closed that tightly, then who’s she to judge what happened behind them that made Dabi? 

In fact, being Dabi must be pretty lonely if he turned out like this, with no real family or identity. 

But it was his choice. And it was his choice to kill others- to hurt them, and who gave him that right? He touched Bakugou and Bakugou's just a kid, he's her age and they just wanna vibe and play drums and Guitar Hero in the common room while their classmates run around like they exist in the Mii Plaza! He chose to be a dick who kills and hurts others! AHh!!

“Jirou?”

Glancing upwards, her eyes clap with Todoroki’s concerned ones. “Is the food that bad? You look ready to puke.”

“No. She’s just been staring at Bakugou’s face for too long.” Kaminari deadpans. She hates that his best flat expression looks like he’s going to combust if he doesn’t grin for too long.

Jirou has no idea when Bakugou’s mafia gang crashed the party as well, but their entire class basically merged together by their second year. Not that she’s complaining, since Mina is amazing company and Kaminari was going to exist anyways, whether she liked it or not.

Bakugou’s pale fist rattles the entire table, and her deformed peas fly out of their prison of mashed potatoes she was molding with the back of her spoon, and against her shirt. Shaking the substrate off, she finds a dark stain, no doubt smelling like boiled larva. 

Nevermind. She’s complaining to the authorities, goddammit. The lunchladies would definitely put a stop to this bullshit. 

“Oi, Bakugou,” she hisses, knowing that she and Bakugou are surprisingly close enough to address each other with playful spite, without him trying to play Toothfairy and steal her teeth with a drill.

“Not directed at you, you’re cool.” Bakugou grunts. Then, his fingers curl around the collar of a resigned Kaminari. “You, however-”

"Jirou save me."

"That's probably the same thing Todoroki thought this morning when I walked in."

"I was being resourceful."

She smiles. "You're going to get mono."

"Jirou!"

"Bakugou!" She shouts with equal fervor. She then glares. "Sic' him."

“Anyways! Tell us more about Dabi!” Kirishima clears his throat, while gesturing at Mina who had automatically moved to break Bakugou’s grasp. “If you don’t mind, that is,” he adds, his bright attitude dimming from worry that’s directed at Todoroki and Bakugou. 

Jirou quickly glances at Bakugou, who appears fine, his eye contact fixated on his homemade food. She watches, mildly disinterested as his eyes also skirt to Kaminari’s jugular vein, his grip visually tightening around his metal chopsticks.

“He was cleaning up our mess from that movie night.” Todoroki mutters. His nose wrinkles lightly. “Couldn’t even hold the vacuum cleaner right.”

“Ha. Dumbass.” Bakugou growls darkly, and at his voice, Jirou’s lobe plugs unconsciously sway behind her ears, hiding behind the length of her hair. They easily detected a tremor in his voice’s waves. She’s so worried. And she’s never truly dealt well with stress when it involved other people. 

There are so many people to think about.

Todoroki. Bakugou. Midoriya. Dabi. Dabi who’s a Todoroki.

“Jirou, you really don’t look well.”

“Don’t worry, I’m no longer looking at Bakugou,” Jirou murmurs, a wain smile straining against her heavy grimace as Bakugou whips his head up at her, the expression of Betrayed Bitch™ shaping his features into a glower. And as the rest of the table howls with laughter (excluding Todoroki, who seems slightly confused at the change of topic, and Midoriya who just looks nervous in spite of the firm grin cracking across his previously solemn countenance), she’s able to obscure her cloud of stress behind the atmosphere of laughter and togetherness. 

Right.

As long as they’re together through it, everything will turn out okay- they’ll just deal with what comes when it comes. 

And though Jirou made up her mind to keep herself out of it, that she’ll respect Aizawa-sensei’s request as well as the severity of their secret and not tell Todoroki what she knows, she knows the heavy bezoar of trepidation and doubt will continue to form in the abyss of her stomach.

Dabi vaguely wants to screw with him. Act too friendly, too familiar with Hawks just to trip him up in front of Aizawa, who’s unaware of their relationship. 

However, he doesn’t. Yet.

“Hello, I’m Pro-Hero Hawks,” Hawks says with such a professional, toothy smile and absolute firmness, Dabi actually stares at his outstretched hand for a whole hot sec before nearly choking on a laugh bubbling up his throat. Hawks however, probably used to his reactions that most would consider inappropriate for whatever social situation he’s characteristically unashamedly stumbling through, remains unphased. “I’ve been informed about your situation through a private channel, so you don’t have to worry about other pro-heroes learning about it, either.” 

And honestly, Dabi feels his lungs inflate with relief and some other emotion that leaves him wanting to sob through an inane laugh because god he’s so tired of everything(!) and Hawks’ appearance only exists on some other realm with sunsets and forest fires that match its orange. 

He’s not here right now, and this isn’t happening. 

“How come you happen to get special treatment, huh?” Dabi scoffs, attempting to compartmentalize his emotions, boxing away everything that makes him appear too transparent, too unhinged (even though he’s not). 

“Endeavor told me.” And it’s like the swirls in the sky, the tilted camera view of his vision, the odd combination of colors bleeding over the ground and painting Aizawa who’s in the corner green, are washed away by a cold bucket of water. The ground shakes beneath him to upend himself and everything looks normal. This is real . The composition sharpens.

Numbly, Dabi says, “I thought parents gonna be told just today?”

“Yeah they are, this afternoon, I was joking.” And Hawks knows that Dabi has a vendetta against Endeavor and that’s probably what spurred him to toss his name in there, but Hawks is currently scrunching his brows at him as if he’s truly, for the first time, realising the effect Endeavor’s person has on Dabi. “Endeavor won’t know until later, I just got told way earlier through connections.” 

“Whatever.” Dabi mutters. “What do you want, pro-Hero Hawks?” Then, out of a more genuine comment because he’s been staring at the hero too long, whose smile is too calculating, whose gaze is too sharp, who in all his self-righteousness and candidness looks too mechanical, he couldn’t help but blurt out: “you know, you kinda remind me of someone.”

Hawks’ grin falters as curiosity illustrates his expression. “Really? Who?”

Didn’t Rei smile like that? Did she even smile?

Dabi stares a bit longer. “You know that American film with the cartoon chickens?” He finally determines.

Hawks’ entire countenance looks plastered in place, in exception with his eyebrows which jerks harshly in place. “You okay?” Dabi asks, unimpressed at Hawks’ sudden silence. “What’d you even come here for?”

“I guess I just really had to see this for myself.” Hawks says, and Dabi has a strange urge to sock him. “But also. I don’t know. I guess I just really had to see if you’re transitioning well.” And Dabi glances over at Aizawa, who’s slouched in the corner, his eyes fixated on them. The teacher did promise to remain a distance away to avoid eavesdropping. Not like Dabi trusts his promise, but he supposes he has to hope that the man doesn’t hear his next words.

“Everything’s awful I hate this place, Hawks, you want to meet Shigaraki so badly? Get me out of here, then.” The words that tumble out his quirked mouth in a hushed frenzy contrast his impassive expression. He hates favours- even with a considerably decent human being. Because that means he owes them, and they know it. And even once he repays them, it’s the fact that he was the one who came desperately tossing propositions at them that really sticks. He feels gross. 

Either Hawks helps him out now, or loses their bond and exposes himself as a double-crossing agent. And Hawks knows that Dabi will get out of here, one way or another. He can either join, or lose everything.

“Aren’t you quirkless?”

The light glare in the photoshoot corner of the Polaroid picture suddenly blinds him, a monster roaring through his ears, flushing his blood with toxin and toilet water and Natsuo’s dimming screams that are never heard underneath the cracked mud-

And Dabi feels like a bitch, being beaten by his dad. 

Dabi feels almost betrayed and humiliated for underrating Hawks, after knowing that the man is a little bastardised Sonic the Hedgehog character who’s willing to aim for low blows to win.

Is that what people think of me? Quirkless?

“No.” And Dabi’s pulse violently thundering through his ears makes his head spin, his vision blurring as Hawks becomes the only thing alive in the backdrop of purple zigzags crackling through the shifting sky, through the darkness shrouding him and being emitted by the hero himself. “No.” He hears himself repeating, and he wants to stop because he sounds defensive, like a child denying something to a parent, a parent who’ll knock him in the jaw with their fist if they realize what he’s done, what he is, what disappointment they birthed-

“Dabi.” And that tone, that god awful tone of detached, distant acquaintance. Hawks, always the empathetic one who’s able to sympathise with him to an extent, but never really caring because there’s just not enough to convince him to. The way he says his name, like he’s talking to an unreasonable drunk, like he’s that one distant drinking buddy who really isn’t invested in your life, but rather uses you for cheap beer and decent company (and Dabi wants to clock his barstool at him, debone his jaw and dislocate his eyeballs-). “Dabi the school informed me of your situation too.”

“It’s just temporary,” Dabi attempts to garner control of his voice, but it’s lost all snark and bite, sounding flat in his ears. Sounding offended and forced, hiding something. 

“Dabi. You know, without your quirk, you’re practically useless-”

And Hawks only said it in a more matter-of-fact manner, but the insult burrows deep into his insecurities, embedded with other knives and scars.

He should be in the cupboard, his safe little cupboard, where above him is a drawer of knives and forks that he knows where they are and knows if someone takes one.

“The League won’t be happy to hear that they broke you out, and you were quirkless. It’ll be dangerous if you leave.”

His tongue feels sticky. Sticky like caramelized yams. Like burnt s’mores. Like Toga’s sobs and Twice’s instability and Shigaraki’s isolation.

Because Hawks is right, but it’s the fact that someone else is saying it other than him at three in the morning surrounded by a musty ghosttown of memories and thoughts, that nearly shuts down his brain.

“It’d be safer if you were here.”

And Dabi wants to lash out at that because oOOooOOh, he knew Hawks was a liar and a dirty one at that, but he clearly placed too much faith in Hawks’ ability to be genuine about what their relationship means. They don’t care for each other- they use each other. Willing to fuck each other with a bullet if necessary. “I never asked for you to care about me.” Dabi snarls. “Take me home-” and he nearly chokes, realising what he just called the League. Whatever. It’s not like he has anywhere else to call it that, and it’s not like it’s really a home anyways. Just a Frankenstein of a dysfunctional group forced into the label as a family through desperate times and exasperated tolerance of each other; not out of relationships or love. They’re not home, but at least they’re something. And maybe the alleyways he used to sleep in, the dumpsters he’d cuddle amongst the trash bags with when it was too cold, holds the same sentiment as the League and the bar, but they’re not UA where Shouto wanders the halls, unseeing and unrecognising and that’s all that matters. “Hawks, if you don’t do this for me I will never let you see Shigaraki-” His tongue riled and fire scorching his lungs black, he can’t stop his monotonous voice because he’s so used to training himself into refurbishing his vulnerability with annoyance and anger just like his father and god Hawks you fucking idiot you’ll NEVER see Shigaraki now -

And that’s foolish, because of course he’ll eventually get out of here. But he can’t help it, and all Dabi can focus on past the logistics and the fact that he’s fucking overreacting and that his hands are conducting violent tremors like they’ll dance across the keys of pianos and pianos and pianos that Fuyumi used to bang her knobby, bruised fingers across in loud and disarmingly malfunctioning chords-

“DABI.”

-and that’s not Hawks. 

It’s Aizawa, whose posture is firm, his eyes narrowed, approaching them. 

And then there’s Hawks, across from him, his features stoic but his eyes reflecting too much, reflecting Dabi’s face and Dabi wants to vomit at the disgusting patheticness that shaped his expression into one of unadulterated fear and stress. 

He’s not scared.

He just hates everything. He hates Hawks, he hates Aizawa, he hates himself-

“Don’t worry, Aizawa, I’m fine.” Hawks shouts, and at this, Aizawa surprisingly does stop, his expression still suspicious, because of course, he’s the volatile one and he’s the one that people and family who are people must be scared of; Aizawa probably assumed Dabi was going to blow up on Hawks or some shit-

Glancing at Hawks’ scrunched eyebrows of worry probably over Dabi probably going off his marbles, he guesses he would’ve. He would’ve. And he sorta wishes he did, so then Aizawa would see he wasn’t cut out for this and he won’t force himself to qualify. And if he did, his quirk would shroud Hawks’ vision with plumes of smog, obscuring Dabi’s from the world to see, and clogging the vulnerability seeping out between rusty metal and damaged skin and he would no longer see the colours fucking the outline of his visions and distorting the symmetry architects vie for in the blueprint of their constructed reality-

And all of a sudden he’s sad. And he’s not entirely sure why- it’s as if a wash of nostalgia and yearn for Fuyumi bathes him, as waves of relentless want and sun shine through filtered windows of hospitals crash onto him, not letting him gather an air of breathe before bobbing under in the abyss of memories and god everything’s so cold and he’s just lonely-

“Dabi, it’d be better if you stayed here.”

“Who are you to decide that for me?” Dabi snarls, but it just sounds off-tangent and brimming with something not even insulted, just melancholy, and Dabi’s majorly even more upset because of that. He’s not melancholy- he’s angry and hysterically upset and he doesn’t know how to stop it because why should he? Why do they deserve such compliancy why-

And there’s something repressed in Hawks’ gaze that Dabi sees often whenever they’re on missions and lounging around ports, and Hawks’ eyes wander to the young kids of poor neighbourhoods whose environment would resort to housing worms within the blisters of their calloused feet and emptiness in their gut. Pity. Not even pity for innocent people who were burdened with the consequences of large disasters, villain attacks, or just natural death. 

Just for children, children who don’t know better and play in the slums of their backyards, are who those sad, faraway stares are directed towards, because their childhoods won’t ever know more than the block of their street. As if Hawks knows something, something about the world more than Dabi.

Dabi’s breathing, shallow and raspy, and somewhat wet through his clogging airway, goes silent as he slowly reaches the back of his hand shakily to Hawks’ cheek.

Dabi ignites his quirk. 

But nothing comes out, nothing spurts out, and Hawks looks as if he knew exactly what he was going to do, and the darkness in his eyes seems to carve out the bottom of it, until Dabi is drowning in the blackhole of pity and he’s scared of it because he doesn’t want it, nor does he deserve it because he can find his way out of this and the last thing he needs is for people to point at him, with ignorant sympathy, mouthing their prayers without really knowing how far he came. 

Dabi wants to scream.

He got this far without their help- they had their chance, and he’s not going to accept it now after all he’s done for himself.

He can’t scream, and instead, he just stares at Hawks, frozen. “Why? ” And he means it as a collected question- not as a jambled and crackling scream that separates Dabi’s brain right at the corpus callosum, the energy ripping through his eardrums and his fluttering voicebox. “Why?!”

His dry hand, brushing against Hawks’ stubble from the feathery tremors that shape the mouvement of his hand, doesn’t leave Hawks’ face because that means giving in, that means admitting out loud to Hawks that nothing’s going to come out and he knows it. He’s going to kill him. Because Hawks is just another ignorant, privileged bastard who thinks that his opinion matters to Dabi. He wants to dig his nails into the other’s jaw, until his skin’s gone too. Because Dabi’s seen things too, he’s been through things that he didn’t deserve and Hawks has the audacity to act like Dabi’s missing out on some philosophical bullshit?

For a second, Hawks looked too close to determined Fuyumi, who was too soft-spoken for her stubborn need to assist, and would just watch quietly with those same, sad eyes that Hawks is wearing, the same eyes that made Touya feel foolish for each argument he pursued with his dad, for each bruise he returned with.

Dabi’s going to kill him. He will. He’ll just move his hands just to his throat rather than his face and he’ll squeeze with every broken knuckle and wrung out muscle, recalling whatever he gained back in childhood against Enji, hours of training to survive and to live another uneventful day and he’ll muster all that wasted effort and squeeze-

“Dabi. You don’t have your quirk. You can’t do anything, and it’s too dangerous for you to leave. You’ll be killed by heroes and villains alike.” You can’t do anything . “I came here to tell you that I’ll be pursuing the League to join, either with or without you as my connection, but that I’m going to do everything I can to keep you here. It’s better for you, trust me.”

Isn’t that what everyone said to him- to trust him? His mother, as she tiredly came up to him, in a moment of clarity not seeing Enji but truly identifying him as Touya, noting how he flinched and was stoney in her presence, telling him to hold out a bit longer, to trust her, as she freezes his soupy bowl of melted ice cream at midnight when he’s sulking in front of the fuzzy TV screen? What Fuyumi told him to do, to trust in her, even though he couldn’t because it had to be the opposite way around because one look at her he could tell that she had a limited amount of hits: three strikes, three blows, three more arguments, and she’s out. 

Aren’t Hawks’ words the exact same ones he echoed to Natsuo and Shouto, Shouto who didn’t even trust him when he was first born because Enji isolated him for too long, that it took months before Shouto, who viewed him as a stranger in their own household after seeing him for the first time at the age of nine, introduced himself? His own family member? That he would save him? And Shouto just nodded, trusting the words of a stranger, believing that a stranger who he barely knew would truly take him out of his hell and take him away with Natsuo; Natsuo who loved him and relied on him and was pissed, dealing with the fact that he barely existed in the household, that he was even more unwanted than Touya was. And in the end all he did was terrify his mother and probably his twin too, who’d stare, paralysed at his frothing figure, hunched and scabbed after a fight with dad. All those times, Fuyumi still hesitantly stepped forward with her First-Aid box. At least she always came back, always came back for him unlike Mom even though she was scared (and he did the opposite. He left as Dabi and never looked back). And Shouto, who screamed the year he left, leaving an unspoken memo for Touya that he already abandoned Shouto long ago, and that Shouto’s distance was no one’s fault but his own negligence. And Natsuo?

He doesn’t even know what happened to Natsuo during his last two years of the household. And that itself says a lot. 

“Why the fuck should I trust you?” Dabi’s hand has easily slotted back around his stomach, criss-crossing to clench his bony waist protectively. “ And how would you know what’s good for me!” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jv9qGOlRYdQ ). He’s shrieking it through cellbars of teeth, acting as a barrier between a fucking sob that’s gathering in the pit of his stomach and the outside world that can’t handle it.

“In the end, you don’t know what’s good for yourself.” Hawks snaps. “No one knows how you feel because you lock it away-”

And the most in depth conversation they ever had was whether olives are acceptable as food, and Hawks suddenly wants to play psychiatrists? Feels as if things are moving too fast.

“Shut up.”

“Dabi-”

“Shut up. Someone like you, who grew up as a hero-” yeah he’s Googled Hawks’ name before. Basic etiquette on gathering intel, is just Googling them because Wikipedia will always be a credible source no matter what high school teachers say. And there’s Giran too, he guesses. “Raised and groomed into one.” By transitive property, could Shouto, me, and Hawks replace each other as the same variable? Dabi laughs, and doesn’t know that he is. Funny!  Because he wouldn’t know, he dropped out of junior high and erased everything he learned after that! “Of course you think that you know what’s good for me, probably because you hear the hero committee, everyone else dictating your pathetic life, tell you those same words, huh? And look where that got you now?” He spits, bitterness colouring his tone with random words, with shit he’s throwing together, and he doesn’t even know what’s saying anymore he just knows that it’s causing Hawk’s feathers to reflexively bristle, his slanted pupils to sharpen, and his nostrils to flare and he wants Hawks as indignant and angry as he is now because fuck him and fuck their relationship and-

And he's laughing! His noises contorting his vision through tears and smearing the colours into a watercoloured painting of bright reds and bright reds and bright reds through the magnifying droplets! His laughter curves around his ears, forming an annoying and reality-defying bubble around his ears, the curvature shaping all noise to escape the brightness and peak of existence, his own senses sheltered in their little hollow bubble of himself. 

“It appears as if you two aren’t ready to meet yet.” Aizawa’s voice, cool and resolved, slices through the tension, physically and metaphorically, as his body is now placed between him and Hawks.

Dabi blinks.

His bubble is popped, and he can hear things clearly and see things normally. He means to clear his throat, but a cracking cough dislocates his jaw open, allowing him to finally breathe. 

“Hawks, thank you for visiting, but I think you should take your leave now.” And Dabi knows the moment he trapezes out, they’re going to shittalk about him. About his spitfire attitude. About Dabi’s play on the entire conversation that led it spiraling. Maybe Aizawa will throw in an apology on his behalf because no one expects Dabi to give one, and especially not himself.

But Aizawa doesn’t follow Hawks out, and Hawks actually just unfurls his wings, and stands on the rooftop edge for flight, like the goddamn theater kid he is.

But not before glancing over his shoulder once more, his red shades painting a sunset across unseeing eyes. And Dabi was ready to push him off the ledge, if not for Hawks already leaping himself.  

Leaving him and Aizawa alone, on the rooftop underneath a purple sky of spirals and lightning.

“Dabi, I know you dislike this type of question, but are you okay?”

Dabi stares at him, his brain feeling like molasses and his throat clenching too tight for anything to leave. Dabi hugs himself tighter, as if that could keep his fragmenting self from falling a part right at Aizawa’s feet. 

He hates Aizawa, too. Mocking him, seeing too much of Dabi, watching Dabi pathetically sit at the darkened hours of the morning as they resort to a grandma bandaging his entire body, watching him-

Dabi gags on the fluorescent yellows and scent of orange.

“No. He’s annoying and has a dumb goatee,” he finally rasps. And Dabi has just been feeling off this entire week. As if he’s not really existing, and with each day without his quirk, the despair within him opens up a bit wider. 

He can’t blame Hawks for placing his value and life’s worth on his quirk- because Dabi does that too. 

He’s right. Dabi nearly sobs (and maybe he does, he doesn’t know- all the sounds smell the same to him now).

“Dabi.”

“Aizawa.” Dabi copies blankly, his appearance by now having returned back to its impassive state, its ability to repair underneath pressure and tiredness being perfected as a reflexive instinct, something that happens through muscle memory rather than energy or thinned gas.

“You’ve met Hawks before, right?” And Dabi’s too tired of lying, of attempting to see into the future how his words and answers in the depths of this purgatory would get him, so just blinks tiredly. And for a second, Dabi wonders if his countenance mirrors Aizawa. 

Tired Aizawa, watching over naive kids who don’t know better but think they do. Like Shouto. A firm line sets across the man’s face. “Go inside, Dabi. I have a new job for you.”

And they walk inside, the door to the rooftop closing behind them and locking Dabi out of the world of clouds wrinkly and coloured like his, and floors that move underneath his feet.

“How is this school still standing?”

“Capitalism.” 

Dabi stares, grimacing at the unsightly mark of soot staining the eggshell white wall. “I’m assuming…”

“Bakugou?”

He sighs, the shifting of his weight from crossing his arms at the burn mark crumpling the plastic tarps covering the surrounding floor. “I can pick whatever colour I want?” He echoes, glancing at the buckets of wall paint stacked around him. 

“Yeah. Just make sure to cover all this.” Aizawa gestures towards the surrounding walls, adorning battle scars of reckless children and lack of fire extinguishers. “Here,” he hands over a face mask and plastic, hot pink shutter glasses. “So you don’t breathe in the fumes or get them in your eyes.”

Dabi stares at him, whacking the plastic glasses against Aizawa’s shoulders, ignoring the way the teacher’s eyes flare at the disrespect. “These have holes in them. They’re useless.” He looks at the way the shades are horizontally slit, like window shutters.

“I know.” 

Dabi, who honestly doesn’t have a response towards utter apathy, just squints. “The glasses are from Kaminari, so don’t ruin them because I’m not having ‘Specialised Polly Pocket RayBans’’ on my Ebay search history.” Aizawa replies dryly. “Be sure to do a double layer of coat, and clean the walls of any dust or cobwebs before painting over.” 

“Are you not going to supervise?” 

“No, but I’ll be here if you need me. Just. Just do whatever you want.” and he watches as Aizawa clambers onto the couch that’s already a dump of paperwork and a laptop that he can recognise to be Aizawa’s due to the scratched case and shattered plastic laptop cover around the glitchy screen. He waits for Aizawa to start penning a paper before starting.

Aizawa rolls over on the pillows and his figure stops moving.

Dabi takes a second.

“Aizawa.”

No response.

“Aizawa.”

Realising that Aizawa just fell out of this world’s reality into who knows where , he sighs and slips on the cheap mouth mask, and perches the glasses on his head, the shades secured in place by his hair. There’s no fucking way he’s wearing that- it offers nothing to him anyways and disturbs his vision.

Well, he did say to do whatever I want. 

And he cracks open a used tin of blue paint.

Just as long as it’s two layers.

Now, Dabi was gleefully expecting a sheen of raw disgust coating Aizawa’s dead eyes, maybe even giving him life for the first time ever. Perhaps Aizawa will even do that thing where adults reach an unforgivable amount of piss to the point where it calls for a physical reaction. 

Instead, Aizawa takes a second to stare at the walls, before doing a small little exhale out of his nose. 

“You know. I think. I think I didn’t feel any surprise at all because I felt nothing when I saw your work, and then all of an unholy amount of God’s wrath was injected into me so hard and so fast that I blacked out.” Aizawa states, his eyes fluttering for probably the first time in years, and Dabi squints. “So, we’re repainting this,” he croaks with finality.

“I just spent around two hours painting this.”

“You painted blue flames on a black background. UA is not a goth hideout, no matter what half of my class may say.” Aizawa snaps. “We’re not leaving until you stop trying to pull petty yet insignificant actions. Be more mature,” he says lowly, and Dabi watches for a moment, waiting for the ending glare of disappointment that he’s currently craving.

God, he needs it. Ever since that disastrous meeting with Hawks, Aizawa’s entire attitude really hasn’t changed- he’s still as dry and unsympathetic as ever, but Dabi doesn’t know if Aizawa’s perspective of him has changed. As much as he believes that Aizawa’s demeanor and empathy remains the same as wet cardboard, what happened between them still happened. Aizawa did the unforgivable- for a second, Aizawa believed in him.

Maybe he miscalculated, but the way that Aizawa deliberately stood between him and Hawks, the way that he didn’t automatically pin any sort of blame for the spiral of their conversation on him when he deserved it, appear to be subtle signs that maybe Aizawa’s view on him has changed. 

Does that make him a deceiver? Because truly, he did not change: at that moment, he felt like the usual murderer. And Aizawa almost silently defended him. 

Dabi was ready to incinerate Hawks, starting from his goddamn fucking awful face whose eyes shone the way Rei Todoroki did back when he’d appear in the kitchen after training with a twisted arm and uncontrollably shaking frown, and Aizawa saw it. 

He wishes he had his quirk then.  In that way, Aizawa would see that Dabi’s an unsalvageable, demented villain who has to think he’s always right, and Hawks would be taken care of. Two birds with one stone. A literal bird, too.

Hawks. A man who would’ve never saw the world the way Dabi did, but still seemed to understand it, which infuriates Dabi because if he understands it yet doesn’t agree then what does that say about Hawks, about Hawks who’s willing to let what Dabi sees in the hero society slip without consequences? 

Two birds with one stone.

And the walls, emitting chemical odors in waves stronger than the highlights of blue flickering high on the walls, reaching heights attainable by the creaky metal ladder in the corner of the room, are meant to remind Aizawa.

Put him in his place. That Dabi is a villain with irreversible damage.

Shame on Aizawa for forgetting.

“You know. This has the same maturity as…” Aizawa turns to him, away from the walls dripping blue and black that are bleeding into a musty swirl of brown. “Bakugou Katsuki.”

And Dabi has to stop for a moment because this entire sketchy, undeniably childish plot was to get Aizawa to maybe disembowel him, probably shoot a nasty glower, to rail them back onto their typical relationship and erase whatever vulnerability that Dabi exposed earlier. Sure, this is technically more on the immature, bratty side, but hey, that’s even better because it’s not even a real problem, just a minor inconvenience that Aizawa still has to fucking deal with.

And yet Dabi’s the one who feels an insatiable rise of casual murderous homicide to hit him with his can of paint.

“I cannot believe you just compared me to Bakugou.”

“I can.”

“I am going to grind your kneecaps into paste and mold it into personalised ivory soap, to wash away your blasphemous tone. I will sue you for slander-”

“And I, will go back to sleep. Fix this. It’s not like you have any other jobs other than this anyways, so it’s not like we’re going anywhere.” Aizawa exclaims, flopping back on the couch.

Dabi throws his ragged paint brush back into the empty container meant for blue paint.

It’s really like he can’t win, because Aizawa literally just has zero fucks to give and maybe he’s just overthinking it, because if that’s the case then it’s not like Aizawa actually cares about what went down earlier.

But Dabi can only recollect his previous attitude, the way he was on the verge of hysterics, that if he had his quirk then like all the countless times he felt his existence begin to tip over an unspoken vertigo, flames would’ve whipped out of his body without control and blisters would bubble on his clear skin, ready to conform to its sister burnt version.

Then maybe the purple clouds would’ve turned black and grey from the plumes of smoke billowing off his body.

He was close to shattering, and maybe he already had and just didn’t see it, and Aizawa saw it.

Aizawa is a witness to the entire carwreck, and while Dabi has nothing against any visuals that would paint him as past saving, of too far gone, that was different. It wasn’t him ready to knife someone out of anger or hate, there was sadness and disgust leaking out of him like gasoline, like inky black tar gushing out his body and filling the room with melancholy that confuses his directions and glues his feet to the ground. 

Maybe Aizawa doesn’t remember. Maybe Aizawa didn’t care. But that seems too out of character for someone as analytic as him, and Dabi can’t handle it because Aizawa isn’t worthy to see him like that, and the fact that he did scares him because he’s tightened the seams of his patched body as tight as they can go (so why is he still leaking is it simply inevitable and unstoppable-) and he doesn’t know how much more he could hide from Aizawa’s calculating gaze.

He needs Aizawa to frankly not think enough of him to try and look deep enough.

Sighing, he simply grabs the stiff paintbrush once more, and pries open another metal lid.

His arms tired and sore, metal digging into his strained skin, especially along his armpit and collarbones, he figures this is still better than any actual heavy-lifting. 

That at the very least he knows this time, he doesn’t have to replace any of the staples in his body or stare at the stretched holes in his body that signify he has to find a new, clean spot of tight muscle and skin to pierce rather than reuse that janked wound.

Pulling his mask back over his mouth, he ruins his flames with black.

“Are you resting?”

Dabi heard him wake, however, he hadn’t moved from the spot of ground he sat his bony butt on. 

“Yeah. Finished a wall.” He grunts, still refusing to look up to meet Aizawa’s gaze. He’s tired. His muscles are taunt, and he is surprisingly growing light-headed from either the fumes or from standing for so long; he’s not really sure which is the cause, but honestly he’s usually quite okay with it. If anything, he should be used to both sensations. But he figured if Aizawa was conked out, and this was Dabi’s main job, then it’d be fine if he seated himself.

He was initially against it, because he felt weak. It’s just fucking painting, and he wants to sit because of it? It’s pitiful. 

However, at the same time, he does whatever the fuck he wants.

Except now, that seems to earn him a position of judgement. From Aizawa. 

It’s not even a hero thing, it’s just a person thing to not tolerate or encourage laziness. He’s not even being lazy though.

And God forbid he acknowledges people are by default like his father, so most likely Aizawa wouldn’t be mad.

Doesn’t mean he’s not mad at himself. 

Oh, he lasted through hours of training that resulted in fighting through burns, bruises, and a mangled body sluggishly fighting on muscle memory and fear. He’d sloppily escape kicks and spurts of fire on buckling legs and cramping muscles, knowing he doesn’t even have any more adrenaline to push him through, and instead relying on a raw form of unstable survival instincts. 

And yet he can’t even force him to paint another wall.

It seems as though he became more of a failure than he was as a child, a child who couldn’t even force his quirk to apparate on call, as the quirk only came as a reflexive instinct in the face of fear or danger- a fact his father picked up on very quickly as something advantageous. 

“Are these...cats?”

“So what if they are?” Dabi snarls from the floor. Cats would’ve pissed off Enji. Maybe that’s why there are now eight of them splashed across the black wall in various colours. Not because he likes cats or anything. Painting something unnecessary would only add onto the disappointment and anger that Aizawa must feel.

After all, Dabi’s resting after a singular wall.

He’s tired and sore. 

But not enough. Not enough to justify the fact that he didn’t finish painting everything in the two hour nap that Aizawa just took.

Who cares if Aizawa’s mad. Not him.

Dabi still feels his knees knock anxiously against each other though, with each second Aizawa stays silent.

“Hm. Not bad.” Dabi’s throat clenches, and he jerks his gaze up from the floor he was burning holes into with his glare. Aizawa’s now stroking one of the dried cats, whose cartoonish, round figure is curled on itself in colors of cream and mocha. It reminded him of the lucky cat charm he saw in Rei’s room back when he felt liked enough to sneak into her bedroom to curl beside her, when Endeavor was away on a business trip.

He feels as though the cat isn’t an exact replica due to faint memory, since he was young when he didn’t feel deserving enough to enter that bedroom, even when Enji wasn’t home. 

His jealousy was unbridled, watching Shouto be able to welcome himself in Rei’s room so easily, while Touya would linger outside of it, unsure if he could handle his mom glancing at him wearily with the fifty percent chance of telling him he’s too old to be sleeping with his mom, or the fifty percent chance she would reluctantly say yes but not without scrutinising him with wary eyes, making Touya regret even asking.

“You’re actually a pretty good artist, you know. Real talent. You could build up skill.” Aizawa comments.

Maybe Aizawa does feel bad, for what he saw earlier. That he’s trying to be friendly towards Dabi, whether or not his comments are genuine. 

He hates that.

“I rested. For maybe ten minutes.” He spits, hoping Aizawa would understand the severity of this situation. For literally doing nothing. 

“So? I rested for two hours.” Aizawa says dryly. 

Dabi blinks. 

“Why should I be mad? You were working, and painted cats. Cats are always a good thing.” Aizawa says, his voice tainted with nothing but indifference. “Did you think I’d be mad?” 

And Dabi doesn’t know how to reply to that question, because truthfully, it’s ‘yes’. And if anything, just an hour or so ago, he was agitated and infuriated by Aizawa- the rest of his emotions were a murky puddle of muddled thoughts, so it was easier to focus on a familiar one: anger. He wanted Aizawa to be pissed. Wanted to smack Aizawa clean of any doubts on Dabi, on any beliefs on him. 

But right now, he doesn’t want to face a mad Aizawa. An Aizawa that would answer him with cold responses with whirlpools of disappointment and lack of faith in the sockets of his eyes.

He’s too weak to deal with that even now.

God, he really devolved, didn’t he.

Something cold touches the heat in his brain, however. So Aizawa likes cats. Likes his cats. Dabi doesn't dwell on the sensation of elation for too long. Must be from escaping punishment.

“I wouldn’t be mad at you for resting. It’s just painting, and as I said before, you had the entire day. The kids could easily be transferred to another floor’s common room if needed.”

“I know.” Dabi replies sharply, unsure if Aizawa is comforting him right now. He’s at the end of his nerves, and he doesn’t even know why; he just knows he feels foolish and something else that he can’t identify and doesn’t want to, either. “I know you’re not mad.” His tongue feels fat and heavy, and this atmosphere seems to be an echo of this morning.

“Sounds like you mean things when you say them.” Is Aizawa’s flippant response. “You think I’d be disappointed in you?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

“I don’t know. You thought it first.” And Aizawa’s now finally clapping eyes with him, and Dabi refuses to be the first to look away, even if Aizawa’s caffeinated gaze is overwhelmingly intensely bored to the point where Dabi feels awkward. “You can tell me if you really want to know. Anyways, I really like this sushi cat you got going here.”

“Thanks. Saw it from a game.” He murmurs. Fuyumi was terribly obsessed with that computer game, the same way Shigaraki would be with his Dark Souls games. 

“You going to continue with the cat theme?”

“I mean. Probably. Weird if only one wall had cats.” He grunts with a jerky shrug. He doesn’t add that maybe he enjoyed the cats and painting them. 

“You’re doing a good job. You did a lot within two hours, you know. It’s difficult painting.”

And sure, he can get behind Aizawa maybe not being disappointed in his lack of progress, but to make some weird comments that borderline encouragement? It’s too out of character from the Aizawa he knows, and wants to know, for him to feel remotely comfortable. 

“Whatever.” Dabi grunts, and as he sways onto his feet, he finds his creaky body feeling a lot more moutivated to continue for whatever reason, as if whatever weight was burdening his posture alleviated after this weirdass conversation. “You look like you’re gonna name them.” He snorts, mocking Aizawa in hopes that it’d snap Aizawa out of whatever weird trance he’s in.

“Maybe I will. This one,” he taps an angry cat whose bared fangs and claws are burrowed into a comically tiny rat that’s barely nothing in its paws. “Actually kind of reminds me of you, just look at its expression,” he says flatly, gesturing towards the murderous sneer painting the navy cat’s face. “I’m naming it Dabi.”

Dabi stares, dread shocking him into fatal momentary silence. “Yo- what no you can’t just do that-”

“No complaining.” Aizawa says. “I just sent out a mass email explaining our school’s situation with you to all of the parents of this grade, and I don’t want to deal with anymore whiny adults who don’t seem to understand they don’t have authority to change things. Just like you, who cannot change my decision.” He stares at the navy cat with a viciously unexpressive gaze. “Yeah. So Dabi,” he says affirmatively.

And Dabi, too startled into a simmering silence that Aizawa appears to be intolerant of parents griping about his presence in UA, which is honestly an understandable complaint and one that he’d expect and feel slightly concerned for the children if the parents didn’t bring it up, can only blankly watch Aizawa collapse on the couch once more, finally opening his laptop. Clearly, the professor took his sudden muteness as an agreement this conversation is over, when it isn’t. 

He glares at the navy blue cat with a homicidal expression that was meant to be funny but not in this fashion.

He’s going to paint over it.

Hours later, and two more walls done, he still hasn’t gotten to covering up that dumb cat. Whatever. He’ll leave that to another day, he’s just too busy right now.

"You've literally been asleep for the past five hours."

Aizawa peace-signs him from over the couch, and Dabi squints judgmentally. 

"Are you like. Hibernating."

Aizawa rounds to him, seriousness ironed into his flat expression. "Hibernation is seasonal. Entering a coma is a choice."

"No."

“She’s coming.”

An ominous silence blankets the lounge, and Midnight actually chokes on her cup of semi-expired orange juice. “Aizawa, you were the one who talked to her right? You want to explain to her?”

“I did. Over the phone. It’s just that I suppose she decided there needed to be a parent-teacher conference too.” He sighs over his mug. “I guess me not being in my office didn’t dissuade her.”

“Who is this?” They all round to Dabi, who’s sitting, unassuming in his tipped back chair. He’s currently drinking the dinner smoothie that Aizawa made, surprising everyone including himself. It’s just that Recovery Girl gave Dabi supplements to aid his flailing body that Aizawa doesn’t even know how it’s still fucking functioning, but Dabi straight up refuses to eat anything outside of his own personalized list of foods.

Dabi’s not a picky eater. He’s a childish eater. He’s clearly that grown-ass man who’d order chicken tenders and fries off of a sophisticated menu at the age of thirty.

The top of his list of okay foods are bagels (something that they ran out of, and it’s only been the third day of the man’s appearance. They never had a problem with bagel stocks before this week, so there’s a suspicious conspiracy that just maybe , it’s Dabi’s damn fault they all have to eat toast now). And instant ramen. Basically anything that comes in a packaging, unlike school lunch, so it’s more difficult to find a way to sneak the vitamins and powders into food.

At first, Aizawa assumed Dabi was suspicious of appearing too vulnerable, and simply too prideful to accept food from them.

And that still appears to be the case, since Dabi won’t accept any food offered by them, and so Aizawa’s learned to leave packages of chips and microwavable meals that he ran to buy the other night lying around, and the ungrateful brat would just snag them greedily that would leave Aizawa relieved because he’s eating.

It also brought up the observation that Dabi only accepts packaged meals. He never ate school lunch even if Aizawa left it residing to the side, nor would he eat any snacks, fruits or foods predisposed in bowls, unless if it’s done in front of him. 

He doesn’t think Dabi believes they’ll poison him- that line of thinking is too unfathomably unexplainable and irrational, even for someone as paranoid as Dabi to believe.

There must be another source for this unsettling habit. 

At the very least, Dabi watched Aizawa take the fruit out of the fridge this time, as well as the unopened container of Greek yogurt that he cracked open in front of him, and blend the smoothie. He didn’t see Aizawa discreetly stir the vitamins and supplements Recovery Girl gave him into the very last glass on the counter, the tablets crushed and mixed with the other powders or opened pills. 

And maybe Dabi does have a reason for being so suspicious, but the thing is, Dabi’s body and substance intake is staggering low, so Aizawa doesn’t even feel guilty.

Dabi didn’t silently retrieve the remaining glass of the smoothie until he watched every other teacher, who were well aware of this scheme because Aizawa informed them beforehand, take a long sip from their own smoothie.

“Oh, oh can you hear that?” 

“What?” Dabi scoffs. And Aizawa has to tear his gaze away from him, who’s taking cautious mouthfuls of his drink, knowing that Dabi hates it when people watch him eat his food. Sure, Dabi doesn’t outright expose his anger as much as most people would assume, but within his eyes there’s an icy core that seems to frost over his gaze anytime he senses Aizawa’s eyes on him whenever they’re eating. Probably a pride thing. “Sounds like that Firecracker in your class,” he comments on the steady, rapid stomping that’s gradually increasing in volume.

Well. His assumption isn’t that far off.

Then, the teacher lounge’s door slams open. 

“Aizawa Shouta.”

He’s been located, it appears.

Aizawa’s eyes flit over to Dabi, who has slipped back on his mouth mask, and even put on Kaminari’s hideously bright pink sunglasses over his face. With the majority of his visage covered, especially his scarred areas, and his entire body bagged in a forest green custodial suit that resembles a trashbag, he’s unrecognisable to an unknowing eye. Just needs a hat, and he’d be undistinctive.

“That’s me,” Aizawa replies dryly to the theatrical greeting from none other than Mitsuki Bakugou, who looks as though she grabbed Satan by the throat and made him her bitch.

“I was looking for you,” her voice, impressively light as they escape through fenced canines, is the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

Then, a loud, resounding slurp interrupts the tension, and Aizawa squints at Dabi, whose staring at them with a thick straw poked beneath his mask that remains intact over his mouth. He hardens his stare, knowing full well that behind those overly-large hot pink Polly Pocket glasses, Dabi definitely is wearing some shit-eating expression.

“Anyways, I need to talk to you. Privately .” Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want any witnesses to her first-degree murder, he’s not sure, but Aizawa still agrees because honestly, if she’s here to murk him for her son’s safety, he probably deserves it. 

“Boy,” he christens, knowing full well if he uses the name ‘Dabi’, Mitsuki’s fight or fight instinct would be automatically triggered, “go back to your painting job if you feel up to it.” And he would slip in a ‘finish your smoothie’, but if anything, that demand would probably piss the twenty-year-old manbaby into not doing that. Though, he’s pretty sure Dabi’s the type to never waste food. He steps out of the room, and the moment the door shuts behind him Mitsuki’s glare snatches his soul faster than her iron grip does on his shoulder. “Wait,” he begins, stopping her wicked tongue just in time because her mouth just opened to an unholy vastness ready to unleash spit and words. “You said somewhere private. Let’s head to my office,” he says. 

Whatever Mitsuki has to say, he doesn’t need Dabi to overhear.

Aizawa can’t dispute against Mitsuki.

It simply isn’t fair.

He doesn’t approve of Mitsuki’s teaching methods or attitude at times, especially since it’s inappropriate for a child, but he’s well aware that she loves Bakugou and is willing to fight for him the way she taught him to do himself.

And that’s probably why she’s currently perched at the edge of her seat, a calculative simpering smirk painting her face that’s staring blankly at the scattered piles of paperwork on his desk. 

Honestly, she’s holding out a lot better than he thought she would. Really, it’s insulting that he didn’t give her this much credit to only do something like punch through a stack of papers rather than say, his teeth.

And she hasn’t raised her voice at all: professionalism restricts her anger in tamed forms of sharp glares, accusatory words, and wicked smiles. Like a lawyer.

And everything she mentioned, are fair points. From how could they, because they’re endangering the students, not just her son, and how Dabi’s presence could directly affect Katsuki’s trauma.

Which is fair.

He doesn’t mention how Bakugou appears fine, because it’s not like he’s seen Bakugou these past few days, not even for their typical unwarranted lunch session where he barges in to complain about his friends after Aizawa’s given up on locking his door. He’s asked Present Mic for updates, but his colleague wouldn’t really know how his students felt- he’s intuitive, but he’s not privileged to see parts of them that they’ve reserved for him, especially someone like Bakugou.

And there’s no way Bakugou’s fine.

Bakugou’s the type to build pressure within his body like a canister, until they tear out unwillingly. 

“You’re right.” He says, his tone accepting. 

The thing is, their entire educational system is literally built on child endangerment with the same safety measures as Hogwarts. They’re a hero school- literally to become a hero you have to be at least mediocrally suicidal. Not like he’s going to tell her that. But if anything, it proves that she’s right- they’re literally dragging in a wanted villain through their hallways. “Even though I can reassure you Dabi is constantly supervised, and has shown so-far quirklessness with no indication of his quirk returning, we have quirk inhibitors and an entire procedure if he shows any sign of regaining his quirk. His physical presence is also very different from the mental presence he projects onto the student. Dabi has shown to have the physical strength below an average person,” Aizawa restrains from informing her that his bones are probably made out of regurgitated animal crackers, “and his strength is much lower than students in the hero course. He is quite honestly more of a danger to himself than others, due to his physical health.” He’s not even exaggerating. The boy’s literally going to flatline one day in his sleep and Aizawa will think he just slipped into a coma. “However, I understand the dangers of the students’ mindset and environment due to Dabi.”

“Even if Dabi is quirkless and has small dick energy-” 

“What.”

“He’s. God, don’t tell the little gremlin I said this or even know, but.” Aizawa cannot believe she’s literally going to pretend like she didn’t say what she had said. “Sometimes the brat has nightmares.” And Mitsuki, for the first time of this thirty-minute scold fest, breaks through her candid anger and frustration, with a vulnerable expression of concern. Sure, she was definitely concerned for Bakugou, if her previous half-hour of snide remarks and indirect threats of violence has proven anything, but this type of concern spawns fright, instead of her typical instinctive parental anger. “You know. Katsuki has nightmares over this, always had over other things, but they’ve gotten to the point where he doesn’t come home on weekends to stay overnights because he doesn’t want us to hear him if he does get a nightmare.”

Mitsuki turns to him, her posture impeccably straight (a wonder that Bakugou Katsuki slouches like his spine’s made out of collapsable tent rods), shoulders drawn back and firm, her gaze equally steely, the wet sheen glistening within her eyes only adding to the character. “I’m sure the brat’s not the only one who’s haunted by Dabi’s presence, but I can reassure you that he’s traumatised the most. The only reason I haven’t sued you guys yet for my son, is because Katsuki himself said he’d run away from home if I did. Pretty sure that’s out of pride, and embarrassment.” Aizawa agrees. “And normally I’d ignore all his bull,” Aizawa also agrees on this, “but really, for something that he’s affected by the most, I can only respect his decision on it. Aizawa, I really do admire you and I know Katsuki is close with you- he talks about you a lot, by the way. The same way he calls his friends ‘idiots’, he really does like you.” And Aizawa realizes that this is a lot worse than he expected.

Sure, if Mitsuki slaps him (something that honestly he figures she wouldn’t do because she really is professional in work environments despite what her demeanor and direct nature may suggest), he could shrug it off and understand.

This, whatever the fuck this emotional manipulation is, he did not fucking sign up for.

Or maybe he did. 

He’s willing to take whatever head-on for Nezu’s sketchy project at the moment, to fight for Dabi who may or may not deserve it until he proves it (or maybe it’s just a humane thing to do, he has no idea anymore), so it’s only fair he at the very least understand the consequences and direct effects of this project.

“If someone is able to get Katsuki’s respect, and he actually likes them, then you sure must be amazing. He has high standards after all. So I’m willing to at least hope you find a way through this.” 

“Mitsuki,” and he can’t lie to her. He has to be honest. “I can’t simply just fight for Bakugou. I want to, but at the same time, there’s possibility for change in Dabi.” He wasn’t sure about it just yesterday, but after seeing Dabi with Hawks, seeing his reaction, it proves that there is something in Dabi that’s workable with. “Of course, whether or not Dabi rises up to that opportunity is all on him, and I will never forget his actions especially on my class, and I will not forgive or excuse him on their behalf or on mine. But I want to see if Dabi can at the very least change and regret.” And Aizawa should just leave it there, he should just leave it there - “And I want to see Dabi happy.”

And he’s going to lose Mitsuki, he’s going to lose her, lose her trust . He should’ve just left it there, at an ending where he implies to believe in her view but doing this out of moral obligation, but now he’s including opinions that Mitsuki may not believe possible nor deserved, and that could diminish her trust in him to carry this through. “I know. He may not deserve happiness-” he says to sate her, seeing obvious anger etch even harder into her expression, deeper than it was during the beginning of this godforsaken meeting. He wonders if he believes that too. He has to. “But Dabi is young. Maybe four years older than Bakugou. I will not excuse anything he’s done, and I have no right to do so, but I truly do not believe he’s experienced happiness at an age older or even younger than Bakugou, and I think it’s unfair if he does not get to choose his mindset and beliefs without experiencing perspectives that might influence his decision.” He says. “I know. You probably disagree-”

“Yeah I fucking do.” And that was surprisingly the first swear she uttered.

“And it’s understandable. I just want you to understand that I care for Bakugou and for the rest of my class,” and sounding defensive probably will not do any good in his favour, especially in the face of a mother of one of the students, especially in the face of Bakugou Mitsuki , “and Dabi is not one of my students. He is not my top priority, but the idea of at least giving him an opportunity still exists, as my job as a teacher. He was a kid when he went astray, and that’s really a tragedy. If you have a problem with it, you could really take it to the higher-ups, but I encourage you to give this a try. I will not sacrifice my students’ for this cause, but I also will not sacrifice Dabi if unnecessary.” 

“You already are.” Is her only response, but this is an afterglow of anger.  Her eyebrows, doing the same thing that Bakugou does whenever pissed, are twitching into a harsh furrow, creasing her unblemished skin, causing one of her eyes to swell into a squint out of anger. However, her gaze appears to be cut with something akin to understanding, though not acceptance nor agreement, as he feels as if there are no longer holes burning into his already dry eyes.

“I’m sorry, for whatever pain this may cause you and your family. Especially towards Bakugou.” He says with finality, and the way she glares at him doesn’t ease anything, but it’s expected. Her curt nod that’s not even accompanied with a “goodbye” also doesn’t come as a surprise, but he still feels something ugly fester inside of him.

He was so caught up with Dabi these past couple days, has he really thought about Bakugou past the first one? He simply assumed that if Bakugou had an issue, it’d just alarm him when it does, but why would Bakugou ever tell him anything related to his emotions, especially after he was the one that brought Dabi marching through the hallways like a glorified prisoner of war?

He sighs.

Then, his phone rings from where it was toppled over a mess of spewed papers.

Grunting, he reaches over and holds it to his ear, expecting it to be some vague information sent down from Nezu or his secretary.

“Eraserhead, I need to have a word.” And given the deep, baritone voice that sounds nothing less than furious and demanding, Aizawa nearly throws the entire phone out of his fucking window.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t need to pull a Bakugou and end up having to pay for reparations after already spending so much on dumb yet professional Walkie-Talkies that he absolutely regrets buying for him and Yamada, who whined until he got them a set.

It’s a curse, because he wakes up dead in the night to static ominously crackling through the dark, only to hear Yamada’s cursed fucking voice saying something stupid along the lines of reporting what he’s having as a three A.M. snack while insistently using “over” at the end of all his sentences.

He holds the receiver away from his face for a second, exhaling loudly, before bringing the phone up to his face.

“Yes, Endeavor? Please make an appointment within morning hours, because after noontime I will be unavailable.” Not really a lie, because Aizawa needs at least twelve hours after holding a conversation with someone like Endeavor to fully recover without a headache, so he has to at least keep this meeting early in the morning.

“I’ll be coming in exactly an hour.” Endeavor’s firm and non negotiable demand replies, and Aizawa doesn’t have a chance to confirm before realizing he’s talking to the ‘beep’ of a disconnected line.

Cursing, he slams his phone back down into its socket.

(Aizawa watches mistuki fucking bakugou crash throguh the door with satan covered in cheeto dust in both hands

Endeavor: “what the fuck my dude”

Aizawa: yaeah bitch we have 2 of ur sons

Dabi: might be the closest i’ll get to this hoe w/o my quirk fucking watch me @ u with a butter knife)

“You talked to him?”

And Hawks silently curses his inability to not realise that maybe this discussion will turn out more revealing than necessary. While saying he visited Dabi earlier really doesn’t expose anything, he’d rather not say anything at all. 

Dabi in general is a sensitive topic. With someone like Endeavor, who squared up against him, Dabi’s now the new nickname of his personal punching bag. 

“Yeah. He was broody,” he murmurs. 

There was something about Dabi that always had a quality of what-ifs . And the biggest one that Hawks always had about Dabi ever since their second meeting past the first one which only consists of a condescending tone of disbelief and disdain, too little dialogue for him to properly gauge Dabi in the first place, is whether or not Dabi didn’t have a few loose screws.

Killers had to have some.

But Dabi was really far past the mindset of the average killer.

And today, indirectly confirmed his suspicions that maybe, underneath the cold gaze that glitters wicked amusement and hate, his whip-chord frame anchored only by obsessiveness and survival instincts, he was nothing more than undecipherable mutterings and fragmented thoughts.

The way that Dabi always seemed to be there but not there, suggesting he was on substance, but the fact that he acted this way today after a day or so underneath supervision that guarantees there’s no way Dabi was on anything, really says something about his psych.

“That man is a bastard. A monster both inside and out, can’t believe they let him in. Dumb. People like All Might, naively thinking that someone as awful as Dabi can just change? That’s bullshit.” 

And while Hawks may have coloured that main point with less vindictive words and bias, he inwardly agrees. Because really, what the fuck? 

“What’d you two talk about?”

“Nothing much, really!” He chirps above his disposable coffee cup, lowering his laptop screen. “Just wanted to see the infamous Dabi for myself, ya know. Especially since my intern is at the school.” 

“My son is at school,” and Endeavor’s glower suggests that he’s seeing a disconnect between intern and mentor, as he’s clearly comparing it to his relationship with Shouto now. 

Hawks respects Endeavor and he can definitely see why Endeavor would personally feel as if Shouto’s safety and his relationship with him might be more important, because Shouto is his son, but that sort of dismissive comment grinds on his nerves. “The entire school staff is falling into disrepair, I swear to God. Eraserhead, an undercover agent working with kids? Thinking he can get involved with the students and my son as if he’s something more than a teacher- even though someone with his job like his shouldn’t be working with children in the first place,” 

Now, Eraserhead’s part-time job as an undercover agent, though whether or not he retired from that position is still up to debate amongst pro-hero gossip, is a controversial topic. Many people feel as though someone like him, going through all he must have while undercover, shouldn’t deal with children.

Endeavor is one of them, but Hawks has a suspicion it’s simply because Shouto happens to be within his homeroom, and that the entire class’s school year had been through some pretty televised stuff, though most of the things weren’t even Eraserhead’s fault, anyways.

“Eraserhead, as an undercover agent, probably would be the best type of person to look over Dabi, though. Wouldn’t he? Being exposed to people who turned to crime like him, and understanding him.” And those were the wrong words.

“Dabi chose to be a villain, who cares exactly how?” Endeavor spits, and Hawks internally sighs. At least they’re in the pro-hero’s private office, where one of his frothing rants wouldn’t shock their secretary into another cardiac arrest. Hawks may admire Endeavor for the quality that he doesn’t necessarily conform to a typical, smiling hero but still does his job well, but he certainly wishes Endeavor’s slipping rage isn’t as infamous as it is. “If anything, Eraserhead shouldn’t see Dabi as anything more than a villain, it’d endanger the students, and people like Dabi can’t change . You might not understand, but Dabi chose to be the way he is, you think there’s anything to undo if Dabi wanted or picked his actions? You think he deserves that undoing?”

“No, sir!” He replies animatedly, though his pitch doesn’t reach higher than a mutter. If anything, Endeavor doesn’t know how much he understands of Dabi.

He understands that Dabi’s someone he probably has to kill one day after infiltrating the League, and that right now, Hawks’ entire career remains in Dabi’s hands. Dabi may expose him, and he isn’t entirely sure how much he can escape unscathed. 

It’s a wonder that Dabi hadn’t dangled that obvious blackmail over his head the moment they met. If anything, Hawks was dictating the entire conversation in hopes of steering away from mentioning that because if Dabi turned his grotesque, macabre of a leer onto him with those words steeling his tongue and teeth, Hawks can’t rebuttal something as dangerous as that.

If anything, there’s a guilty part of him that feels glad that Dabi clearly was on the verge of shattering. Because Dabi could barely think outside of his own panic at that moment.

It almost made him feel bad.

Almost.

“Dabi is...unhinged.” Hawks begins lowly. “You can just tell by talking to him. I honestly don’t see a future for him in UA either.” 

He wonders if that’s a shame or not. All he knows is that Dabi is a major issue right now, and if necessary, Hawks would easily slit Dabi’s throat while quirkless in UA. Sure, he might think about the value of a human life and momentarily feel remorseful for it, might even feel something akin to sympathy for the bastard, as he recalls nights when Dabi simply does look sad, or faraway to the point where Hawks feathers shudder at the frost creeping over his glassy gaze. 

And yesterday, Hawks witnessed Dabi desperately try and glue the smithereens of his image back together in a hopeless case, trying to tack the flaking fragments of his persona back into something dignifiable. And Hawks saw a glimpse of spiraling madness within the man through the cracks, bubbling in his boiling blood, underneath the Pangea of burnt skin. 

It was sad to watch, honestly.

Frightening, too.

“I’m going to have a talk with Eraserhead. He and All Might are definitely the moving force of this entire project that’s set for failure.” He scowls.

“I don’t know. I think. It might be better to keep Dabi in UA.” And Hawks doesn’t know why he said that, because honestly, keeping Dabi in UA is an instant ramen recipe for disaster. Just add water. And the other, most prominent reason as to why it’s a sucky idea, is because it’s unjustified.

Dabi doesn’t deserve UA. That’s an undeniable fact. 

It’s just the fact that Dabi has the best chance in UA. After all, Dabi can’t feel regret or remorse if he’s unable to even understand why he should- UA could possibly change that, even if Dabi doesn’t deserve that sort of happiness and freedom after all he’s consciously done. (Hawks doesn’t go too deep into whether or not he believes the latter part.)

And it’s not even Dabi’s personality or character as a whole that serves to make Hawks believe some fucked up rehabilitation project should continue- rather it’s just his idea that a human life deserves rights, even if Dabi currently doesn’t qualify to be considered a human life.

“What?”

“It’s just that. Tossing him in jail won’t do any good, in my opinion. It might make situations worse, even though I certainly don’t agree with him housing in UA, especially surrounded by students.” Hawks expounds, calmly flipping through his file, knowing he should’ve shut up, because Endeavor will never let him go now.

I just want to go home and sleep in paranoia of Dabi exposing my two-timing ass .

“Hawks, I want you to think over what you just said.” Endeavor snips through gated teeth, and Hawks snorts. He definitely won’t, if anything, he wants to forget , he wants to forget the rawness in Dabi’s eyes and the strange protectiveness in Aizawa’s stance but not for him , and most of all he wants to forget how he felt for Dabi this morning. He wants to forget his blurred visual of Dabi’s sadness sweet and drunk like alcohol that only shines in slivers through the cracks of his skin during blue moon nights when he just appears too tired and caught up with unseen demons to properly stitch his skin back together. He wants to drown out the memory of Dabi’s coldness that he used to revel in, knowing that Dabi will get what’s coming and he’ll be the one to tear him down, since now it just contrasts the cursed voodoo doll cushioned with sharp emotions and despair’s grinning shark teeth. The two images’ differences are too severe for him to promptly figure the two can’t be the same person without a bridge of reconciliation. The bridge connects back to what made him this way. 

He wants to forget how he felt.

Pity.

Unadulterated pity at such a pathetic mess that he knows he’ll have to kill, for a multitude of reasons. Pity. 

It just appears as though Dabi’s end will have to come sooner than expected, and truly, that’s a pity.

Chapter Text

“Excuse me?” And Dabi rounds to the source of the voice, only to do a double take.

Dabi’s shock was probably what saved him from accidentally greeting Bakugou with a roundhouse kick and an added cardiac arrest. There was something unnerving about turning around and finding Bakugou staring at him, almost half a head shorter than him. 

For a second, he thought that maybe Bakugou wasn’t as much of a midget as he thought (to be fair, everyone’s fairly short in comparison to him), and that maybe Bakugou stopped fucking slouching for once- it’s bad for your back, after all.

Then he realized Bakugou gained longer lashes, and isn’t wearing a permanent scowl, which was equally off putting.

He wasn’t sure how those attributes stood out to him more than the fact that this Bakugou was sporting an entire lavender dress.

Maybe he just can’t see shit out of his dumb, fucking hot-pink glasses.

“Hello. Can you point me to the restroom?”

“Um.” He croaks at the fact that this was clearly a female, who’s a replica of the firecracker. His mother, perhaps? “You look a lot like Bakugou,” he fumbles out, nearly stumbling into a condescending nickname rather than the twerp’s actual one.

“That’s because I am a Bakugou. I’m the brat’s mother, Bakugou Mitsuki.” She sighs, flourishing a perfect hand. “You’re a ...janitor? You have an interesting outfit.”

He inwardly sighs, taking consolation in the fact that he didn’t voluntarily choose to look like he got smashed at a Coachella summer festival. 

“Kinda look like you’re creating a Sims character and you choose ‘random’ for all the features,” she grimaces, indicating towards his horribly inconvenient baggy jacket whose sleeves are now splattered in paint, and his awful glasses. Aizawa also forced him to wear a mask, claiming hours of inhaling paint would wreck his lungs. Not like they weren’t already fucked- his quirk literally has the same effect as someone using a candle as a weed pipe. Now he just looks like Mr. Clean DIY’d a hazmat suit while months into a biomedical apocalypse from Resident Evil.

For a curious, impulsive fraction of a second, he wanted to rip down his mask- give her a peek as to who he really is.

He wonders if she’d reply just like the firecracker would.

“I like your glasses,” she adds, when he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s a statement,” he replies shortly. “Bathroom’s down that hall,” he directs, ready to relish in glee that one day she’ll probably realize she talked to her son’s boogeyman and held a decently proper conversation with him without knowing. For now, he has a caramel cat to illustrate.

“Oh, did you paint this?” 

Blinking, he turns back to her, who’s now glancing at his finished walls with the cats, almost with admiration. Weird. “Um. Yeah." 

“You know, I’m a fashion designer. So that’s why I have the right to say your outfit is horrendous-” and yeah, definitely the brat’s mother, “but I have to say you’re an incredible artist either way. I sketch a lot of my designs, but they’re never as clean as your lines!”

“Oh.” He mutters numbly. Her unchanging expression causes him to reel through his sentence and realise how it sounds. Not like he gives a shit, but figuring there’s no point in trying to be an asshole right now when he just wants her to leave, he quickly tacks on a mumbled “thanks.” He awkwardly turns away, attempting to resubmerge himself in his work, hoping she will leave .

The longer she stares at him, at his inky hair and scarred, pierced ears that aren’t really covered by anything, the easier she’ll put two and two together without even seeing the majority of his face. 

“Really, incredible.” she murmurs. “Did UA hire you to redesign the common room?”

“Uh. Kind of?”

“You look so young!” She gapes, and he freezes, wondering how she’d assume that. “I mean. Just look at your awkwardness.” Is it that obvious ? “Like. The way you talk, so gruffly and with one-note answers, especially to compliments. My son responds that way!”

First of all, he cannot believe he’s being compared to the brat. Secondly, Bakugou seems to always have a thing to say. 

“I mean. Right, you must know him, even if you don’t want to,” he can’t help but cock an eyebrow at that. “He’s an arrogant child with a rambunctious temper-” and is he engaging in smacktalk with the person in conversation’s own mother? Is this what’s happening right now? Is this bad parenting? She doesn’t sound necessarily scornful like his father often was; rather, she just appears objective with the air of ‘what-can-you-do-about-it’. “And God, all the compliments got to his head. But really, even with that, I think he never knew what to do when people complimented him on anything other than his strength- he just looks constipated. And vaguely insulted. Like you.”

He takes another second to face her straight on, his own face completely obscured, and wonders exactly how did she get enough confidence to claim he looks anything at all right now.

“I do feel insulted that you’re comparing me to the twerp.”

“Haha! You two must be close.”

“Intimately.”

And she's staring at him, terrifyingly still with wide eyes. "Oh my god. Are you a friend?”

"Not a friend.” And her panic deflates as she nods understandingly. He thinks back to every interaction he's ever had with the kid. "...Glorified babysitter."

At this, she sharply inhales. "I’m sorry."

"I am too."

"He's literally such a handful. I can’t ever take him anywhere -”

Dabi, reevaluating his annoyance since this conversation has definitely taken a turn for the better, thinks about his response seriously. “Wait, me too . He has no concept of doing what he’s been told-”

“Exactly! Like? Is it that hard to just do a single thing? Like he’ll do it up until someone asks him to! Like! You were already doing the dishes, don't stop because you can't handle me mentioning it!”

“This one time I literally asked him to join our team when he was already qualified and basically a mascot of our organisation, but then he’s like ‘no, I’m going to renounce myself as a bully and just not join you guys’ because we asked. Like! You’re already emo, just join.”

“That sounds so much like Katsuki!” She exhales sharply, veering towards him, “and he wanders. When he was a child I literally couldn’t take him to the grocery store because somehow, he’d get lost like he's in IKEA even though the store's at most two-thousand square feet.”

“I had to bind him to make sure he didn’t cause trouble,” Dabi titters, thinking back to possibly the darkest days of his life when Bakugou Katsuki inhabited their base with the vibes of a plastic household Cosco plant that gained sentience and Free Will. 

At this, she laughs. “Right? I had to use one of those backpacks with a fuzzy animal on them and the leash as a child to make sure he didn’t disown himself. I don’t blame you for tying him up! You bought a leash for him?”

He thinks back to the handcuffs Spinner used on Bakugou while they tried to brush his teeth. “Something like that.”

“And his personality’s too loud in situations when it’s uncalled for.”

“Mm. That's why we sedated him."

"Smart."

Dabi suddenly remembers something. "He’s vaccinated, right? He bit my boss.”

“Aizawa, I’m guessing? Don’t worry, Katsuki gets yearly shots,” she scowls. “But he’s such a brat. You try to help him out and he refuses it due to his pride.”

“I know what you mean. We gave him an option to help him out, and still he rejects it and tries to act like he’s in control of the situation. False bravado.” The kid got lucky with All Might.

“I know! He has too much attitude in situations when he doesn’t have enough of anything to back it up.”

“He’s so ungrateful, too," Dabi adds. "I had to forcefeed him while on duty, to make sure he didn’t like, you know, die. Like, I could’ve just killed you, but no, I’m offering you a chance to live and you just reject my food. Like, fine! Sit there, and starve.” And every time he attempted to somehow jam the spoon past Bakugou’s gated teeth, Bakugou would always try and snap the spoon’s handle off. And then there was the weird talent he had of squirting liquids between his teeth, and since Toga insisted on forcing him to drink milk, claiming he needed calcium, every time Dabi approached within the radius of a foot of the boy, Bakugou would, without fail, squirt warm mouth milk straight into Dabi’s eye.

“Right? He never eats my husband’s cooking- only eats mine or his own, he’s so picky . And then he questions my knowledge, claiming my remedies are from Line articles. Like, I have survived natural selection and every epidemic in the past forty years, you are small and weak and your immune system will take you out the next time flu season comes around; I will stomp on you with my herbal tea medicine, drink it .”

Dabi takes a second. “Wait, you’re forty? I thought you were like. Twenty.”

Mitsuki cackles at that, terrifying Dabi in the process. “I get that a lot,” she says smugly, before her expression darkens. “And I gave the brat good skin, too, he should appreciate me more. Even with this skin, I’m getting wrinkles because of him.”

“I’m already covered in them, and he somehow gave me more,” Dabi deadpans. Bakugou was such a hassle. “He always feels the need to get the last word, as if somehow, swearing like that somehow one-ups him in a situation.” He has a vivid war flashback to when they attempted to knock the boy unconscious since he wouldn’t shut up , and kept on guessing all of Dabi’s charade acts before the rest of the members actually could, effectively killing their vibe. He wasn’t even a part of the game, asshole.

“Oh, he was way worse a child- his energy carried him awake through two nights if he simply willed it to. That’s why when he was little, I always stirred whiskey into his apple juice if I needed him to knock out for the night.”

“What.”

“But yes, your cats, they’re so cute!” And she’s stroking one of the dried felines, when she has absolutely no right to ignore the responsibility of what she just said. “Really, it gives the entire room character. You probably give the kids so much happiness with these paintings, you know. Little actions really do cause a lot.” She beams, and he stiffens, something relative to perhaps indignation and unbearably cold shock seeping into his bones. 

“I paint cats because I want to,” he states coldly. He doesn’t do shit for others. “And you can't just break the mood like that: what do you mean you gave your son alcohol as a child-”

“You know. I kind of want to hire you to paint my living room now.” She laughs cheerily, and she’s exactly like the brat - they live on their own rhythm and literally ignore whatever they don’t care enough to respond to. The difference is that she breathes out the laughing gas her lungs are hooked to, while Bakugou Katsuki probably pees out gasoline. She continues, utterly undeterred by his attitude. “How long have you worked here?”

“Not long.” And he wonders if it’d be appropriate to just ignore her. What’s Aizawa going to do? Tell her that yeah, Dabi’s a danger to society but he definitely should’ve known basic social manners? 

“Huh, I see. Are you an intern or something?” She inquires.

“Don’t you have to use the bathroom?”

And rather than being rightfully miffed and storming off, the freak just smiles, throws her head back, and laugh. 

Natsuo sometimes laughs like that. Or at least Dabi imagines he would, once he grew up.

He freezes, unsure what to do.

He’s never heard a proper laugh outside of the ones that Touya's younger siblings would gurgle every once in a while, and Fuyumi didn’t laugh: she just gave a closed-lip smile or polite giggle.

Meanwhile everyone’s laugh in league sounds like someone tried to spell them out as a 2003 YouTube quality caption using Google Translate.

He’s twenty-something, and he’s hearing his first proper laugh from a maniacal lady who appears to find his blatant and purposeful disrespect spawned from discomfort a source of amusement.

“Really, you are just like my son, but actually decently humble.” She chortles. 

He feels all his emotions pull a Wall-E and compact into a condensed trashblock at the realisation that he’s being compared to Bakugou. Again.

“You’re either shy, or you just don’t care enough to respond, and honestly, I’m enjoying both aspects here.” She chirrups. He’s not shy. He’s just annoyed. “Ah. But you’re right. I need to use the restroom, but I enjoyed our talk! I just had a frustrating one just moments ago, so it was refreshing to talk to you.”

He nods, fully expecting this to be the end of the conversation.

“Earlier, I was having a conversation over a new schooling situation. I’m sure you have heard of Dabi and how he’s currently working in the school.”

“I literally didn’t ask.”

“Yeah.” And what do you mean ‘yeah,’ did you not hear what I just said- “Aizawa says he wants to give the kid a chance, said that he deserved happiness or whatever-”

And he nearly has a heat stroke from those words. The rush of unexpected warmth that floods his heart cavity has to be anger. 

He hasn’t felt this warm in days.

“Gosh. I was going to punch Aizawa.” She hums, appearing too nonchalant for someone who passed down genes to the spawn of satan’s spitfire and is currently discussing an assumedly sensitive topic.

He takes a second. “Wait. I feel.”

“Really?” She gapes.

“Like this really violent urge to square up against him? He’ll drop like a sack of Girl Scout cookies with a single hit in the Walmart parking lot, I swear.”

“I relate, oh my god!” And she’s now grabbing him by his shoulders and oh. He flinches, but she’s too busy trying to deconstruct his body structure with each shake she makes. “Like, Christ , pushing all that righteous bullshit, even though I see where he’s coming from. But. Tell me if I’m being overly emotional-”

“You are. You’re going to the bathroom.” He reminds, as he attempts to wrangle her off of him.

“But. I understand the reasoning behind them keeping Dabi.” 

It takes Dabi a moment to realise he’s chained in purgatory like he’s a Walmart cashier dealing with a customer who’s halfway through an emotional breakdown at three A.M. and feels the need to share their entire life story that they’d just put on Snapchat anyways with a black background, and Dabi’s forced to listen to until all of their twenty-four bags of celery are scanned. 

In summary: he can’t escape. 

“Apparently it’s because they found Dabi abandoned at UA but I feel like even so there should be much better ways to deal with this than adopting the stray. Especially when it endangers students! And. My Katsuki went through a lot because of Dabi. And my stupid son won’t even let me be mad about- says I’d embarrass him if I got mad,” she sighs, her gaze now more distant. 

Dabi scoffs. Of course. Twerp prioritises his pride over health- sounds exactly like the system this school encourages.

“He said that I needed to get used to it. Said that being a hero meant obviously his life would be in danger. Then he got pissed-” he rolls his eyes underneath his glasses. Sounds like him. “Boy said I was ‘half-assing’ this hero thing if I pulled him out of school now, because it’s my fault for not feeling prepared for these types of situations. Stupid shit. Like, of course I need to learn to let him go and understand that heroism includes a consistent voluntarily suicidal mentality-”

And Dabi knows she can’t see his gaze through his glasses, but that doesn’t stop him from drilling a hole into her hollow cranium with a deadbeat stare as if that could convey all his questions and concerns about her personality and current mental state.

“But he’s still in school . He’s still a kid, and being a student here, he’s still learning, he shouldn’t be dealing with adult things until he learned properly how to-”

“There’s no learning when it comes to certain things,” Dabi says shortly. Touya learned that. Dabi did as well, when he thought that he could properly swallow glue without it coagulated within his airway that one time. 

“Yes. But even so, while I get Katsuki’s mad about my whole attitude- he’s in this school. This school should prioritise his safety first, his future first, rather than engaging in some political battle. Like! Any other institution can deal with Dabi- one that doesn’t need to place countless amounts of students in danger, especially mine who. Who isn’t in the best mental state because of Dabi. He doesn’t. God.” And she laughs, a dry cackle, and he eyeballs her warily. “He’s going to kill me for talking about this, god, especially with a stranger. But. Katsuki’s not okay. And they’re not doing anything about it.” Sounds exactly like the hero system. “And it’s their job ,” and she no longer sounds casual or nonchalant. Just sad.

Dabi takes a step back, and puts down his paintbrush. Bakugou Katsuki. Interesting.

A reason why he was so smug about snatching away Bakugou was so that UA could retrieve a child broken and mangled by the reality of their society. Show them what it’s really like, outside of their naively idealistic perspective.

It appears as though Bakugou’s mother was always aware of that- if anything, it looks like her little twerp sees the bigger picture of the world unlike most adults. 

Not like there’s going to be a hero system for him to grow from once Dabi’s done with his life, but guess that fuckin’ brat is probably going to be one of those heroes that Stain would’ve approved of. Underneath his mask, his teeth clack into a wicked smile at such a strange thought.

“And the teachers then they try to convince me? Convince me , a mother of a child they are purposefully endangering for their own goals when they exist as a teacher in this school to provide for their safety, to accept this?”

“Sounds like heroes.” He takes a second. “You know. You should stomp on them.” 

She gives him an odd if not amused look at that. “You know. Thanks for being here. There’s something validating about you, just a worker in UA listening and agreeing with me. And encouraging acts of violence.”

“I think hero society is corrupt and doesn’t have the right mindset in life. And I think acts of violence is the quickest and most efficient solution to most problems.”

“Exactly! God, you should have a promotion. Preach to the teachers. You should say that to Dabi, too.” 

“I’ll tell him that.”

“I’m pissed at Aizawa, even though I’m giving him leeway because I know Katsuki is attached to him. Little brat can dislocate my clavicle for all I care, doesn’t hide the truth. But I’m not only mad at Aizawa, I’m mad at Dabi.”

“You know what,” he takes a second, “me too,” he’s so done with himself. 

“The thing about Dabi is that. He hurts people and he probably doesn’t even care . I’ve never even met him once, but Katsuki complains about him a lot-”

“Sounds about right.”

“And hearing about him pisses me off. That Dabi, I think he wanted to prove something. Prove something about the hero world and society,” she muses, bringing a thumbnail up to straight, white teeth. “Wanted to show that everything in reality must be inherently bad, and that kids and normal citizens are too optimistic, and overlook problems. And this somehow serves as justification for him kidnapping my child and killing people? Stupid ,” ouch, “because if he didn’t kidnap children, then it wouldn’t happen! Sure, reality sucks, and awful things happen daily, and heroes can’t be the only solution or always the good side, but he doesn’t credit human nature’s resilience and learned or innate goodness. He contributed to the awful side of society: he doesn’t get to justify his actions by saying we’re too naive and impractical and that it’s our fault for not seeing the bad in the good place.”

And Dabi’s back to being bored. He doesn’t want to hear her analysis or whatnot. What the fuck would she know? To talk shit like that? Would she say that shit if she knew who he was-

He thinks about Bakugou, and instantly realises that she probably would. 

“I think. You’re not wrong,” which is true, he thinks that she isn’t wrong , but rather, she’s underestimating or disregarding his viewpoint to support her own.

And besides. There’s something strange right now. Like this is a vivid dream and he’s unaware it’s a dream but he has to be or else why would he thinking such thoughts and maybe this is just a sign-

“And of course,” she continues, once again, completely ignoring Dabi. Not like he can’t get behind that. “Everything in society will never be black and white as people thought when they were kids, but Dabi seemed to try and force the idea that there’s a grey area for everything, when sometimes, things are only bad because there are good, innocence, or childish heroics prevalent in society. People like him are lost in the gutter of their own ideology that the norm is bad and dark, and the fact that he wants to prove it to anyone, especially to innocent children , really just shows that he either never experienced anything different. He’s so self-entitled in his own goals that he drags others into them, making decisions for everyone, in his fucked up sense of own selfish justice. And he doesn’t even make good decisions.” She then pauses, chest heaving, before licking her lips slightly and turning to him. “He’s literally as self-entitled as Katsuki except Katsuki doesn’t drag good people into his beliefs and doesn’t police others with methods such as murder and fear!”

Mitsuki has compared him to her son more than five times, as both the janitor and as Dabi.

“Dabi sounds really edgy,” he concludes from her description. He pauses. And he feels like he’s supposed to be upset. Or angry. Especially angry. Because she doesn’t understand (and really even his own relatives would never have known what Touya felt or what Dabi knows, so how could he expect anyone to-) but he can’t be pissed. If he was always hooked on what other people interpreted his actions as, then he shouldn’t be doing them in the first place. Because of course she wouldn’t know, and of course she’d have a right to her own viewpoint, and of course even if she knew what he thought and understood his goals that doesn’t necessarily mean she’d agree with him. 

There’s something hollow that resonates eerily through his mind, that in the end, even if Endeavor got exposed, that it wouldn’t matter . The only opinions that matter were his own and Endeavor's, because if he were to dangerously focus on anyone else's, then he’d never feel satisfied. 

“He is so edgy.  Like. I don’t know. Something about him just pisses me off.”

“I felt that.”

“And then the school , oh my god .”

“I felt that too.”

“Dabi could literally be anywhere right now. I mean,” she sighs, “he’s probably under surveillance but he could be just around the corner at this moment!”

“Or even in this room.”

“Don’t be silly, he can’t be, we’re here.”

He stares into a distant camera reeling footage of his disastrous life, spinning its tale for the sole purpose of 2010 The Office comedy that has the soundtrack of America’s Funniest Home Videos.

“Like! I cannot believe they let this pass. I understand the logic behind keeping him here because they’re taking precautions against the dangers of who actually left Dabi in their hands, but what about the students? The school’s only response to you know, my very reasonable logic as not just a mother, but as a sane person, is that I should be more ‘understanding’. What the fuck! Like fine, you want me to accept that you’re doing this because of something bigger than just UA, but don’t you have a better response to my reasonable anger?” She seethes. He awkwardly begins cleaning the paint out from underneath his nails. 

“Aizawa expects me to be understanding- understanding my ass! Sure I get that they want to provide Dabi with a second chance, and that ultimately, Aizawa thinks that rehabilitation is better than jail time, but why does he expect me to understand! Like don’t expect shit from me! My son is living with his own nightmare!” Dabi frowns, realising the paint congulating around his skin isn’t coming off. “You’re teachers , what the fuck are you doing? I don’t care if Dabi has an Oscar-worthy tragic backstory. His backstory may explain his actions, sure, but they fucking don’t justify them!”

“You know what. What you’re saying isn’t wrong , they gotta hear it,” Dabi shrugs, while trying to peel a layer of paint off his palm in one go. “The teachers are supposed to stay as teachers. This school, trying to engage in this sort of action is irresponsible and egotistical.”

“I know right? And they’re what? Trying to appeal to me about Dabi? I don’t give a shit! Shut up!” 

And Dabi’s basking right now. “Literally, you’re an embodiment of the energy I do not have. Like, yes, whoo, go send Aizawa into cardiac arrest with your current levels of entropy,” he says, rather lacklusterly. 

“I did want to tell him this earlier, but then I realised if I got started I would probably throw hands.”

“Isn’t that just more a reason to get started?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, if my son figured out I punched his favourite teacher, he’d probably tell my mom to adopt him and call CPS again.”

He pauses. “I’m sorry, is there something I should know about you or like. Like what’s. What is all this?”

“Last year he called CPS on me because I disinfected the raccoon bite on his elbow with grape-flavoured mouthwash. Granny then took me out with a broom.”

And Dabi doesn’t know if he’s just stupid or if the void really did collapse the grey matter in his brain, but he can barely process what the hell she’s saying as it’s drowned out by the white noise of Lightning McQueen’s kachow in the background. “You know what,” he finally says when his brain catches up. “You deserved to be reported to the authorities.”

“Shut up. I saved his life by taking him to the vet who gave him rabies shots.”

He stills. “You took your son to the vet ?”

She shrugs. “The vet is an old friend of mine. He’s also the only one who can legally put Katsuki in a cone and successfully give him shots.”

“I’m calling the police.”

At this, she clicks her tongue. “You’re apparently as rude as Katsuki. Think I won’t treat you the same?” She begins, swiftly reaching down to remove a heel, patting it like it’s a typical sandal.

“Hey, hey - this is why your child called the authorities on you-”

“Firstly, I’m the one who needs protection from him, not the other way around! If I ever hit him hard enough he’d break my neck.”

“Probably better for everyone.”

At this, she jabs him sharply in the side with her shoes, and Dabi flinches at it jams right into his ribcage. “Anyways, Dabi pisses me off even more than Aizawa does!”

“He did attack your son,” he nods amiably, realising there’s no way to derail Bakugou Mitsuki’s own line of thinking. He thinks back to when he also dropped an entire platter of salsa down his white shirt a couple weeks ago. “He pisses me off, too,” he confides hollowly. 

“Yes! But like, I’m not even just mad about that!” And really, what type of parenting is this? “Dabi’s attitude pisses me off.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a lot like your son?”

“Dabi thinks that we don’t see the corruption in society, or that we’re the ones missing out on something.” She says softly, her voice still brash in its own way. “Look, I hate him, and I always will, rightfully so, not just for my son but for everyone he’s hurt,” she suddenly spits, her voice hardening, and the way her lips ripple back to reveal glistening teeth reminds him that fucking Fireworks must’ve gotten his personality from someone , “but still. I can see Aizawa’s point that maybe he deserves a chance to see our side of shit. Even if I don’t think he deserves that chance, it’s not his fault he didn’t get an opportunity. But I hate that they think just because fine, they have a fucking point, that suddenly means it matters . Because that point doesn’t fucking matter in the grand scheme of things. If he changes, good for him, but he needs to be held responsible either way! And right now, he hasn’t changed. He’s still dangerous! And ugh the school expects me to be nice? I am not unreasonably nice-”

“You can just say ‘nice’.”

“Or stupid . Like? I don’t give a shit! Like, I don’t have to do anything, much less be understanding because you tell me to, you feel?”

“Totally.”

“Am I annoying you right now?”

“Totally.”

“And the thing is, they’re sacrificing my baby’s safety for Dabi?”

“It’s like talking to a wall,” Dabi says specifically to no one.

“If you want to rehabilitate him, fine, whatever. But you are deliberately choosing to endanger innocent people for this, especially when they owe nothing to him, and if anything, he owes something to them!”

“I think you said that already.”

“Like we get it! You probably listen to Insane Clown Posse you trash -”

“This conversation is severely one-sided.”

“Dabi’s the dumbass who knows there’s a good and bad side, and obviously there’s a couple bad eggs in both parties. But Dabi seems to think that the minority of the good side, simply because they stand against the basis of their platform, suddenly justifies his means to prove it! Bullshit!” she sighs restlessly, her heels now pacing irritatingly on the carpet, creating muffled thuds. “Dumb shit. Did what I say just made sense?”

He nods, despite the fact that he’s pretty sure his blood clot in the midst of his brain halfway through her rambling, and that he blacked out near the end of her sentence.

“Yeah. The bad shit in the good party should be revealed. But by contributing to the bad side whose casualties include innocents? That’s not any better, that’s simply making excuses for his actions.” She’s now pacing. 

And the thing is, Dabi’s already tired. He can’t even muster an emotional rise against Mitsuki. Rather, the rot residing in his cranium has been melted underneath Hawks’ heat, Aizawa’s expectations, Dabi’s own indifference, that right now, it doesn’t even feel like Mitsuki’s talking about him.

Or Aizawa.

Instead, she’s just another character. Another one of Shigaraki’s Animal Crossing neighbours currently trying to haggle eight apples and a Wikihow demon summoning out of him for a wooden plank. 

He nearly laughs, but he doesn’t, knowing it’d echo between the cavities of his teeth and vibrate no matter how hard he clenches his jaw. 

It’s strange. He was sad-angry (smad?) the other day, pissed, and he can’t even remember how he felt he just knows he did, whatever that means. 

Now he just feels empty. As if he burned through everything that he was and he can’t get it back.

Solid.

“What’s your quirk?” Dabi suddenly thinks to ask. “Is it like. Psychological, cognitive, or-”

“Having clear skin.”

He stares.

“Sorry, I’m rambling aren’t I?” She smooths her casual jeans.

“Yeah.”

“Ah, well, I apologise for suddenly unloading all that on you. It’s not fair to you, anyways,” she mutters, hiking her purse back over her shoulder.

“Mm. Trust me, it’s fair,” he smiles at the irony.

“Awe, such a sweet boy!” He’s going to crush her vocal chords. “I’ll be heading off now! I hope to run into you again soon.” She laughs, which seems so characteristic for her vicious, motherly type (he’s not sure. Are mothers typically so brash?). And she is very abrupt, considering how just seconds ago she was venting like she was on an Instagram spam account. “What’s your name?”

He chokes.

“I- what? Hork?”

“No, no. Uh.” And for a dumbass second, he nearly blurted Shouto, and Natsuo seems like a viable choice but he doesn’t want to taint ghosts of his past with this . Literally every Naruto character comes to mind for a second, but because he’s an uncultured swine, he says without second thought: “Touya.”

And he flinches so hard, he thinks his entire nervous system jerked haywire like a live wire, with his words connecting the circuit.

Oh my God.

“Touya? Awe, did you give me your first name? Cheeky-” she snickers with mocking amusement, which seems to intensify with her smirk as he sputters.

“Um. Touya. Touya Arashi.”

Hm. It appears as if the main reason why he doesn’t deserve second chances is because he doesn’t learn from his damn mistakes.  

Sure, God gave him a second chance, but it was only after he spat out an unassuming answer was his mind able to remember all of a sudden every other normal Japanese surname that he could’ve listed.

But no , he ended up saying his mother’s original surname. 

If God takes him out right now then he’s just the lifeguard cleaning up the gene pool.

Sure, it’s not like the name Arashi means anything to Mitsuki. 

It doesn’t even mean anything to his own father.

But still, it’s a testament of his lack of forethought and ability to think clearly when normally, he has to be quick on the spot and able to easily conjure any lie- living as a Todoroki was good practice for skills necessary in the villain world.

But he’s just so done and tired and something must’ve slipped (and maybe a clog isn’t properly greased in his brain because right now). The most he can think of is simply that Aizawa thinks that he can change, and that Walmart employees are severely underpaid.

(And what happened to the emptiness? What happened to that sense of security of knowing he’s untouchable that he’s never there that nothing can get to him why are they spoon-feeding him emotions, thinking the stimuli will amount to anything more than frayed nerves and disjointed thoughts?)

“Okay, Arashi-chan!” And dear god this was a mistake . “Nice meeting you, please, refer to me as Bakugou-san!” And really, Dabi doesn’t use honorifics. Touya might’ve- but not Dabi.

“Ah. Right. Not talkative. Well, my brat of a son calls me ‘Old Hag’, so I don’t really expect you to call me anything nice, either,” she snorts, and he doubles back, wide-eyed because those kind of words would be fatally stupid, and while he knows his dad may be extreme, he assumes that an average family would at least scorn their kid for doing that. Then again, this family appears to be a rather primitively violent group in general. “But you don’t get to call me that, or else I’ll actually beat sense into you, Arashi-chan.” She threatens with a wink. Normally, he’d hold her to it- if an adult, especially a parent says they’d hit you, it’s probably an actual warning.

But to be fair: the Bakugous have proven themselves to be a rather... interesting bunch who really don’t conform to normality or the government.

“This is not happening.”

Mitsuki sighs, clearly lost in her own world. “Or should I call you Touya-”

“No.”

“You’re literally a mature version of my son.” She’s literally going to regret that statement, and he hopes it breaks her when she finds out why. “Okay, Touya-chan-” 

“No.”

“I’ll be off. It was nice meeting someone as talkative as you,” and oh, she’s definitely making fun of him. His glare cuts into nothing from the shutters of his dumb sunglasses that he can’t afford to fucking take off, but if she does sense the not-feeling-it-vibes crashing off his body in violent waves, she doesn’t infer to it. “We should talk again!”

“We should not.”

“Let’s grab coffee one day. You should meet my husband, he’ll think it’s funny how alike you are with Katsuki! He also understands how Katsuki can get.”

“What is happening I do not like this development-”

“Oh, wait!” And she’s fishing into her purse, and Dabi recoils, because this lady has severed any expectations he had for her and for reality, making a mockery of the heaviness of this situation of the problems swirling in her mind and his. He does not know what to emotionally prepare himself for but he fully expects her to whip out a butter knife. 

She retrieves a crumpled napkin and an already uncapped pen that probably made a mess of the walls of her bag, and scribbles something down. “This is my number, contact me if you can!” And the audacity of her- she shoves it straight into his haphazardly sewn pocket of his fit, and waves.

He doesn’t wave back, and instead watches her figure confidently stalk away on dick-crushing heels.

Only when she's most definitely out of sight, does he yank down his face mask to reveal scarred tissue that thankfully doesn’t accumulate sweat underneath the fabric, and pinches the bridge of his nose to ground him back from that wild conversation.

Oh my God. 

Touya. He’s burned that identity long ago, and there’s no way Dabi can ever reconcile nor be a part of Touya’s life once more. Because his life, no matter how chaotically unstable or surprisingly boring his life may be, it’s all compartmentalised.

Touya’s little receptacle is locked away, organised to collect dust as planned. And he just broke the rules. Breaking rules never went well at home . 

His hand jittery and his nerves frayed with emotions that range wildly from negative to positive, he mechanically reaches back down to retrieve his abandoned paint brush.

She insulted his political beliefs, and then insulted him by consistently paralleling his behaviour to Bakugou Katsuki .

Just. Just paint another cat. Nothing can go wrong if you just fucking paint a cat. And not that it matters, but apparently Aizawa likes them. And he's definitely not upset or really angry, it's just. Off balanced. As if he did something wrong but he can't tell what, the origins of the unease that makes homage in his ribcage. Maybe it's the Touya thing, maybe it's Mitsuki in general, maybe it's the fact that he's playing house in a hero school right now and painting cats on a wall. He doesn't know what It is. 

And he feels like if he truly lets his guard down just a little bit so that he could meld into the stale and deceiving tranquility of this school, he'd miss It. Whatever It is, he just knows it'd swallow him whole.

Midnight has gravely given him another cup of cold coffee, Cementoss has offered his silent condolences with a half-eaten bag of stale banana chips, and Yamada simply just did the sign of the cross solemnly in an act of self-preservation. 

Jesus may save Yamada from Endeavor, but not from Aizawa once he’s done with him.

“What’s that?”

“A memorial,” Kayama answers monotonously from where she’s currently taping a ripped picture of Aizawa from their old graduating school yearbook, onto the teacher lounges’ coffee machine. “Howard, Aizawa will always be by your side in life or death,” she whispers, stroking the clunky coffee machine that Yamada named ‘Howard’ with an old labelling machine. Howard seems to respond to her tone with a terrifying wheeze, sputtering a cloud of water vapor.

“Stop it,” Aizawa snaps. Not like he can blame their terrifyingly normal behaviour, though. After all, it’s not every day one gets a meeting with a metaphorical and physically literal satan. “Watch the kid.” Aizawa says with a sigh, and Kayama nods, because she’s the only available responsible one out of the bunch (or more specifically: in comparison to Yamada). “How is he?”

“Yeah I saw him...painting cats earlier?” Kan says with a curious tilt of his head.

“Ten bucks that he ends up drawing them all dead?” Yamada grumbles.

“You don’t have ten bucks,” Kayamas says, disgusted.

Yamada, undeterred, continues. “The kid’s an artist. Really. All good artists are tortured souls.”

“Wrong. That’s just a bad stereotype.” Kayama grumbles.

“Are you sure? Have you ever been on DeviantArt?” Ectoplasm says flatly, in the background and verbally stepped on like a doormat since Kayama and Yamada are clearly riling up for another argument between them once more.

“You’re just mad that the last time you drew a person, people thought you were having sleep paralysis demons again.” Kayama leers.

“Well, in my defense, any drawing of you was going to turn out like that.”

And before Yamada could physically bodyslam Kayama to the floor, the door opens. Aizawa, arms full of cold coffee and expired banana chips, nearly expands into a fighting stance, thinking that it was the dreaded guest.

Hound Dog’s metal muzzle reaches past the door frame before his actual face does. Aizawa laxes. “Who the fuck invited the jackass in?”

“Endeavor?” The entire present teaching staff questions in unison, dryness and death crackling through them. 

“So you knew, and you still let him in? His entire presence feels like fleas.” Hound Dog snaps. “Can’t believe you guys invited him. Smells like congestion and he used Old Spice spray deodorant as a mouthwash.”

“We have air fresheners,” Kayama shrugs, fishing out a bag of Cheetos from the abyssal depths of their cabinets. “You know, if you Febreze Endeavor right in his beard, you could probably make a mobile flame thrower.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Aizawa warns.

“Feel tempted,” she snarks back, her legs dangling over the couch arm suddenly kicking at him. He flips her off.

“And Endeavor…he speaks too loud, too, fucks my hearing,” Hound Dog continues to gripe.

“Yeah, well you’re not going to be the one to talk to him.” Aizawa sighs, rejection and ten years of stress colouring his voice. He then upends the entire cup of musty coffee into his mouth, while dreaming of the day that he has an allergic reaction to stress and caffeine. 

If his throat closes up, then so be it.

“Truly, I do respect Endeavor-”

“I don’t,” Yamada states sharply.

“You’re just mad he made fun of how much pomade you use in your hair,” Kayama remarks dryly, scraping Cheeto dust off her thumb with the edge of her teeth. 

Yamada flushes. “Okay, I can’t believe he’s making fun of my hairspray when literally his own freakin’ beard defies both physics and style and consumes oxygen. Like, he’s wasting my oxygen! Compensate by stop breathing, asshole!” He snaps hysterically, jamming his hand into Kayama’s bag of Cheetos, and at this, the woman shrieks, punting him with her shoe.

“It’s just that his temper makes it hard to really…” Ectoplasm breaks off uneasily, also completely and utterly disregarding Yamada’s presence like everyone usually does.

“Exist.” Kayama finishes, deadpanned and probably dead everywhere. 

“Listen, I do appreciate that he’s a hero more focused on work rather than being likeable despite his incessant need to be first in even reputation-” Yamada says flippantly, though, there’s something off-kilter about his smile. “But honestly, his attitude bothers me. It’s almost like everyone sees him as honest, but I feel like he’s always hiding something.” He shudders, sticking out his tongue theatrically, while Aizawa rolls his eyes.

He may not really like Endeavor in the sense that he’s flashy, despite how his entire fanbase is built around the idea that he isn’t and is more pragmatic, but he’s unwilling to smack talk about another hero. It’s unprofessional, and a waste of time. 

“No, Endeavor isn’t a bad guy . As much as there are bad people in the hero society, I wouldn’t count Endeavor as one. At the very least, while he may seem like a harsh and disciplined person, I wouldn’t say he’s bad,” Cementoss shakes his head, his tone disapproving.

And Aizawa didn’t want to say anything, because assumptions are unpredictable and non-refundable once out there, but- “I’m pretty sure Endeavor is directly related to Dabi’s birth. There’s no way he wasn’t, being both a hero and his father, especially since Dabi specifically hates heroes. And you guys all remember Todoroki Shouto in freshman year, right?” And there was something off about that kid- it was present and though ignorable, now that they’re aware that Endeavor possibly fathered Dabi into who he is now, is explainable. 

At this, an uneasy silence blankets the Lounge with something suffocating and dangerous.

Howard coughs weakly, and at this, Kayama tosses a Cheeto at him, and it clinks against his pot, dropping to the floor where their pet Roomba sadly crunches over it. “Shut up!” She shouts through a mouthful of mush. “God, these taste like Styrofoam peanuts. Guys, can fake cheese expire?”

“I say no. Kaminari’s still finishing off the entire mass-bought box of spray-can cheese each day in my class since his first year,” Kan says sagely. “And since he hasn’t died yet, I’d say you’ll be fine.”

“And besides, the taste of Cheetos itself already outweighs the cons of expiration,” Yamada adds wisely, saying something helpful for once in his life.

Hound Dog suddenly breaks the conversation with a hard cough. “I can smell Endeavor getting closer. I hate him. He’s the guy who would consider my profession revolving around the mental health of students as foolish.” He bristles defensively. “He invaded my space earlier, stepped onto my territory, clearly thinking he owns it. My office , Eraserhead.” 

“Why are you calling me out?” Aizawa sighs.

“Why can’t his wife come? Did she even come during the first year’s open house?” Yamada grunts.

“No, but she was underneath Todoroki’s name for emergency contact- and I believe Endeavor has disclosed to the school she has an illness? Or something that kept her in the hospital for years.”

Then, almost on cue, a shadow descends over Hound Dog, and the temperature rises.

Hound Dog clamps his nose tightly. 

“Eraserhead, I was looking for you. I thought you would be in your office, considering how I told you I would be here exactly an hour later.” 

Now, Aizawa can’t most certainly say that he was here to solely avoid him and possibly annoy him, and that he just needed more coffee. “Sorry, I was informing the others about your visit real quick, so that they may take responsibility for the next hour over my...intern.” And Endeavor narrows his eyes, certainly knowing who this intern refers to. “We’ll talk in my office.” He says, as he tosses the banana chips back to Yamada, who fumbles to catch it, before following Endeavor out the door, responding with just a blink to Hound Dog’s look of mistrust and concern.

Good thing Dabi isn’t here to see this.

Aizawa pointedly ignores the stack of papers still scattered on the floor after Mitsuki’s visit, though he inwardly curses himself because while he doesn’t have anything to prove and frankly doesn’t care what Endeavor thinks of him, it still appears unprofessional.

“Eraserhead, you know exactly what type of situation you're putting my son in?”

Which son, he muses ironically. 

“Leaving my son in the same building as that murderer, who purposefully attacked his class? How dare you endanger your own students? Do you not feel any shame?” And Aizawa, quite simply, wants to launch himself into the sea. Endeavor’s not even in the wrong ; he has genuine points and the right to feel angry, and however he expresses his feelings is simply valid considering the situation right now.

Aizawa doesn’t put a pause on his visceral mental image of being taken out by a bus right before Endeavor’s eyes, though. 

“I’m sure you read my email.” Aizawa repeats, as he had over the course of the entire day when he replied to numerous calls and emails from parents, along with other teachers. “Dabi physically is incapable of fighting back even a quirkless student not even at this point, but in general. Dabi’s default physical build is…” he doesn’t know how to convey that Dabi would probably collapse like a folding chair if someone kicked him in the back of his knees, “he certainly has the average strength of a middle schooler.” Not even. “And he is quirkless. We have already provided quirk inhibitors if that status changes.”

“And if it does change? You think that you can protect the students, Eraserhead? We’ve all seen his hellish quirk. And he can always act out even without his quirk. He could be gathering information or stealing files. And what if his presence brings in the rest of the League or other villains?”

“During the night, we lock his dorm door with an alarm. It’ll sound if anyone tries to enter or exit without a key, and that key is only in the hands of the teachers who sleep in the same dorm as him as a safety precaution.”

“Do you guys tie him up at night?”

“No. But we pat him down before we allow him to enter the room to make sure he isn’t carrying anything suspicious.”

“Not good enough.”

 And Aizawa knows nothing will ever be good enough for him. “We also have cameras- we’ll see if any suspicious activity arises. I’d also like to mention that Dabi himself cannot use his quirk without severely damaging himself- we’ve learned that the cause of all his serious and life-long internal and external physical injuries are caused by the drawbacks of his quirk.” And he doesn’t have anything more to say other than empty reassurances, because all of Endeavor’s worries are based on ‘what-ifs’, and so Aizawa can’t refute their possibilities. 

“We were hoping of keeping Dabi’s presence out of the press for as long as possible to avoid any possibility of villains attempting to contact him, though admittedly I’m unsure how long that’ll last,” Aizawa confesses. “However, we strongly believe that whoever left Dabi on our porch is more dangerous than the villains we’ve currently faced. We also do not know what their intentions are, and that is a major factor as to why we’ve decided to keep him in UA. UA is considered impenetrable and constantly monitored by experienced heroes at all hours and every day, and as we don’t even know what type of person we’re dealing with, we take this not only as a safety precaution over Dabi, but also over our hero society as a whole.”

A wide grin that rivals Ectoplasm’s suit splits Endeavor’s face into a sneer. “You couldn’t have just sent him to jail? Somewhere where people as dangerous as him go, rather than keep him here where too many things can go wrong and innocent people- innocent children can get hurt?”

And the thing is, Aizawa is vividly aware that this entire goddamn Wattpad situation is supported on a sand foundation of plotholes and an author who fears No God, whose insight is as deep as the YMCA kiddie pool. In the real world he would Lose this ethical argument, and for a good reason.

However, some universal entity promptly decided that this entire ordeal has to be played with like a Disney show: and therefore glosses over the very prominent issues of having a killer villain who instilled trauma in this building’s resident live here.

“Jail can be broken out of.” And almost pettily, he adds with his continuous toneless indifference: “and you know that.”

Endeavor definitely picks up on the non vocalised leer, judging by the way his glare hardens. “We also don’t know who Dabi could come in contact with while he’s in jail, which is dangerous considering how we still don’t know the intentions or character of the person who initially incapitated him. He was left on our doorstep for a reason, and right now, we interpret that as a threat. It’s in good practice to assume the worst, and we believe Dabi, a highly wanted villain who’s escaped multiple battles with heroes due to his quirk, being left quirkless and helpless on our doorstep is possibly a show of power, something we have to be wary of. Having Dabi here and constantly monitored is considered the best choice right now, since we don’t know who we’re dealing with.”

And it’s the way that Endeavor glares at him that tells Aizawa that Endeavor is used to getting what he wants, is used to being right since opponents submit to being wrong. Aizawa doesn’t think he’s entirely right or wrong, but he knows that he isn’t going to simply let Endeavor walk all over him. “Sounds like a bunch of excuses.”

And it really is, so well sorry.

“Sounds like everything I wrote in the email,” Aizawa cannot believe he’s here to what? Play Siri by vocalising what he spent over a couple hours writing and editing? “Can you not read, Endeavor?” And he knows he shouldn’t be irritatingly childish, but he cannot handle an hour of arguing over something so redundant. “If you’re here solely because you dislike my explanation in the email, I’m sorry but this is not something that can be negotiated. I can’t just change the school’s decision because it’s unpopular, nor do I have the (will)power to do so,” Aizawa sighs, speaking in parenthesis like a Shakespeare character and promptly breaking the laws of the universe.

“Fine, that’s understandable. It’s not like you can make any more excuses past what you wrote," Endeavor taunts. Well. He’s a bit confused but he’s got the right spirit. “I do have a question that was never addressed though. Why not just kill Dabi?” Aizawa pauses, staring at Endeavor, who glares right back. “Dabi himself doesn’t deserve protection if that safety requires endangering children, students, and I’m not advocating murder-”

“You literally just said ‘why not just kill Dabi’.”

Aizawa stares unflinchingly at Endeavor’s clenched fist. By this point, Aizawa’s pretty sure he can’t willingly blink without breaking every capillary in his eyeball.

“But the thing is, when it comes down to it, killing Dabi is probably not just necessary, but what’s best,” and he’s trying his best to sound like he doesn’t want to upheave the table out the window, which Aizawa genuinely does appreciate.

“First off, not only would killing him set an awful example for growing heroes-” and what type of hero would’ve Shouto Todoroki turned out if he followed the same mindset? He can’t blame Endeavor for prioritising his son’s safety over Dabi’s or questioning their decision, but murdering is a literal moral dilemma and he’s trying to rationalise it with logic? “But it would also be pointless. Killing him is certainly the easier route, so is jailing him or placing him in a mental institute. All three options could be done with little backlash with proper damage control. It would be easier, wouldn’t it?” And Aizawa sees Dabi’s face reflected back at him, staring at him with zero expectations for himself and for him. Endeavor and Dabi really share the same blood. “Rather than acknowledging that there’s hope for him if we really try, you just want to take the simpler route underneath the guise that it’s what’s right and better for everyone else.” And he wonders if he’s overstepping boundaries, but they’re both adults here- what’s Endeavor going to do? Tell on him? Pull his son out of the best hero school when Endeavor holds rankings with such importance?

“Are you calling me a coward -”

And lazy is more of the right term, but seeing the way Endeavor’s almost spitting fire, and how his strewn papers are curling from the intensity of heat Endeavor's radiating, he figures it’s probably better not to tell him that since his furniture isn’t fireproof. “I’m just saying when we have other options, we should not just choose killing because it’s the simplest out of all of them.”

“It’s what he deserves, Eraserhead!” And he’s roaring but there’s something still collected in his tone; strained, but stable. “And I don’t know what naive bull you’re trying to pull by saying otherwise. Don’t try and justify your actions. Right now, Dabi is a villain , he killed people. He should be prepared for an equal reaction.”

“We don’t just kill people.” And he’s no longer just fighting for Dabi because he’s told to, he’s fighting because this is a corrupt way of thinking- a dangerous way of thinking for someone who holds so much power and could easily kill. “Being a hero means being restricted, understanding the power you have and being held responsible over it. We can’t treat death so casually when we could easily cause it. Our influence in society’s moral compass and politics is so unproportional to an average citizen, we have to set aside our personal beliefs and choose what won’t cause such a disturbance, such as advocating to legally kill someone.” And Aizawa doesn't understand Endeavor's high hero-ranking: heroes are still human. Humans should not feel as if they have the right to judge whose life to keep so easily. "And who are you to decide who lives or not? Just like Dabi was wrong for making choices like that, you would be to for believing you have some right to decide one's life." 

“This is for the better good, as heroes we make these decisions for the population we are here to help them Eraserhead! And Dabi's below human, there's a reason why I feel nothing in having an opinion over whether or not he should live-” and his accusatory timbre vibrates across the room, and he’s shouting and-

“Endeavor!” He snaps, and at least it cuts through Endeavor’s tense timbre and heavy smog as his flames die down from his sudden shout. “We don’t just kill people!” He echoes, but harsher, firmer this time. He continues, monotone and more collected. “Legally, we can’t do that. Ethically, we shouldn’t. Don’t say things such as killing would be okay simply because he’s done it before. The reason why we don’t just kill when there are still other paths we can take, isn’t because of whether or not he deserves it, it’s because once we start killing people based on vigilante justice or because we think it’s ‘the better option’, our society will collapse. That’s a whole can of corruption and worms we cannot afford to open.” And he can see the disagreement in Endeavor’s gaze, see the way a ball tightens his jaw and his nostrils flare and Aizawa wishes he had Howard right next to him to dispel steam and atmospheric tension and provide coffee.

“Also, I have no right to ask you to think this way, but please, remember that Dabi is in need of mercy, and he needs it because he’s not going to get it anywhere else.” If Dabi heard me say that, quirkless and weak be damned, he would sock me in the jaw. “I understand that does not justify everything we’re doing, that in the end, nothing will truly forgive the risks we are placing on others to save Dabi, but we’re heroes. People argue we’re a symbol of justice or righteousness, but let’s be frank here, this system, society isn’t standing on real justice or fairness,” and it’s an unforgivable truth, “but we’re here to symbolise hope for that. Heroes are meant to represent humanity and the idea that people are good. That people can change for the better, for an optimistic future even if we know better. If we kill him or send him to jail, we are essentially failing our duties as heroes.”

And he knows Endeavor doesn’t want to hear Aizawa spin this into an argument of moral judgment, and he frankly doesn’t want to either, so he pursues one aligned more with reason and logic. “Besides, jail or death are both ill-advised when it comes down to the fact that Dabi at this moment, is not our enemy. Rather, it’s who left him to us. He was able to beat Dabi, and turn him quirkless. Losing our only lead is unwise.”

And he can tell Endeavor has something to say, and Aizawa sighs, and walks right over his opening.

See, truthfully, Aizawa is currently trying to do damage-control because someone decided to house a villain like a domesticated household honey badger, when none of them’s gotten rabies shots or experience with feral animals. He doesn’t know whether he could normally argue for this topic. Therefore, he’s just mirroring Endeavor’s tactic: talking over people with overwhelming confidence. 

“Humanity is a powerful thing, and I understand you may think it’s foolish or naive, but it’s the truth. People’s ability to change and to learn when offered the chance is what makes us different and very human. That’s why as heroes we have to show mercy to Dabi, so regular citizens don’t have to sacrifice their own opinions for someone who’s done bad things. Because in the end, if we don’t do it, then no one will.” He pauses, wondering if it’d be wise to mention that if anything, Dabi is a pitiful figure, even if undeserving. He decides against it. He would get shanked for that one.

“Of course,” Aizawa says. “We’re not going to be unreasonable and reckless when it comes down to a killer like Dabi- but we have to show mercy as heroes, especially when we consider his upbringing.” Because Dabi is Todoroki Touya. When Dabi was a child, he had Endeavor as a father. Endeavor, who was both his father and a hero.

And Dabi hates heroes.

Meaning heroes had failed with Todoroki Touya long ago. And Aizawa cannot prove anything and refuses to make accusations without evidence but-

Endeavor has to be directly linked to Dabi. He’s certainly not to blame for what Dabi’s done- but he has fault in how Dabi turned out. Dabi, who turned out to be a killer and definitely mentally unhinged. This is more than just antis or normal criminals- this is someone with a specific hatred for heroes, a warped personality and twisted mind.

If Dabi became a murderer out of Todoroki Touya, a boy who should’ve been molded with the ideals of what their society considers to be the righteous and morally incorruptible, then that means they had failed Touya. That means not just Todoroki Enji failed at his job as a father, but that Endeavor has failed as a hero. 

And really, it’s the hero society that fell short with Endeavor. They allowed someone who was able to cultivate the stem of villainy in a kid, to become a powerful hero with a hold over society. So by technicality, their hero system need to take partial blame for how Touya turned out. 

Aizawa narrows his eyes, observing Endeavor. The pro-hero clearly has a lot to say. Aizwa grimaces, ready to brace himself. He looks mad. Almost curious, he wonders if Endeavor’s pissed mostly for his son, or because they’re showing what appears to be mercy to a villain. 

Probably both.

He wonders how Endeavor would react if he learned about Dabi’s real identity. If Endeavor would crush Touya under a sense of justice. 

And he stares into Endeavor’s eyes, that are cracked blue, glittering like chipped marbles, and look so much like Dabi’s, like Dabi’s dull, matte ones that radiate contempt and misery- and he decides that he would. That Endeavor would grind Dabi into bones and meat underneath his heel.

Aizawa would not say that Todoroki Enji is not a good father. And he doesn’t even need to look at Dabi to know that’s true- he just has to glance at Shouto Todoroki. Which already says a lot. But he always thought Endeavor was a hero who got his job done. He probably needs to reevaluate that, as well.

“You’re right- heroes have to be responsible over our powers.” Endeavor begins, sounding stabler than he did before. “And the responsible thing to do is finish what the courts cannot. As heroes, we have to make the hard decisions in this society to save people, to do what’s better and what’s right even if that means discarding a villain, who’s obviously a killer and has already done so many vile things to those in a vulnerable position,” Endeavor rebukes. “Heroes having to show mercy is bull.” He snaps. “The courts are soft without our help, and you know that. You know the court takes pity on any sob story, and you know that if Dabi simply acts like he changed for a certain amount of time, they’ll let him off easy. Let off a murderer easy. He’s a murderer . I know he killed Snatch. I know it,” and he’s heard of this- Endeavor apparently claims he heard Dabi’s voice and knew it was Snatch’s killer. 

Something they can’t prove, and not even use as a witness testimony since that claim is only an assumption, anyways.

“Like I said before, rehabilitation is only a part of this entire process- he will have other charges for his crimes,” Aizawa states. And Aizawa already knows that in court, they wouldn’t be able to prove Dabi directly killed anyone. Even if they knew better, they can’t prove it, past the burnt cadavers that they can’t assume was Dabi’s doing, despite Aizawa’s personal beliefs. 

Aizawa knots his lips into a tight frown at that. 

“But he doesn’t deserve rehab! That's the point I'm getting at he doesn't deserve second chances!”

“Endeavor, I understand your side of things, but this conversation is pointless if this is what we are to argue on. These are just opinions we’re arguing over, it leads to nowhere.” And this is so redundant! Of course the parents will have complaints, and they’re understandable and it’d be cruel and insensitive if Aizawa was to dismiss them. Which he doesn’t: he doesn’t mind being patient with other parents, or listening to them vent or hearing them even go as far as threaten him, because it’s the least and only thing he can do for them.

It’s just that he has a personal bias against Endeavor as a person, therefore, any possible sympathy he could have for him as a parent is gone , more gone than Aizawa’s own will to not catapult himself out his third story window. 

In other words: Aizawa is five seconds from subbing in a school counselor for Endeavor if this conversation doesn’t go anywhere. 

“We don’t owe any moral standpoint defending Dabi’s perspective,” Endeavor grunts lowly, completely ignoring Aizawa’s statement that they can’t argue towards a conclusion on this.

“Actually,” and Aizawa isn’t sure how much he can spill but if he’s going to try and convince Aizawa of whatever, he might as well pull out his last card. “We know that Dabi was directly raised by a hero as a child. If anything, as heroes, we do owe him a semblance of understanding.” Endeavor stares at him, an eyebrow arched, clearly surprised and clearly willing to listen for the first time in this entire godforsaken conversation.

“It’s a personal obligation for us to deal with Dabi. Our hero system praised a hero, who had raised someone like Dabi.” And he can almost see an overlap of Dabi’s cold visage, translucent over Endeavor’s face. “It’s our responsibility to clean up our system that has allowed a person who created a villain to become a hero, and our responsibility to clean up what we did to Dabi.” What you did.

“In the end, no matter who raised Dabi, he still made his own choices, you can’t blame it on his guardian.” Endeavor snarls. “He has to hold accountability! He is a bad person, an evil person.”

“But circumstances and situations cultivated his decision to become a villain. Especially when raised underneath a hero’s guidance, the fact that he was led astray would imply that the hero had a direct influence in how Dabi saw heroes, in his own moral conduct. What Dabi’s done is no one’s fault but his own, but it’s a fact that the hero who raised him and the society who allowed this to happen certainly had a play in how he turned out, so we have to at least try and reverse that, or at the very least do the most we can. Ultimately, Dabi changing will be up to him himself, but if he changes not only would that be good for him, but for us. We should do the most we can.”

“His backstory can be judged later!” And it’s almost impressive how Endeavor’s beard flares with his punctuated statement. “Listen. I don’t care how villains are made, what matters is what they’ve done. You can tell me that he can change, and maybe he does! I don't believe it'll ever happen, because it can't happen, but I'm saying he shouldn't have that chance. Why should he get a shot at happiness after taking it away from so many?”   

“He has potential, and this time, we have a chance to guide him towards it, to make up for our mistakes. I'm not denying what Dabi has done, but I'm not going to lie and say he was treated right, or that our society was right, either. And like I said, maybe he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t offer it. I've already gave you my personal reasons as to why I support offering a second chance," he's literally verbalised a whole essay, he is not a fridge! Endeavor cannot just close and open him back up again after five minutes, thinking suddenly he'd have a completely different stock. "You restating your question about it will not gain another answer.” And no Aizawa told himself specifically he was not going to be involved but- “Also, I don't believe he can't change. Ipersonally advocate for him.” 

Goddammit .

This is literally another entire Kaminari situation when he personally took all responsibility off of Kaminari that one time he personalised a tattoo machine out of a piercing gun. 

He had to formally write an apology letter to Kirishima’s parents as their son now has a semi-faded and severely deformed Sonic permanently etched on his shoulder blade. 

“Advocating for him is a dead end. He’s a villain. You can’t go back on that. Continuous killers don’t suddenly feel remorse or regret,” Endeavor snips, his tone clipped and pacing too fast and Aizawa finds himself matching it, breaking out of his own slowed rhythm in a hellish competition.

And he’s not wrong. Dabi hasn’t shown any real regret, just acknowledgment of the severity of his crimes. “There’s no point in me arguing my case if you don’t believe in change,” Aizawa states. “I’ve been working as an underground agent for years. I’ve seen people like Dabi or even worse, capable of deciding to change for themselves.” He pauses. “Changing after you’ve become something so hard to mentally reverse, is a choice as big as choosing to become a killer. I’ve met people who I’ve seen and thought they would never change. Dabi was almost one of them, but after only a few days I’ve decided otherwise.”

And maybe it’s the cats. Or that the more he stares at Dabi, the more he sees some rebellious punk who needs a tutor and guidance that’s not just discipline.

Or maybe Dabi is a hopeless case. (And for a cruel, unfair moment, a sadistic whisper echoes in the coils of his ear: like father, like son.) But Aizawa doesn’t believe that. Dabi is simply stubborn, self-absorbed in his own ideals just like Endeavor, just like Shouto was in freshman year. 

And Shouto Todoroki did change. Those two brothers aren’t comparable, but it’s still something. 

Besides. They have to do something.  Dabi hates heroes. Made that very clear. Painted them as corrupt, vile and greedy, and the society around it: the world as something plastic and untouchable and insusceptible to change. Something pitiful, almost. That hate had to spawn from somewhere, and he's pretty sure the hero system helped develop it.

A child’s first impression of their world is through their parents. Touya Todoroki’s first impression of a hero would be through his father. 

He doesn’t know if he wants to smile or grimace at that. 

"Are you smiling? Eraserhead, do you find this amusing?" No. However, it is amusing to see Endeavor’s fire flicker higher to the point where smog curls off his beard in wisps. Though, it is alarming, since they do have sprinklers and Aizawa’s laptop isn’t waterproof. Or maybe it is, if it’s still alive after a decade of somehow still running. 

“I reassure you that while I will not prioritise Dabi’s health and presence above anyone else's',” Aizawa says, completely ignoring Endeavor's provocation. “I will not damage his or any possibility of growth if unnecessary. I won’t risk anything past what we’ve already done to get him to stay here, but I won’t abandon him simply because of those risks, that appear less and less prevalent the more I see Dabi. Dabi’s a villain, but villains have reasons for being one, and the very least we can do is figure out how he became one, and change that so in the future we don’t have another Dabi on our hands.”

“Even so, you see lots of bad things happen to people and they don’t turn out like him.” Endeavor reasons, leaning back into his chair. “Some people are just born less morally conscious, or maybe they were born already corrupted. Their minds are weaker, their hearts, too.”

“And we should accommodate their weak points, to make sure they don’t fall onto the wrong path.”

“We shouldn’t be obligated to be the ones to make his decisions! His judgement is on him, and we shouldn’t have to adapt to them. And some people, maybe they’re born more susceptible to being bad. Weak. If they easily succumb to bad decisions and immoral actions, why should we suffer along with their repercussions?” 

Aizawa just wants this to be over. “So you want to blame him for being weak? You want to blame people for how they were born, or judge them based on your own standards? People will always be born differently, and that’s something you cannot change, only adapt to, especially when given the choice to. We are not gods, we do not decide whether or not someone’s value diminishes based on how they are born. People have the inherent right to pursue happiness."

And Endeavor, fury lashing out in the risings of his fire and deepening of his wrinkles, looks ready for a fight that Aizawa’s not alive nor motivated enough to give. He sighs. “Listen, if you really are bothered by this, we can talk about this later at a better time. I’m sure you have a job to get to, as do I.” He hopes he doesn’t reschedule: it’ll just be another never ending loop of philosophy and he does not have the willpower to put himself through that. 

“This conversation is not over.”

Aizawa’s pretty sure he heard that exact line in Eri’s favourite Power Rangers episode.

“Please send me an email for a discussion before making plans,” is all he says. 

At this, Endeavor leans forward on the desk, his fist resting warningly on his knees. “When Dabi proves you wrong, that he’s the villain he is, trust me when I make sure the news knows you’re the one who stood for him.”

And Aizawa's lips twitch into a wain smile at that. “Unlike you, Endeavor, I hold no value in my reputation.”

Endeavor jerks up in his seat, the chair itself clattering loudly against the floor. “Glad you’ll be looking forward to it.” And without saying goodbye, he dismisses himself without another word, storming out.

Aizawa nearly breathes a sigh of pent up relief and irritation, before freezing as he notes the cloud of smoke trailing after the pro-hero, rising to the ceiling of his room.

He barely has time to cover his laptop before the sprinklers start stuttering.

“Why are you wet?”

“Was taking a shower.”

“In your clothes?” 

“Stop asking dumb questions.” Aizawa replies lacklusterly. Dabi stares, incredulousness in his eyes that are jailed behind his comically horrendous pink glasses. “I think tomorrow I’ll be returning to my class, and you’ll be left in mostly Hound Dog or Yamada’s care. For the periods I don’t care for them, you’ll be with me. I’ll be gone for hours of the day since I host a lot of their classes and I’m their homeroom teacher, however, the periods the students are in others’ care I will catch up with you. I’ll be in my typical classroom during lunch, if you want to visit.”

“Yeah. Okay. I don’t think the Yamada guy really likes me that much.” 

“I mean. You did call him a ‘Tim Burton cockatiel’.” Dabi freezes, leaving his brush too long on the cat that the glob of paint begins to drip. “Oh. You were super out of it that time. Do you not remember?”

“God knew my brain energy was too galaxy, so he only allowed me to tap into my mind juice while unconscious because he knew otherwise I’d be too powerful.”

“...What the hell are you saying? Continue painting your cat,” Aizawa replies disapprovingly, but the obvious amusement wetting Dabi’s eyes out of its usual lifelessness causes him to roll his own in response, figuring that if Dabi’s that proud of himself for insulting Yamada (really, it’s not like that’s even hard to do), then he’ll let him relish in it. “You’re comfortable with this plan, right?”

And the previous and unusual excitement that had softened Dabi’s typically frosty gaze flickers, his eyes returning to its typical blackholes of 2012 MCR. “Yeah, whatever.”

“If you’re not, I can change Yamada with someone else.”

“It’s fine.” And Dabi’s beginning to sound annoyed, so Aizawa lets up. It’s understandable that Dabi would feel the most comfortable with him. Whether or not Dabi actually likes him is a completely different question, but the thing is Dabi doesn’t hate him or want to kill him: an obvious improuvement in their otherwise strained relationship. And to an extent, while he wouldn’t necessarily call it respect, Dabi isn’t difficult. He expected him to fight, to be a nuisance out of arrogance and resentment and not listen to Aizawa’s words, to try and cause the most trouble, to be a literal delinquent out of pride. 

If anything, Dabi’s difficult only because he doesn’t give a shit about himself. He does Aizawa’s commands as if he feels as if there’s something he has to prove, even if it rips at his muscles and tears his skin. He literally does whatever he’s told, just so he can prove Aizawa wrong that no, his muscle tissue isn’t pull-apart like string cheese.

He almost feels uncomfortable himself, leaving Dabi in Yamada’s hands, because he doesn’t know if Dabi’s attitude will completely change. He almost knows how to interact with the kid, understanding his responses even if he may not know exactly where they come from. 

He wants Yamada to see Dabi the way he does, and vice versa, but he’s unsure how possible that is. 

But Aizawa also wants to see his class. He has literally dumped them onto Yamada and Ectoplasm these past two days.

But Dabi doesn’t say anything, continuing to paint his cat and utterly ignoring Aizawa’s presence, and so Aizawa doesn’t say anything either. Whatever. It'll work out. It has to work out.

Dabi isn’t entirely sure why he didn’t automatically tell Aizawa to screw off. 

Maybe because he just feels too awkward talking to Recovery Girl alone. If he’s going to have to sit still for another three hours as she tediously rebandages and checks his body, then he might as well just die.

At least with Aizawa there, his presence is a sense of familiarity and it won’t be as awkward if there are three people not talking, than just two.

However, now there’s a fourth person.

“Just ignore him. He doesn’t deserve attention,” Recovery Girl had said when he first entered and halted at the sight of the pathetic mess of smiles and freckles.

“She’s right!” The dumbass child that Shigaraki was so intensely focused on says, appearing almost flustered, but not because of Dabi.

If anything, the child, Midoriya, appears utterly unphased by Dabi who strutted in. 

And no, Dabi is not doing this. He is not going to let the kid watch him for three, pathetic hours, exposing his damaged body of loose screws and rusted hinges. “I’ll come back a later time.” He says shortly, only for Aizawa to stop him with a gaze. Not a glare as he was expecting, just a look. 

“Dabi, Recovery Girl leaves within four hours. Midoriya will be here for the entire night-”

“Haha, yeah! Sorry.”

“It’ll be easier if you stay,” Aizawa adds.

And Dabi doesn’t care. He doesn’t even want to be here, and he doesn’t need this comfy bullshit. He’s already lasted years with a disturbed body festering with infections and untreated wounds, he can chug another day like this. Especially since he’s living in UA, and not crashing on a sooty couch housing mice shit.

“It’s fine, I won’t come back. We were going to do this tomorrow, anyways.” He gripes.

“Dabi, sit down.” Recovery Girl says dryly. “You can’t be any worse than Midoriya if that’s what you’re worried about. That kid is in absolutely no position to judge your physical state.” 

“Or anyones’, for that matter!” The kid chirps, and Dabi gives him a weird look.

He recalls the last time he truly witnessed Midoriya’s personality. When he circled his fingers around the timebomb’s neck, and Midoriya, with wide eyes quivering from anger, that’s evident by the savage snarl tearing through his seemingly kind visage, the boy was going to do whatever to stop him. Hurt him. The kid would’ve calmly tore the staples out his wrist and rip his friend out of his fingers, rationalising his anger and the violence out of righteousness.

And Dabi knew that at that moment, he figured that the kid had balls- radiated the same energy as All Might to an extent. Almost heroic.

Dabi takes another glance at the kid. He literally looks like a blacklisted Veggie Tales character.

He squints.

“You were that kid that was there when I kidnapped the other small one, right?” Is it really the same kid?

And Midoriya’s still smiling , but Dabi knows better: there’s something unstable in his gaze, almost consciously warning him to back off.

Kinda reminds Dabi of a minion. Those yellow animated Tic-Tacs.

“Haha, right, that was me!” Midoriya says sheepishly. Dabi also notes he has not blinked at all, and he’s definitely not okay. “I wasn’t sure if you remembered me,” he admits, appearing genuine to the point where it feels artificially sweet and makes him feel gross . Toga sounds like him- but at least Toga was crazy enough that he couldn't believe she could ever have a good enough grip on herself to fake anything. 

“The fuck happened to you?” Dabi questions around a steeled jaw, ignoring Recovery Girl’s his and motioning for him to remove his shirt. He doesn’t give a shit about whether or not Midoriya wants to play nice: he doesn’t put up manners.

He expects Midoriya to say something around the lines of injuring himself due to training. He knows first hand how bad training can get, after all.

“Oh, Kaminari was on my shoulders and then he fell with the vacuum.”

And even Aizawa, who Dabi thought had seen it all in this class, looks up from his papers with brutal judgement in his eyes.

Realising that he probably has to elaborate, Midoriya laughs awkwardly, shuffling upwards on his bed, his casted leg swinging pitifully in its little hammock. 

“Oh, haha! Yeah. Kaminari wanted to vacuum the ceiling.”

Dabi has never thought an answer could leave him with even more questions. 

He eyes the absolute nothingness behind Midoriya’s dead gaze and permanent smile.

“What.” Dabi says.

“Kaminari wanted to clean?” Is Aizawa’s only inquiry. 

"No. He just knew that Bakugou's room was right above the common room."

"So were the injuries from the vaccuum or from Bakugou?" Dabi asks dryly, and Midoriya looks at him, guarded, but still laughs, and it's terrifying how his smile hasn't faltered once despite the obvious turmoil of emotions flickering through the rest of his facial feature. 

“Take off your shirt!” Recovery Girl shouts, clearly impatient.

And Dabi automatically clamps his hands against his sides. He’s never felt ashamed of his scars- can’t afford to be. And just like with every fucked up aspect of his body and life, he changes it around for personal gain. He feeds off of fear and disgust within others’ reactions when they see his mutilated skin with an equally demented grin.

But there’s something about good people seeing his body, that makes him shudder. Because they never respond appropriately. There are some people, the minority of even the good ones, that actually stare at him with pity or one of being intrigued. The hideous curiosity that people get when they witness something truly horrific, but are too interested to look away.

Recovery Girl and Aizawa both wear professional indifference towards his image.

But Midoriya, he doesn’t know. 

Midoriya looks like all smiles and kindness, and he probably is. But the kid looks positively dead inside the way that Shouto (and really, the rest of his generation) looks. 

Midoriya might be the type to feel pity for him, but hide it, knowing that Dabi won’t appreciate it. He doesn’t know how to respond to that extra step of accommodation. 

“Get on with it.” Recovery Girl scowls, flicking him hard across the forehead, already having set up the metal table with cotton swabs, hydrogen peroxide, and minty ointment.

“I’m going to sleep,” Midoriya suddenly announces, and Dabi knows that the kid is just doing it underneath the impression that Dabi wouldn’t feel comfortable otherwise. If Midoriya was glowering and sneering at him through disdain and disgust the way he was back at the training center, he would have relished in it, would’ve already torn off his shirt and let Midoriya lay eyes on the patchy burns, fucked up staples and their metal teeth. 

Midoriya looks like he would stare at him like he was some sort of lab rat, though.

“Dabi, I don’t have time for this,” Recovery Girl warns, tuttering, flipping through a bunch of papers clamped together by a clipboard. She tosses it onto the bed next to him, and Dabi scowls, beginning to peel off his shirt because whatever i, he’s not going to show how much this affects him (and it doesn’t! He’s not insecure or some bullshit, he’s just annoyed, that’s all), his eyes lazying around, refusing to look up and meet anyone’s gaze when-

It lands on the clipboard, and the top paper’s fine and consistent print that would’ve usually blurred into lines. Except just by chance, he looked too closely, because  right in one of the table boxes, are words that paralyse his hands and hammers a nail into his world, splitting it into chunks. 

Touya Todoroki, blood type O, weight: 47.62kg.

Dabi’s hand freezes, clenching tightly on the hem of his shirt.

“Oi, Dabi, what’s the problem?” Recovery Girl snarks, yanking up his hands and he jerks backwards, ignoring the way she backs off with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” And he can’t tell if his entire body or just his voice is shaking or if maybe his vision is swirling but all he can see is the fine, Times New Roman print. When no one answers, leaving him alone in silence, he rips the top page from the clip, shoving it in front of Recovery Girl, who slowly lowers her eyes, an exhale of curses leaving between wrinkled lips. “What the fuck is this!”

He slams the paper down, crumpling it underneath his fist, the crunch collapsing his eardrums and inverting the colours of his world. He averts his gaze from her resigned expression, and rounds to Aizawa. Aizawa, who contorts his wide eyes into one uncare, but not fast enough. So he knew too.

He doesn’t even have time to see Midoriya’s countenance to this entire fucked up meet-and-greet, as he feels his arms folding across his stomach defensively, and an ache blister across his face, as he's unable to tighten the slackening of his jaw and sinking eyes. 

“Dabi,” Recovery Girl begins,, but it’s too fucking late. 

It’s not like he didn’t assume or consider it a low probability that they knew, it was the inevitable, after all, if they collected his blood.

But he still wasn’t prepared.

And Aizawa’s standing up, like the fucking devil he is, clothed in punishment and disappointment like every other fucking parent because he was Touya Todoroki, and now a villain, who might as well be on the same level of scum as Touya was anyways.

“Touya-” Aizawa begins, voice low, as if warning him, because that’s how all parents talk like to children, refusing to see them grow up yet holding them responsible like an adult, and Dabi flinches hard at his tone.

“Shut up, shut up ,” Dabi withers on himself, and he can’t meet anyone’s eyes, cannot meet Midoriya who’s witnessing this and hasn’t he given enough - 

“Touya-”

“Stop calling him that, you’re distressing him!” And he wants to strangle Recovery Girl because how dare she act all concerned right now? He doesn’t want nor need their help why does she act like he does?

“Shut the fuck up!” Dabi snarls, tone hoarser than he’d like and he cringes, and he cannot meet Aizawa’s eyes because Aizawa knew this entire time and that’s the only reason why he thinks there’s hope for him when there isn’t any hope because Touya’s dead and if Touya was the reason why Aizawa bothered to believe there was possibility of happiness for him, then fuck that and fuck him because Touya’s dead! Dead! And Dabi has no qualifications nor will to take up that spot. How dare he hold up the expectations of Touya over his head?

But of course. Aizawa never had hope for Dabi- he had hope for Touya. Not like that’s any different; nobody ever believed in Dabi. It's strange, though, because nobody ever believed in Touya, and for good reason. Aizawa clearly didn't know that, as he's deceiving himself with this makeshift dollhouse because he's blind and how could he not see that everything's just construction paper? Dabi's surrounded by plastic figurines of a tattered Ben 10 board game (and Natsuo's favourite alien was always Heatblast-) and no one's real-

(Aizawa’s going to be sorely disappointed, and that’s the teach’s fucking fault for deluding himself in the first place. It’s not his. It’s not his fault that he’s a disappointment, and he hasn’t lead him on or given Aizawa false hope.)

It isn’t his fault that they thought he could amount to something (and he did! He amounted to something as Dabi but they just step over the identity he created for himself like it’s scum ).

“Touya,” And that fucker is walking closer and Dabi struggles, the underside of his sore thighs banging harshly against the metal skeleton of a hospital bed, and he nearly collapses right there. “Even if you’re certainly not Touya anymore, there’s no point in denying his existence. You can’t just box him away nor hide him like that.”

“I’m not-I’m.” He sputters, attempting to form words in the thin air that can barely inflate his lungs. “I’m not fucking boxing him away-” But isn’t that a lie? Because he taped the cardboard boxes of Touya shut, stuffing it away in the cobwebbed room, away from sight and mind. “I’m not Touya, I’ll never be Touya.” And he finds his footing once more, shakes himself out of his shock and dizzying purple skies of swirling origami swans.

He breathes. “I’m not Touya.” And that sounds better. More opaque. More real.

“I know. But you’re not really Dabi, either. As much as you like to say there’s nothing left of Touya inside of Dabi, those two characters are blended together, you know.” Aizawa says. “You can’t just bury away your family and memories with just Touya.”

But he has to. Because the family was Touya’s responsibility, not Dabi’s. And he can’t afford to be Touya. So at the very least, the last thing he can do for Fuyumi, Natsuo and Shouto, the very fucking last thing he could do after abandoning them and leaving them behind with his fucking father, is to leave Touya’s imagine untainted. 

Touya cannot ever swirl in with Dabi; that doesn’t happen-

And maybe he blurted that out loud in a lost ramble of vicious keyboard slams and broken rhythms of anguish and of the stress of life on the yellowed shoulders of a young girl, because Aizawa, who’s firm and collected enough for the both of them, disagrees in response. “No. Dabi and Touya mixed: Touya must’ve chosen to become Dabi, or else you wouldn’t have existed. You can’t expect one to live without the other-”

And Dabi kicks himself off the metal bed, ignoring how his foot humiliatingly bashes against its frame, and steps closer to the door. “Touya did not choose to become Dabi! I was always Dabi! Touya's gone."

“It had to be gradual,” and Aizawa’s talking over him just like everyone always had and he’s the same! He’s the same as every other fucking hero, as every other villain, as every godforesaken parent, as everyone and Dabi’s going to scream! And Dabi will spit on Aizawa right after doing it on himself, because he's a fool, he's a pathetic child for believing otherwise for even a second that at the very least, Aizawa should be respected as a person. Dabi always stuck to his own ideals but this time, he made a mistake, an exception, and strayed from his rules (and rules are there to keep him safe because breaking rules means breaking a bone). He should've pissed on Aizawa, fucking barfed gasoline and set him on fire from the very beginning- “Touya wouldn’t have just chosen to suddenly abandon everything overnight. You became Dabi through conscious choice.”

And Dabi, involuntarily twitching as cold sweat stings between the sutures of his skin, can't make a noise. He just gazes at Aizawa's cardstock image, and he's mentally scribbling over his stupid face and stupid mustache in anger with a shitty ballpoint pen. He wants to physically drill into Aizawa’s goddamn skull how he didn’t choose to become Dabi that Touya can never be associated with him! Touya was a good brother, Touya would’ve never just left his family to rot-

His string of thought breaks, and all his words break apart into incoherent letters that mean nothing and shake, like a Google Search Page falling a part with all the letters trembling everywhere (and the capslock is screaming, asking him if he wants sticky keys turned on but Touya didn't want that, so he just tsked at the old Dell 2010 laptop).

The jazz in the background clatters: the piano’s broken! The keys are flying and knocking out Rei’s teeth and Fuyumi’s crying because her wrist healed badly and she’ll never be able to play a tune again! Fuck Bach and fuck Mozart because she’s a failure now and she lost everything and he chokes because- 

Touya was never a good brother. 

Touya was the brother that couldn’t save Shouto from his dad, and Natsuo from himself. Natsuo, all alone because he was never considered enough to even be a part of the family amongst children; he was always overshadowed by Fuyumi’s brightness and parental nature, by Shouto’s pedestal constructed out of bones and decayed roses, and Touya, whose anger and sheer resemblance to Enji was the biggest elephant in the room. 

Touya couldn’t save Fuyumi from herself, as she succumbed into blame each time he went too far, each time he returned with the same expression Enji wears every other night, every time he staggered in with bruises that amounted to nothing as Shouto always ended up dragged back into the training room anyways.

Touya couldn’t stop the look of utter panic that glittered within Shouto’s eyes when he encountered Touya in the hallways alone. 

Couldn’t stop the resolute blame in Shouto’s eyes, after Enji drilled it into his head that he must be the successor, because Touya wasn’t strong enough, so it’s now Shouto’s responsibility to clean up after his mess. 

Dabi inhales.

Not like this is fucking news.

He already knew Touya was a bad kid. Knew Touya was dirtied.

Dabi exhales.

Why is he even panicking? He's already went through this phase when he was a teenager, when he ran out into the streets and agonised over his choices, wondering if he was doing the right things. It's over.

(And Aizawa stares from the background, watching as Dabi's entire demeanor changes, something icy, something gone from Dabi's stance. He looks exactly like he did when Aizawa first met him.)

None of this is a new revelation. Touya being worthless, his siblings feelings, Dabi's identity versus Touya's. Dabi had years to dwell on it, and by a certain point the need to even think about anything past just being Dabi has already faded.

He already went through all that psychological analysing bullshit.

So why does it feel different? Something's off. Something's fundamentally changed except Dabi can't tell what. Okay. So the school knows about his identity. Whatever. He reviewed how Touya was a shitty brother and weak. But Dabi doesn't even care about his siblings by this point; he definitely doesn't think about Touya. He was tossed aside long ago. And Dabi figures that Aizawa never had faith in him, only stuck his neck out thinking that Touya was still in him, or that Touya was someone good and worth helping. That just makes Aizawa a fool, and it shouldn't hurt Dabi anyways, because he had no intentions of changing his views or regretting his growth as Dabi (and he flinches, ignoring how Aizawa eyes him, worried. And he thinks about the families he's killed, the families of people he's killed. He thinks about them so much that he thinks he went crazy. What does he even think? Does he feel bad? Remorse? Amusement? He doesn't know! It's too late to think about them, anyways).

But there's something wrong. And it's irritating Dabi, grating on his nerves because he can't locate why.

“You know. You seem pretty okay with taking the blame over your actions as Dabi. But you won’t let Touya be touched with the same responsibility.” Aizawa muses. “You care so little about yourself as Dabi, but you care so much about Touya for who? For family?” Dabi wonders if he's supposed to feel angry again.

He can't feel anything.

“You’re trying to desperately preserve Touya, even though in reality you don’t care about yourself or about Touya himself at all. You already are Touya, everything that Touya’s become and done was out of his own admission.” 

“Fuyumi, listen to your Father! I said listen! He’s fucking insane, listen to me and call the hospital ,” and that wasn’t said when he was Dabi, but when he was Touya. 

Something breaks.

Dabi laughs so hard, he coughs out tears and words, and he wasn't like this just seconds ago!  What was it? He felt properly like Dabi: stony and insouciant. So why is he like this now? And that just makes him laugh harder because oh, this is new!

Guess the old man was fucking right. Touya was fucked up from the start: and not because he was Dabi, but because he was Touya. Not like he hasn't came to terms with that long ago. It's just that there's something awful about tying Touya to Dabi (and that's it! That's the fucker: the thing that made everything suddenly different. If Touya and Dabi are the same person as Aizawa is claiming, then that means Dabi wanting to kill Endeavor is wrong! Dabi knew Touya was defective, but never thought he was in the wrong. If Dabi and Touya are the same, then that means his Dad was right that Touya wasn't just born messed up, he was probably born evil too. Meaning Endeavor was warranted in hating Touya, so now he can't kill him as Dabi for what he's done to Touya, because maybe Touya really deserved it! And what can Dabi do now, if he can't fuckin' feel righteous in his own vengeance at the very least? This was all he had! He doesn't have anything more than this, doesn't this just mean that all he's killed- all the famiiles he has killed meant nothing if in the end, Dabi can't even feel fully satisfied in killing Endeavor? If Dabi doesn't even deserve feeling angry for how he treated Touya because maybe Touya was the one who deserved it-).

It’s fucking fine. He always knew Touya was just as bad and just as vile as Dabi is. He just hates that the old man was right! Maybe he was actually onto something when he said Touya was always crazy, because isn’t Dabi just living proof? Dabi doesn’t even know why he clung onto the idea that Touya was forced into villainy and utterly blameless from Dabi, when he knew Touya was fucked up from the start (and Dabi never really thought deeply into Touya choosing to become Dabi; he never was forced to confront it so why are they making him do so now-).

Dabi recalls what Father said to him that one time. That he was born physically and mentally defective. That insanity was genetic- was hereditary. That not only was the genes building his quirk comically contradictory and a fucking waste of of time, but that he also ended up with a piece of his mother, the one that resulted in her being hospitalised.

For Rei’s sake, Dabi always remained conclusive that Rei wasn’t born sick, but rather, it was all his father’s doing.

But Touya became Dabi. Meaning something must’ve been innately fucked up with Touya anyways. What a goddamn twist and Dabi nearly screams, because isn't that hysterical?

“Oh my god,” and he barely registers the look of concern across Aizawa’s face, and when did he get so close? When did he- 

Dabi let him get close and he’s disgusted and he jerks like a live wire, pounding Aizawa’s chest and he doesn’t care that he recoils sharply because it was Dabi who let him get too close in the first place-

“Oh my god and he was right-!” Touya was rotten from the start and “Aizawa, Aizawa he was right!”

And Aizawa would never know how much that meant to him, and that’s just fucking fine. And Touya stares at Aizawa’s face drawn with hard lines and resolute words, with tiredness clawing at his posture and demons sitting on his shoulders. But his eyes are terrifyingly alive, and if he didn’t know fucking better, he’d even say he looked concerned! There are so many things happening right now and he can't concentrate hard enough for the life of him to process all of it. 

“Touya, calm down, you’ve known we known for a while, yet we treated you the same, haven’t we? Please, listen for a mome-”

Dabi crashes his sentence into smithereens as his crippling knees bang against the nearby metal table. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t get it you’ll never get it so don't try and play therapist with me.” And Dabi’s tired. Touya's tired and he hopes he dies right on this floor and at the very least all his thoughts and realisations and secrets will bury with him in the lavender fields and weeds of their garden-

He inhales heavily, and suddenly, the tightness in his brain laxes, oxygen cramming into his brain and over stimulating his screaming neurons with blood flow. “I’ll kill you.” And he wants to sound like Dabi again, wanted to sound too far away for them to touch but he can sense the quiver in his words, and he hates that but he can’t even express his anger without looking upset and that’s even worse- “I literally will fucking kill you! Just kill me first-”

And Dabi wasn't like this.

Dabi was there by not being there: he was collected because he was apathetic to a fault, crushing all his responsibilities and others around him with the strange emptiness in his guts. 

Touya was the opposite. Angry, temperamental, and a definite time bomb. Apparently crazy, too. 

“Touya, stop it. Things aren’t the end of the world, and nothing has changed-”

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Shut the hell up!” And everything has changed! He’s so pretentious, claiming it doesn’t matter when it does! Touya was born worthless and he can’t blame Dabi, can’t blame Dad anymore, can’t blame his family it’s just how it is! And he’s almost laughing but he can’t tell. He can’t afford to laugh because he’s already choking on nothing and maybe his quirk is finally back to remind him that he was lucky to have been born (but if he turned out this way then he should’ve just died during childbirth like it was planned-)!

 As if. If he was born to be a failure, then how the hell is that lucky?

Touya consistently clung onto the concept of stability, but really the only thing that sewn it together, preventing his guts and sadness from spilling out onto the floor in front of him are the staples of his efforts and the threads of his nerves, allowing him to believe he could succeed. That as Dabi, he could finally get revenge and that would be all that mattered and that he could remain selfish and cruel as long as he got what he wanted-

And he’s learning that it all meant absolutely nothing because Touya wasn’t wronged from the start: he was the one who was wrong. That his revenge is off-kilter, that he was always the one at fault.

Dabi fumbles for the door handle, ignoring the blurring colours of Aizawa and Recovery Girl’s voices. “Fuck you,” he mumbles, his brain throbbing in the captivity of his shrinking skull.

And he opens the door.

Chapter Text

“You fucked up.”

And Aizawa groans, pinching the thick cartilage of his nose bridge. Whatever. Regretting isn’t going to get him anywhere.

"Should we chase after him?” Recovery Girl continues, tone nasally and nagging, showing clear displeasure at Aizawa’s actions, and looks ready to beat him with the nearest utensil.

Recovery Girl, for all her professionalism, truly is a grandma at heart. 

“Uh.” And Aizawa thinks of Dabi's explosive nature and how he’s probably just had an entire high school years’ midlife crisis in the span of seven minutes, with zero school guidance-counselor consolation. “I think he would not enjoy it, but I don’t think he should be left alone.” He says carefully, ready to leave, when he stops.

He’s forgotten the other pest. 

He slowly turns to his right.

Midoriya stares back, eyes saucers. 

"Don't say anything," Aizawa commands sternly. “Don’t tell anyone, either.” Not like Midoriya’s the type to do something in the first place. "Or else I'll expel you." By this point, it's basically an empty threat and he's pretty sure they both know it.

"Honestly, I think you should just expel me," Midoriya finally replies. "Like. I don't even know what I would even say." He confesses, sounding too dumbfounded to properly conjure an appropriate emotion to feel. “I don’t even know who I would even tell. Do I just pretend that I didn’t. See that?” 

“I-" Aizawa rasps out an irritated sigh, "just. Just play dead when he returns,” Aizawa conjures, deciding he’ll deal with that later as Dabi basically just went AWOL for the time being. He heads out the door, and instantly nearly runs straight into someone, the door rebounding off of the body and back against him. Cursing, he slams the door against the wall, glaring at the obstacle.

He raises a brow. It’s Dabi. Dabi’s the obstacle.

Truly, an ironic moment of any slapstick comedy; except in this case, Aizawa’s the joke and Dabi’s the punchline. Not like he’s really surprised. He’s long ago suspected that whatever god is puppeteering them like strings to wooden dolls must be some immortal trickster, or else nothing would explain how hard life is playing them right now. 

He looks around Dabi . Dabi is currently cornered by four other gremlins who appear equally distraught as the said man is.

Aizawa eyeballs Dabi’s recoiling figure, and slowly slides his gaze over to the four kids (and great. It’s his kids who he hasn’t seen in two days and look like they’ve spiralled  back into eating just raw eggs and not bathing for eight consecutive days). Making an executive decision based on his visceral absence of emotions, he turns around and enters the nurse's office.

“He’s gone?” Recover Girl asks in a hushed and concerned tone.

“No.” Aizawa says flatly. “He’ll be back.” He guarantees.

And as soon as he says those words, the door flies open and Dabi storms back in, looking simultaneously nauseous and pissed off.

“Huh.” Recovery Girl says, as Dabi kicks over the medical table again, probably for good measure. “What’d you guys see out there?”

“Him,” Aizawa points at Midoriya, “but mitosised.”

Dabi reopens the damn medical door. Because the moment he stepped out of the room, he nearly ran into Shouto and three other kids he vaguely recognises. And normally, he’d drink in their expressions of anxiety and shock like a refreshing and definitely not fresh McDonalds strawberry and banana smoothie.

However, he’s currently speedrunning an entire season of a cartoon villain’s character development in only just one seizure-inducing emotional breakdown; so he really doesn’t have the mental strength to process excess stimuli from four gremlins the height of his elbow. 

He also doesn't even want to think about how he must look to them right now. He didn’t want to see how Shouto looked at him. Because what would Shouto think if he heard the name ‘Touya’ behind closed doors? 

Dabi breathes, and something painful stings the corners of his eyes. He doesn't make eye contact with Aizawa. 

Would Shouto even associate Touya with who Dabi is, if he knew they were once the same person, or would he keep those two separate? (And Dabi wonders if Shouto never liked Touya that much anyways. The silver lining that theory provides is that at least there wouldn’t be any internalized conflict for Shouto.

Dabi doesn’t like that he has a strange idea that perhaps it would be him who deals with an entire internal turmoil instead.)

Dabi should’ve just shoved the children aside. But once he stepped out, all his previous anger and hysteria flatlined. Once he tunneled all his previous resentment and misery at Shouto, the only other person who’d ever come close to possibly understanding (but how could he? Shouto barely knew Touya-), he felt nothing. 

Dabi’s tired.

He doesn’t have it in him to care about Endeavor, about his identity between Touya and Dabi, doesn’t-

Honestly, if Dabi just died right now on the spot, it’d solve a lot of his problems, especially his indigestion.

Also his heart issues. Because just seconds ago, he felt like his heart was going to fail him, that his heart would beat so hard it’d snap every vein supporting its position, that the heat burning through his body and the back of his eyes would sear a hole into his brain with equal vigor.

Now he feels okay.

And stupid.

And humiliated. 

He’s feeling a lot of things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Hyper aware of the others around him, feeling mad and vaguely mortified about everything (and even more pissed about feeling embarrassed), he can’t blame their deliberate silence. It’s not just humiliating because he exposed too much or lost his composure, it’s something more disgusting than that. He knows they won’t interpret his seven minute bathroom breakdown as just losing his cool- they’ll start thinking there’s something wrong about him. 

That’s dangerous. 

They’ll discredit his logic, use their own beliefs about his mental stability against him. They won’t look at what he believes about their society as something true, just the disillusioned thoughts of an unstable man.

That’s how Endeavor viewed Rei. How Endeavor viewed Touya. How Endeavor views him.

And rather than feeling upset, indignant, he just feels-

He doesn’t even know if there’s a proper word that would encapsulate the rage that normally would’ve eaten through him at this realization. Because he’s helpless when people start labeling him as dismissible, as incoherent (and he’s seen it happen to Rei, how far she’s fallen from credibility-). And he certainly doesn’t feel like he’s hopeless, but reasonably, what could he even do or say about that once they start seeing him that way, counting his actions or words as mad ramblings?

But he can’t even feel mad about it (and hadn’t he lost enough?). He might’ve started out with nothing but himself, but he cultivated anger out of it, he created his own thing out of nothing because no one would’ve ever given Touya anything else to cling onto. That emotion became the only thing he could rely on as true and tangible. He lost everything else that he was born with. He lost his own identity (and it’s not like Dabi was someone new, he's just a refurbished Touya, a boy he never truly understood in the first place). He lost his goal (because can he even fight Endeavor , knowing that the man was possibly right about Touya this entire time?).  He lost his quirk (and that quirk was his distinct character trait, the thing his personality, future, worth was revolved around and it just- it’s gone-). And now he can’t even have credibility anymore because Touya and Dabi were corrupted from the start -

All he had left was intense anger and he can’t-

He can’t even have that? All he can cup in his hands are the ashes of his flaming wrath, the hollow remnants of whatever’s left of himself (and even now he can feel them fading as tiredness consumes him whole, leaving him with nothing more than a memory of who he once was). He knows how this ends. This happened to every other emotion he desperately clung onto, only for fatigue to loosen his grip and scatter apart his fingers, letting them slip through the cracks. 

His anger lasted when everything else didn’t because there was a hearth for it to nurture, for every single loss to stoke his flames higher as he raged against the world that snatched another piece of himself away.

The world has taken his hearth now, too. The hearth was his goal, the idea that Endeavor was in the wrong and deserved revenge-

Without it, it’s obvious his anger would just die out on its own. 

If he had enough energy, he’d laugh.

“Dabi, a word with you?” Aizawa asks.

“Here I thought I was Touya,” he sneers. And he’s so- annoying.  And there has to be more to that, but he isn't motivated to figure out what that may be. 

It's annoying that it was Aizawa out of everyone that kept calling for ‘Touya', when Touya wasn't there and Dabi was the one standing in front of him. Aizawa was seeking for something deeper in shallow waters, asking for something Dabi inherently could not give, and in front of everyone, too. It’s ( humiliating) disrespectful (and Dabi remembers just minutes ago, when he freaked out, when he mentally screamed at Aizawa, but he can’t fathom why he completely lost it-).

“I want to apologise.”

Dabi smiles, sticking out his tongue. “Fuck you.”

Everything feels so normal now.

Dabi can sense his hand tremor against his thigh, as if reminding him that he basically got sledgehammered across the face minutes ago with reality, emotions, and stomach cramps. Did that really happen? Dabi can’t remember even though it was literally just seconds ago.

Dabi abruptly wonders if that’s concerning, but decides it’s fine, since it’s not like he wants to try and remember or organize those memories.

Everything's just-

Normal. 

“Oh geez,” says Midoriya from the background, who Dabi utterly forgot existed and will continue doing so.

“Do dead people talk?” Aizawa suddenly snarks at Midoriya, and Dabi feels like he’s missing something. He then rounds back to Dabi. “I shouldn’t have continued calling you Touya when you don’t associate with that anymore-”  

And before Aizawa can continue excusing himself, the door slams open behind them. Dabi cautiously slinks away from the exit, for a delirious moment thinking it’d be Shouto, Shouto confronting him because he had heard the name ‘Touya’.

Yamada barrels through the door.

And this conclusion is ultimately ten times worse than any plottwist Dabi could’ve predicted.

He can see the previous group of kids peering around the doorframe, making way for that teacher. “Aizawa!” The Banana Teacher screams, and Dabi knows that he hates this man, and he has a dizzying recollection of agreeing to Aizawa to work with him. And Dabi’s made a lot of mistakes since birth. One of them being born itself. But this one-

“Oh my God it happened again! I cannot-”

Is one of those mistakes he’ll never recover from. 

And not for the first time since his very unique version of parole has started, Dabi regrets not just asking them to send him to jail. 

Even Aizawa appears momentarily confused by his coworker, perhaps instinctively irritated as well. He’s staring at Yamada with an emotion similar to reluctance, though that could really just be his usual face when talking to Yamada who has no control over his volume. “...Bakugou?” Aizawa finally takes a guess. 

“NO! It's like. Worse! We need you on the scene. Recovery Girl too.” And at the declaration, now Aizawa appears more interested about what’s narrating Yamada’s dramatic ass. Dabi understands- if they’re asking for a medic, and the situation is rated higher than Bakugou’s average levels of damage, it probably has to be something serious.

Not that he’s complaining- he’s getting out doing the unsexiest striptease with his audience ranging from the age group of a minor to an old grandma, both of them who Dabi’s pretty fucking sure has a few screws loose. 

He’s also getting a ‘get out of jail’ card from a situation concerning the topic of Touya, so that’s a major plus. 

Though, knowing Aizawa, the man probably wouldn’t let him off that easily. Watching Aizawa and the nurse begin to rush out behind the banana teacher, he figures he'll just escape later when he’s sure most of the kids are asleep, and improvise the rest after he gets past the door. Then, to his surprise, the nurse stops, turning around with a gaze that’s too sharp for someone who looks too old to even have good eyesight, and says: “young man, stay here.”

He just shrugs at that, waiting for her to close the door. He’ll just ditch after waiting around five minutes.

Then he sees through the crack of the door, Shouto’s burning gaze, and decides that maybe he should wait a bit more.

Normal.

Silence settles in the room as the ruckus migrates to the source of Yamada's stress.

It's quiet.

Except for the steady beat of the clock.

Slowly, his breathes begin to match each second of history.

Then he hears someone clear their throat, disrupting his composure.

He turns around to accidentally clasps eyes with Midoriya (who Dabi, once again, has completely forgotten existed), stare longingly at the shut door, and Dabi has an epiphany of horrific realisation that cracks his head like a watermelon over concrete. Because holy shit, he's trapped. And he hates children, specifically this one, who has the personality of loose teeth and lukewarm orange juice.

“I want to know what they mean by ‘again’, I wonder what’s happening.” The kid mutters mournfully.

He ignores him.

“And my friends are outside. Dabi?” and he bristles, nearly having an aneurysm by being directly talked to. The way the kid’s eyes fearlessly fixate on him is just disrespectful.

And it’s just weird. Not in the ‘easy to disregard’ way, but in a ‘forcing Dabi to socialize sort of way’.

Dabi has a visceral reminder of his conversation with Mitsuki. He slowly eyes Midoriya.

It can't be another one.

“Dabi, if it’s fine with you-”

“It’s not.”

“May you tell them to come in?”

Dabi ignores him.

And Midoriya appears completely unbothered by his rudeness, and Dabi reasons that that’s just the side-effects of habituating to having Bakugou in your life. “Dabi, I must wonder, and stop me if I’m being nosy-”

“You’re being nosy.”

“But how exactly are you quirkless?”

And Dabi rounds to the kid so fast that his balance rings through his ears, his blood pulsating, preparing him to fully expect hollow mockery and sadistic amusement to swirl in the boy’s unwavering eyes.

Dabi blinks, uncomfortable shock draining his adrenaline. Instead, there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing in his eyes. Dabi doesn’t like that. The kid looks like he slipped a few egg yolks out of his brain pan. 

Dabi contemplates a DIY hit-and-run with the wheeled hospital bed as the vehicle.

Midoriya blinks, and his eyes remain still. Like that weirdass doctor who just wants to experiment on him every once in a while for no fucking reason. “Sorry! I’m just really curious because I’ve never heard of that happening and sorry if the topic is sensitive or if it’s bothering you I just really want to know how it works and can you tell me how it feels-”

And this is literally the worst situation Dabi’s ever been in. “Shut up,” and the kid’s jaw snaps shut, expressing the first emotion outside of fascination. Guilt. And not out of nervousness. His expression, candid not out of inexperience or nativity but out of personal choice, is strange. 

Dabi, not for the first time today, has a rejuvenating hate towards good people.

“Haha, yeah, sorry I tend to ramble.”

“Clearly.”

“It’s just that everything that just happened seemed really intense-” And Dabi inwardly rolls his eyes, because it’s not that he’s necessarily irritated by the questions themselves, he just doesn’t want to talk, and because Midoriya’s just- 

Weird.

The way he talks really unnerves him. A good portion of Dabi is utterly convinced that chivalry is dead and kindness is just a secondary emotion of something more primal, such as curiosity or covetousness. Another part of him is more reasonable, reminding himself that people are too individual and complex for him to generalise. If some people are innately selfish, then the prospects of people being the exact opposite or somewhere in the middle would all be equal- chance doesn't discriminate between what's good or bad, after all.

And without a strong standing in either belief, it’s hard for him to decide how to feel about Midoriya. The first concept just indicates Midoriya views his tribulations as something he could observe for his own gratification, while the latter-

The latter means Midoriya is just a genuinely good person with a few eccentricities.

To someone like Dabi, both are easy to hate. 

Though, thankfully, he doesn’t like to think too deeply into things. Because if he starts applying these ideas to society as a whole, he’d ultimately have to start taking a closer look at his own actions and beliefs, as well. 

He looks at Midoriya, candid and straightforward (and probably not all that normal), and Dabi feels revulsion stoke his wrath. And Dabi knows that if anything, he should feel reluctantly grateful that Midoriya’s the way he is, that out of everyone that could’ve witnessed Dabi’s fluctuating temper, could’ve heard the name ‘Touya’, it was someone who is seemingly an inherently good person (or at minimum, disinterested in using what he saw against him). 

But Dabi’s bitter and he knows that there’s probably a Reddit thread psychoanalysing what personality problems he has based on his zodiac sign, but he wishes Midoriya wasn’t nice. Wasn’t a presumably good person, wasn’t someone that reminded Dabi that not everyone is as consistently acerbic as him, that not everyone depends on villainy as the only outlet of some deep-rooted malice. 

There was probably once some sadness, mixed in with that anger too. But most days, Dabi can’t find it in him to seek nor revive Touya’s stale melancholy, and doesn’t have enough in himself to stir up any new misery, either. 

“Dabi?” And Dabi spaced out. “Dabi? Um. Did I make you mad?”

“Why are you talking to me?” He says abruptly. “I just don’t get it. Do I have to actually kill your classmates this time for you to stop with your headassery?” He wants to rile Midoriya up. Wants to piss a nice person off and drag them down with his own sour mood even though that’s shitty-

Midoriya just blinks, expression unreadable.

Dabi’s hatred grows along with the conscious thought that the boy hasn’t done anything to him. 

And Dabi should be better than this.

Sure. Dabi’s not nice, and he certainly never plays fair, and it’s laughable to hold him to any standards, especially when he doesn’t deserve to claim he has any after everything he’s done. 

But lashing out at someone just because he’s annoyed is exactly what Endeavor does. And yeah, only caring about having an assholish trait just because he has a personal resentment against someone who shares that similar quality is truly a shitty-ass and inexplicably pathetic reason to want to be better-

But it’s the only standard that someone like Dabi could grasp with the smallest amount of guilt.

“I just don’t get it,” he repeats, no longer to just Midoriya anymore, not entirely sure what he’s saying, either.

“You know,” Midoriya finally replies, voice strangely clear and firm. “I don’t know why you need to hear this, especially the obvious, but you’re a real shit person.”

"Wow." He says, vaguely stunned.

"Sorry, I just don’t know where you get the idea I thought otherwise. You don’t have to kill people I know for me to already think you’re a bad guy.” Midoriya tilts his head. And he narrates like he’s just stating what he sees. It’s refreshing. It’s a lot like Aizawa. 

"No, I totally agree it’s just." Dabi squints. "Aren't you too young to swear?"

"I-" Midoriya looks taken back. “You know I’m the same age as Bakugou Katsuki, right?” He reiterates, astral projecting Dabi onto a meta layer of confusion. 

“Oh my god. You guys have ages.” He murmurs. The concept of ages and years, something definitively not flexible and has operational definitions, have been rather muddy to Dabi these past couple years. 

“Yeah. Time is pretty set in stone.” Midoriya says slowly. “Are you okay?” This time sounding less distant, more intimate due to the honest concern in his voice. “Like. Especially after well. Everything?”

“Should you really be asking someone like me that?” Dabi leers. “After all, I’m a shit person,” he echoes, though he’s not at all offended by that statement. “So why are you trying to extend an olive branch to me?” He hates it when people are flimsy on their beliefs, when they’re too soft to commit. And Midoriya doesn’t look like a pushover, but his current words imply otherwise. 

"I mean yeah, you’re a legitimately awful person.” And he’s got balls, for a kid who literally quaked when he thought he hurt Dabi’s feelings. 

So people on TikTok who have no fear of biting people on camera but get nervous about ordering their food really do exist.

“And that’s not based on my opinion, that's a fact- you killed people over and over again, and I don’t care whether or not you regret it or not-” 

“I don’t.” He can’t afford to- if he begins to regret it, then he shouldn’t have done it in the first place. He doesn’t know if he can take it if he begins to regret it after he’s already done it so many times. 

“But you still killed them as a choice.” And Midoriya pauses, as if expecting Dabi to disagree or even agree. Dabi doesn’t do either. “And I am in no place to say you deserve a second chance- that’s not up to me, and quite frankly, I think it’s up to the people you’ve directly hurt. And many of them aren’t alive to do so, making you essentially an unforgivable person.” He muses calmly. 

And Dabi had no reason to believe that Midoriya was different than what he expected- it’s not like he actually talked or interacted with him. But he was a kid, those little shits are easily swayed by emotions.

Midoriya feels too mature for him to appreciate. Too cool-headed, given his current situation. 

Whatever. He prefers that over someone socially enigmatic like Shouto, or emotionally immature like Shigaraki. 

“But I do think that people can change, and things just don’t stay the same as time goes on. So I don’t feel guilty at all for asking if you’re ‘okay’ or asking about your wellbeing, knowing you could possibly become different.”

“You sound exactly like Aizawa.” He sees the way that Midoriya’s countenance rewires. “That’s not a compliment,” he clarifies. 

“Oh,” Midoriya snaps his fingers, startling Dabi, “I also think if you change, and if I see potential for change, it’d just be counterproductive if I continue treating you like the person you once were, or currently are,” Midoriya expounds, tone almost matter-of-fact. And Dabi’s almost unsettled by how understandable his logic is, yet how entirely condescendingly self-virtuous it feels. Though, Dabi can’t tell if that’s just his own warped perspective of wanting to see Midoriya in a worser light. After all, if there’s one takeaway from Dabi’s episode just minutes ago that he absolutely refuses to reflect upon, it’s that Touya is not the most reliable source, and thus, neither is Dabi.

However, if Midoriya was really just annoyingly self-entitled with his morals, then Dabi feels like how this entire conversation would've went a lot worse than it did, and it’s not like he can be pissed about Midoriya’s explanation, as it was only given because Dabi essentially asked him for one. 

Once again, Dabi feels conflicted over knowing he should feel grateful that Midoriya’s seemingly not an asshole, yet wanting to slip battery acid into the boy’s IV solution. 

“That’s why I guess I’m less angry about you being here.”  And how is this guy connecting these topics? Either go for casual talk or go straight into true crime, this kid has zero middle ground. 

“Pardon?” Dabi crooks an eyebrow dryly.

“I mean. Lots of people aren’t pleased you’re here. There’s really no reason to offer you shelter.” He says hesitantly, as if concerned of offending Dabi. Unwarranted, given he literally called him shitty earlier. “But I feel like. If you do change, then isn’t it worth taking that risk?” And he’s one of those people. Maybe Dabi miscalculated- there’s a difference between ‘good’ and ‘righteous’, and he thinks he accidentally mixed them up when describing Midoriya earlier. Midoriya could simply be virtuous and wants to save everyone, when the reality is some people don’t deserve saving. 

Dabi doesn’t like people like Midoriya. They irritatingly believe they’re righteous while they’re really doing more harm than good. 

“Do you hate being here?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Really no hesitation.”

“Just like when you called me a shit person.” 

Midoriya just smiles guiltily. “Well, even if you hate it here,” he continues, “it’s probably still better and safer to live in U.A. while quirkless, than in a jail cell, or tossed into an institution where there’s no chance of change. Realistically, this is a really profitable option.” 

“Who gave you the fucking right to judge that?” He laughs, voice raspy and tone cutting, and he sees the way Midoriya physically wilts, and the kid has no right to look hurt . If he wants to hold a conversation, he best believe Dabi's going to give him one. And yeah, Dabi's somewhat insulted by Midoriya's attitude, but he could be worse- he didn't think he sounded that abrasive.  “Whether you’re right or wrong, who gave you the right to think that way? To think you know what’s best for me? And so what if you do? You think just because you know what’s better, that you’re doing this for me, that your judgement should be valued over mine in decisions that affect my life?” He grunts, shifting himself onto the empty hospital bed across the room. Fucking brat reeks of a hero-complex. 

And how many times had he held this same argument? Same exact argument with Aizawa? 

He’s tired of talking.

And he involuntarily shivers on the bedsheet. Arguing. Arguing even though he’s Touya. And Touya’s not a good kid.

And Dabi’s completely locking away what went down earlier because fuck that, Dabi can't afford to make mistakes on that scale  so he will not admit them especially that one-

But he can’t just ignore that his entire life was wrong. That Endeavor, who he villainized over the years and hated and burdened with all of Touya’s failures and Dabi’s successes upon, was right. That Touya was fucked up from the beginning and if he’s Touya right now- then he shouldn’t be arguing with Midoriya so shamelessly. The audacity of him believing he gets an opinion when it could easily be delusional given how he’s innately messed up is just-

He eyeballs Midoriya’s careful expression, and he clings onto that, unsure why he's so captivated by the boy's wariness.

Then, to his own goddamn surprise, he suddenly blurts: “I’m not saying you’re wrong.” He freezes, and Midoriya blinks, and the way he almost appears satiated by Dabi’s reply burns and Dabi wants to throw up. What he just said- doesn’t that mean he just agreed that objectively, Midoriya’s right? But he’s not. He can’t be.

Or maybe he's just losing it. 

Dabi nearly snorts at that, the once distant idea now feeling too close, too up in Dabi’s face and too real. Maybe being volatile and emotional, he can't sort through his emotions, the fairness of them and if he's right or just being explosive (but if he starts doubting the one thing he has, his anger and his sense of justice then doesn't that just mean everything he's done is questionable? That it’s pointless to even acknowledge what he's done was immoral, because maybe Dabi himself is too disillusioned to clearly decide what he’s done was okay? And once again, does Touya know right from wrong? Who’s to say Dabi does, either? Does Dabi even know what he wants-).

Midoriya’s features contort into determination. Dabi hates that look. That look of someone who’s confident in what they’re saying, someone who thinks they’re right. Dabi himself doesn’t think he can ever wear that face again. “I mean. Your personal decisions have hurt others, I don’t think you should be talking about respecting others’ choices when you made choices for lots of people on the sidelines,” Midoriya elaborates unflinchingly. 

And Dabi doesn't even know what to say. Would anything he says even be okay?

And he doesn't have anyone else to depend on to vibe check his thoughts. To tell if they make sense.

He's only had himself, and now he's doubting even that. 

Dabi’s not one to deny whenever he ends up feeling scared- no point in doing so. But he’s never felt this before, this sudden sense of hopeless trepidation blinding his vision and locking him in his own shapeless room of distorted black, lost of the only guide he had throughout his journey in hell.

Because what if he can’t even decide things for himself (and he’s coming to too many truths about Endeavor. Earlier it was that maybe Endeavor was right to be wary of Touya, that the darkness he saw in Touya was there. So maybe he’s also right when he thought Touya was mentally unstable, but if Dabi doesn’t even have himself then who else does he even have-).

“I know,” Dabi replies, voice fried. He ignores the way Midoriya appears surprised by his response.

“...So why do you do it?”

Once again, Dabi vaguely thinks that Midoriya has a habit of assuming everyone knows where he’s getting at when the reality is no one does because he doesn’t provide any context. 

“Do what?”

“All the things you’ve done as Dabi.”

“You know Wikipedia, exists, right?” Dabi replies tonelessly. He’s getting fucking scammed. He deserves payment for being forced to listen to another entire SparkNoted AP Philosophy lecture, when literally- literally he didn’t even ask. 

He doesn’t confess that he’s not entirely sure anymore. He had an idea, but-

Can I really trust myself to have a solid reason? And he thought so. The first day he came here, he was so firm in his own beliefs, unwavering and unafraid and now-

He doesn’t even know if he has an explanation for what he’s done. He’s never excused his actions, knew they were wrong, but he always relied on the idea that as long as he can make ends meet, selfishly so in the payment of others’ peace, he could at least find justice for how Endeavor treated Touya. 

But maybe Touya deserved how Endeavor treated him. And if not, at the very least, he wasn’t a good enough person to deserve revenge, either.

And certainly, there’s no way Touya’s life is worth the tens of others’ he killed. 

Dabi doesn’t know what to say.

“Listen.” Dabi finally breathes. “I don’t have an answer for you.” He confesses. “And I don’t think I will ever have an answer you can understand.” That I can understand.  "I don't know what you want me to say," he edges defensively. He hesitates. That's not Midoriya's problem to deal with. "I don't know what I want to say," he fixes. 

Midoriya takes his time to answer.

Then: “You know, you think like Kacchan, if he was more honest about his thoughts. Also, I think overstepped a lot of boundaries, so sorry about that.”

And Dabi stares.

He can't believe Midoriya spent seconds conjuring an appropriate response and he settles on that.

He overestimated this kid’s intelligence and common sense.

“Why does everyone compare me to him?” And no , he’s not insulted over something as tiny as this but- “ even his mom said that.” And it's abnormal and just slightly more concerning when even the little shitbeetle’s own genetic sponsor says Dabi is similar to him. 

“You met his mom- ”

“ Not willingly. ” Dabi blinks hard, as if that could chase away the visions of the cursed encounter he had with her. 

“This is like one of those Disney crossovers,” Midoriya muses. “Wait she doesn’t know who you are, right?”

“She doesn't. Irony like this should not happen in real life.” And Dabi’s glad for the change of topic. While he’d prefer to not talk at all, the other topic is giving him an identity crisis and he’s already had one in the past hour. With his mental energy that’s the size of a soap dish, he’s clinging onto this stupid conversation as a pathetic distraction. 

“I mean if Mitsuki-san’s personality truly does exist, then I think it’d be more unreasonable if every interaction she has isn’t equally unbelievable.” Midoriya counters not unkindly.

“I believe a person like her shouldn’t be allowed to interact with people in the first place.”

“I need to hear your reasoning for this if such a sentence is coming from someone like you.”

Dabi shrugs. “To be fair, everyone I’ve met throughout my life should not be introduced into society. Though, it’s arguably because of society that they ended up the way they did.” He looks Midoriya dead in the eyes for the first time since their conversation. “Mitsuki-san on the other hand, was just messed up from birth.” He just knows. Takes one to know one. 

Midoriya seems to take this into consideration. “You know. I remember one day I was visiting her house. And I asked her where Kacchan was. And then I found him outside, half naked, she said she was forcing him to photosynthesis so that his brain would grow bigger so he could properly reflect on why he shouldn’t bite his classmates.”

Dabi breathes. He wishes he didn’t. 

"He was four,” there’s more? “And one day brought Lightning McQueen swimboxers to school for our field trip. One of our classmates, Kinoshita Shinji, kept saying ‘kachow’ everytime Kacchan tried to speak, and Kacchan got pissed so he bit Kinoshita so hard on the wrist that he bled.”

Dabi realizes too late that trying to keep up with his own slipping sanity was probably an easier topic to follow than whatever the fuck this is.

“Anyways, that's the day when we found out Kinoshita was anemic."

"Huh?"

“Like. What I’m getting at is that Kacchan’s personality is questionable based on his own choices, but I can see where his eccentricities come from.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the beginning?”

"Oh. Was my roadmap not clear?" Midoriya says, sounding irritatingly apologetic.

“You have a problem of not warning people beforehand and saying things without realizing others can’t read your mind.”

Midoriya laughs awkwardly. “Ah, yeah. Sorry!” He smiles cheekily. “But yeah. Mitsuki-san is very similar to her son.” He then tilts his head. “So I guess by transitive property, that’d mean you’re like Mitsuki.” 

“What?”

“Like. Math.”

“Bold of you to assume I passed high school math,” Dabi deadpans. 

Midoriya closes his mouth, flustered to the point where his nape streaks red, breaking his composed demeanor.

“How I feel about Mitsuki-san is so intense and complicated that I’m pretty sure I felt four emotions that don’t exist from my one conversation with her,” Dabi confides hushedly, ignoring Midoriya’s stammers, the echoes of Mitsuki's words rattling his eyeballs in his sockets.

“I think this is the most emotional I’ve heard you,” Midoriya finally proclaims, and Dabi’s ready to beat him with a sack of bricks, when he continues- “Mitsuki-san tends to bring out,” he hesitates, “...the intensity of people,” he alters the common phrase out of respect. 

“It's actually pretty amazing," Dabi confesses begrudgingly.

“Mm it's pretty impossible, too,” Midoriya hums, “I really don't think she’s a real person most of the time.”

Dabi scoffs. “Nah.” He mutters. “I believe it. After all, there has to be an explanation of Bakugou’s personality.”

“They do say that personality and temperament is mostly genetics,” Midoriya informs amiably.

“So why am I like her son?” Dabi sputters, enraged as he recalls his conversation with Mitsuki. “There’s no way.” 

“...I don’t even know what to tell you. I guess you guys have the same hairstyle?”

“I will shoot you,” Dabi deadpans. Midoriya on the other hand, has zero fear and lawless, just looks at him, unimpressed. 

“Ah. So I see your similarities with Kacchan run deeper than just appearance.”

“Kacchan?” Dabi murmurs, promptly ignoring Midoriya because he can’t handle more of that twerp’s words that ooze insensitive confidence. He takes a second, rewinding back to the beginnings of this hellish conversation. Midoriya often used ‘Kacchan’. “Katsuki?” He has to take a second, a breathy wheeze that discomforts his chest escaping his throat.

“You didn’t realize?”

“No, I definitely did, I’m just connecting his actual personality to the word ‘Kacchan’,” and what a contrast between such a childish nickname and his maddog aura. 

“Oh, yeah we knew each other since childhood so I have a habit of just calling him Kacchan since I was a kid,” he explains cheerfully. “It’s. Kind of upsetting how distant we are," he laughs nervously, "but I think he’s growing even if without me, and maybe that means one day we can reconnect.” 

“I don’t care about your relationship problems.”

Midoriya falls quiet at that.

Then: “see. Exactly like Kacchan.”

Before Dabi can reevaluate his decision on whether predetermined murder is too much, the door yanks open, and Dabi expects perhaps Aizawa to return, but no, it’s the gremlin. The grandpa that he sees sometimes in the hallways, cosplaying Mermaid Man from Spongebob. The old man peers in, before shutting the door, assumedly taking place as a downgraded guard. Probably because Dabi’s here, with an injured student. Dabi feels mildly affronted, because truly, he's the victim here.

And he would just leave, but the truth is that he doesn’t know where he’d go if he left. Leaving means possibly running into children, who don’t pay taxes and don’t recycle, and it means having nowhere to go. He knows for a fact that where he stays at night is locked upon closing, and from what he knows, it's only Aizawa and Ectoplasm that have its keys.

And Dabi’s already sitting down, and on a bed. He frankly doesn’t have enough energy or will to do anything , much less move . He so wants to be metal, but right now, he can barely muster enough energy to be punk rock. 

“Do you know why they shut down the common room?” Midoriya suddenly asks out of completely nowhere, and it takes Dabi a moment to realize he’s talking about today, when Dabi was repainting it. 

And he doesn't even know why he bothers. It’s like people just like talking. 

Specifically with him, when he literally never asked.

Then there’s the fact that literally everyone he’s talked to feels absolutely no need to elaborate upon their thought process or provide a droplet of context , so he only feels grainy, low-quality pain everytime he tries to understand an inkling of whatever the fuck they’re talking about. 

He thinks of Kayama. Even the teachers are like this. 

He’s already shortened his lifespan by a minimum of eleven years after just encountering Mitsuki, and now he’s ran into another person who could hold a two hour long conversation with their left shoelace.

“Oh. Do you not know?”

Dabi lies down on his back on the bed.

“Dabi?”

He closes his eyes.

“...the lights are on, do you want me to call Gran Torino in to turn them off?”

“I don’t care.”

“Oh. What do you care about then?”

“Killing Endeavor.”

“Oddly specific and a very heavy answer. Is there any reason why?” Dabi turns his head slightly to get a sight at the bedridden boy. 

“He’s the most annoying. Fakest hero of them all,” he finally grunts in response, and he ignores the wavering in his tone. Dabi and Touya aren’t reliable interpreters of Endeavor, so Dabi really doesn’t know if what he said was valid. He can only rely on the fact that Endeavor treated the rest of Touya’s family like shit, so sure, Touya was cancerous from birth, but there’s no excuse for how Endeavor treated the rest of the Todorokis. 

“Funny.” Dabi lazily glances at Midoriya. “I’ve heard similar things about him from other people.” 

Shouto.

He figured that Shouto and Midoriya were close, but to the point where Shouto would bluntly mention his father that way? Then again, before he left, Natsuo himself was ranting about Endeavor to even the 7/11 cashier, to the point where the underpaid teenager who seemed to be taking illegal overtime actually called them by nicknames. So it seems like the entire family line is petty. 

But Shouto? Dabi always assumed the boy was wrapped around his father's finger. Glad to see he instead grew up to be another Natsuo. 

“But killing Endeavor," Midoriya mumbles, "that's rather drastic, isn’t it?”

"Go big or go home." 

Midoriya makes eye contact with him. "Go home, then."

Dabi, mildly offended, immediately retaliates. “I'm not taking advice from a kid who looks like he watches conspiracy theories on YouTube.” And he knows he hit the mark the moment he saw guilt and shame flitter across the kid’s face. “Knew it,” he scoffs. “Bet you run a mothman blog,” and before he can decipher and rip at the absolute embarrassment that barely plays through the kid’s hollow eyes that look like they’re reeling through the Tokyo Ghoul theme song blasting loudly in his ears, the door slams open.

And this time, it’s Aizawa.

“Glad to see you’re still alive.” Aizawa murmurs, reshifting his grip on the kid slung over his shoulder as he steps in. Must be a casualty of his questionable students. 

“No you’re not,” Dabi retorts reflexively, watching him pull gymnastic bullshit to walk in without dropping the body.

Dabi ignores the stirring in his stomach, the way he laces. 

He glances at Aizawa.

Well, it’d make sense that he’d feel looser around people he’s used to. And Aizawa’s proven himself to not be annoyingly talkative. That’s all there’s to it. 

Aizawa drops the person collapsed on his shoulder. And Dabi initially thought it was a student, but as she splays out on the hospital bed beside Midoriya, Dabi realizes who it really is.

“Oh my god,” Dabi stares, unsure what to make of this. 

“Oh, it’s her-” and for the first time, Midoriya actually appears distraught, his eyes blown wide and obvious discomfort contorting his features. “Oh my god-” and his voice is singing, nervousness clipping his words. “Haha, Aizawa-sensei I don’t mean to be pushy but please can she not be seated next to me?” And it's annoying, how the kid looks like he feels bad about saying those words.

"Stop it," Dabi scowls, baring his teeth at Midoriya who looks like his entire nervous system was ripped out his spine like a deboned salmon. "God you're so nervous you're making me nervous."

"I- I'm sorry!" Midoriya pitches, eyes fixated on the body.

"No you're fucking not. Stop shaking you're triggering my flight or fight response," Dabi accuses, threateningly jabbing a finger at his direction.

Then again, he glances at the unconscious newcomer. It's understandable why Midoriya would feel anxious.

After all, Toga always did have an obsession with him.

“So when you said ‘it happened again’ I really just thought you meant another Bakugou-Todoroki pissing contest that ended up with severe injuries,” Aizawa says, displeased, standing outside in the evening, surrounded by skeeters, and ready to fling himself so hard into the moon that his bones fall out.

"Mm. Remember when Todoroki ended up in a comatose for four consecutive days because he and Bakugou had a dick-measuring contest over who could drink the most soy-sauce wasabi mixture and Bakugou started peeing out blood because he started experiencing kidney failure?” Kayama tilts her head.

Aizawa glances at the stumbling boy and the blacked out girl. And Aizawa always thought that Todoroki and Bakugou were a duo that crawled out of the depths of hell just to drag them all back down with them, but standing here right now, he realizes they're just from purgatory. 

Whatever is going down here, is the result of Judgment Day where god decided the human race deserved hell on earth.

“Can’t believe we thought Bakugou would be the biggest of our problems,” Yamada sighs, almost nostalgically for the good ol’ days. Said ‘good ol’ days’ was six hours ago, when Aizawa had to give another call to Mitsuki-san and Fuyumi because their respective relatives were nearly hospitalized again over a fight that broke out over a Froot Loop. 

“Yeah. Instead it’s three serial killers,” Kayama sighs. Then she pouts. “So. I’m guessing we take them in?”

“No.” Yamada looks at Aizawa and Kayama’s shared, indecisiveness glance. “I- no what the hell you guys cannot be serious we are not a charity nor an orphanage-”

“Should we. Hit him?” Ectoplasm points nervously at the man.

They watch as Shigaraki, dangerously wanted villain with a destructively chaotic quirk, nearly trip over another utterly conked out villain who’s essentially the blueprint of an otome yandere simulator character. 

“The fuck Toga stop sleeping wherever you want-” Shigaraki, leader of the League of Villains, says while drooling simultameously. “Catnapping like a catty cat-”

“I mean. Honestly, it’s kinda pathetic to see him like that. Maybe just. Knock him out.” Kayama agrees uneasily. 

“We are not keeping three criminals, villains, dangerous adults, in the same building with other students. Students, who mind you, are minors. ” Yamada hisses.

Aizawa thinks on that. “She’s clearly a minor.” He points at Toga.

Yamada looks fairly close to snatching Aizawa’s ribcage like they’re handlebars. “Not the point!”

“Okay, but the fact that we kept one of them, doesn’t that mean we might as well just go all in?” Kayama muses loudly.

“No!” Yamada stares. “No!” He shouts, a bit louder. “What? This is not a ‘oh, due to complications we decided to adopt three dangerous and mentally unstable adults because we done it once'? Have you never heard of that phrase of 'learn from our mistakes'? Like, nothing against mentally unstable people but this is a different situation  because these three in particular are bad people!"

“Pretty much.” Kayama says.

"What does that even mean?" Yamada shrieks. "And no!" He moans, essentially solidifying his rather plottwist of a role as the responsible one. 

“Is the girl even breathing?” Kan questions, clearly concerned and ultimately unbothered by Yamada.

“Should we stop him?” Kayama murmurs, wincing as they watch Shigaraki perform another drunken roll across Toga.

By this point, Yamada is nothing but white noise. 

Sighing, Aizawa steps forward, his footsteps on the dewy grass notifying Shigaraki somewhere through his inebriated state. “Wh-” and he’s sputtering, not always a good sign. “Who the hell are you? Don’t come close.” He begins, and Aizawa does angle an eyebrow at that, but he stops at Shigaraki’s clearly distressed rambles.

When they found Dabi, he was very unconscious.

Shigaraki is less so, but he's certainly more tame in comparison to his normal personality, but Aizawa isn’t going to test his drug-induced compliance. 

“Shigaraki-”

“How the fuck d’you know my name?” And maybe he can’t recognize Aizawa- it is dark right now, given that it’s midnight and not an appropriate time for a sudden villain DoorDash delivery. 

Aizawa ignores that question. “See that building?” Aizawa points to the glowing beacon of U.A. It’d be pretty hard for anyone to not see that in the first place. “We’re going to go inside to …” Aizawa narrows his eyes, glancing at his cast. “Heal your arm.” Maybe it’s unethical of him, but he’s definitely judging the shimmery My Little Pony stickers on the cast.

“Huh? O’my hand. Is okay. I can’t feel pain.”

“Trust me, with whatever’s running through your system, I’m pretty sure you can’t feel anything right now.”

He nods amiably. "Like colours,” he says wisely.

“Yep, okay, we’re going inside.” Aizawa breathes tiredly.

“Shouldn’t we at least handcuff him or something?” He hears Yamada’s faint shout from behind him.

And now, Shigaraki’s red eyes, sunken in their flaky sockets expressing age and rusted youth, appear almost clear. “U.A.” He breathes, and rather than the stench of drowned despair and spoiled birthday cake, there’s something ethereal within his tone, cradling the name like a precious memory. And Kayama’s crouching by Toga with Recovery Girl. 

Yamada is now beside Aizawa, along with Yagi. Aizawa frowns. He didn’t know Yagi was here, and he doesn’t know if Shigaraki is too out of this world to identify him in the darkness. He shouldn’t be here. They don't even allow him come near Dabi, who's somewhat assimilated to his role here. 

“You know U.A.? Really?” Aizawa jokes dryly, focusing his attention on Shigaraki. “Come inside, we should really check your hand.”

But Shigaraki’s still in place, swaying on unsteady feet, his eyes fixated at the building. “Wanted to go there as a kid.” He grumbles, though there’s something light in his tone, almost fragile. “Being a hero sounded actually possible when I was a kid,” he suddenly laughs, and it’s dejected, raspy, and oh .

“You wanted to be a hero?” Aizawa says testily. If Shigaraki wasn’t cut from the same cloth as someone like him, someone who'd take advantage of a morally grey situation, Aizawa might’ve felt slightly bad for prodding while knowing the man is under the influence. 

“Yeah. Fucking stupid.” Shigaraki grunts. “S’not like I could ever be a hero with this quirk or cause of what I’ve done,” he says, a wry, demented smile crossing his scaly skin. And that’s different. Very different from not wanting to be a hero, and thinking that you couldn’t be one. “Liked All Might as a kid. Favourite hero, but he was everyone’s I guess.” He snorts.

“Mm he is a classic.” 

“Gotta kill him now.” Shigaraki says rather casually. “The people foolishly place too much faith in him. In heroes. Can’t believe I wanted to be a hero after everything they’ve done.” Then, almost jokingly given his change of tone, he adds: “or haven’t done.”

Aizawa, not entirely sure how he’s understanding a single word Shigaraki’s speaking, or how Shigaraki is even capable of talking, has half the mind to just manhandle the man into the building because he doesn’t like that they’re just standing outside in the open. 

“Heroes aren’t perfect.The issue with that is the cost of being imperfect could be others’ lives,” Aizawa finally settles on saying almost expressionlessly. 

Shigaraki scoffs. Then, quieter, “villains aren’t perfect, either.” And frankly, Aizawa doesn’t even know how to interpret his words. They don’t sound excusatory, nor accusatory, and rather, almost factual. As if matching Aizawa’s wavelength. 

Now, Shigaraki’s line of vision slowly transfers from the building, and down to Recovery Girl, who’s nursing Toga’s head on her lap. “Don’t touch her.” He snarls, his previous dreaminess dissipating, replaced by something brutal, though the edges of his words are rounded by inebriation. “I said don’t fucking touch her, you scum-”

And he reflexively sends his scarf flying around Shigaraki’s wrist but it’s too late, since the man’s hand lands on Kayama’s shoulder. 

And Aizawa feels something cold trickle into his system, freezing his sinuses. If the kid- man was under the impression his quirk was still functioning, and grabbed her, then that's attempted murder-

Then again, Shigaraki has proven himself to not be above murder.

Kayama didn’t even flinch, despite the way she tensed the moment he came in physical contact with her. She stares at Shigaraki, almost calculatively.

Kayama was always terrifying in her own way. 

Aizawa yanks back Shigaraki, who jerks in his grasp, his eyes vicious and wide with something feral. 

“Fuc’off. Don’t touch me n'don't touch her-”

“I need you to calm down, okay,” Aizawa begins, loosening his scarf, knowing full well that his voice, laced with stubbornness and firmness from years of teaching rowdy students probably isn’t helping. “Look, we won’t hurt you-” and even Ectoplasm somehow looks distinctively deadpanned at his statement, and he’s wearing a helmet. “We just need you to calm down, okay?”

“Don’t tell me what to do I’ll kill all of you-” great start. At least when they dealt with Dabi, Dabi acted more wasted than actually coked to the high heavens. Meanwhile, Shigaraki looks like he has half the mind to spit in Aizawa’s eyeball and eat his shirt. 

The differences between them parallels the one between a stoner and a heroin addict.

“Shigaraki, listen. She’s going to help Toga, right? We're going to take you inside,” Recovery Girl says slowly, and Aizawa releases Shigaraki, who’s utterly turnt, completely rattled, and looks five seconds from upchucking air. “And you’re going to sleep.”

“He literally just threatened murder and we know he literally is one I- why is he coming inside without like! Cuffs?” And Aizawa wants to say that in comparison to Shigaraki, Yamada actually looks like the one who’s ready to go for the throat. 

“We can’t leave him out here, and I can keep my scarf around him if you’re so concerned,” Aizawa says. “Also, judging by how he grabbed Kayama and her flesh is still intact, he’s probably quirkless like Dabi. Pretty sure we can confidently believe whoever dropped Dabi off, dealt with these two as well. The bigger issue is that we don’t know how long they were out here- whoever dropped them off could still be around,” he reasons. 

“I’ll look around,” Kan raises a hand. "Hound Dog was here before us- he was the one who was notified by the security guard first, that Shigaraki and Toga were caught on camera. He’s already sniffing the area.”

“The perpetrator wasn’t caught on the CTVs, then?” Kayama wilts.

Kan grimaces underneath the moonlight, shaking his head. Aizawa sighs. Just like last time.

“I’ll go around with Hound Dog, too,” Ectoplasm offers. “I actually already had clones scouting around the moment we were notified. The rest of us should continue looking around after we bring them in, we don’t know the motive of whoever’s dropping these people.” Aizawa nods in response.

“Can’t go into U.A. I’m not a hero,” Shigaraki mumbles, absently stroking Aizawa’s scarf, looking mildly fascinated by its existence, treating it like a sentient pet, the way Kayama does with their ancient coffee machine. 

"You could’ve been a hero if you wanted to.” Aizawa says loosely, watching how Shigaraki’s expression freezes. And he said that out of curiosity- perhaps a bit provocatively, as well. “Your quirk is strong, and if you had the heart and mind for it, you could’ve been one.” He ignores the accusatory undertones of his proclamations. Because ultimately, Shigaraki's the one who made the personal choice to believe that he couldn't be a hero because of his quirk. It's a similar situation to Shinsou, but Shinsou didn't decide to pull a headass villain plan because the world didn't accept him. 

Then again, Aizawa’s sure that Shinsou and Shigaraki’s situation was different. There’s no point in comparing them. 

And it’s not like he can be a hero now, anyways . While reformation is usually the most beneficial option, Shigaraki has to be held accountable for his actions. 

Shigaraki chose this route, chose to depend upon taking innocent lives for the sake of his own goal. 

Shigaraki stares at him, unbelieving. “I can’t feel. So I can’t be a hero. My emotions are fucked up.” And well , Aizawa has to give him kudos. Or maybe he just has low standards when it comes to self-reflection since he’s been around people like Bakugou and Dabi for too long.

Then, Shigaraki’s frown splits into a leer. “Why would I want to be a hero? They don’t save everyone. They don’t care if they don’t save everyone.”

Aizawa shakes his head. “No one can save everyone. And yeah, some people don’t care, some heroes don’t-” and he knows it should be unacceptable for people like that to become heroes, especially because of how much impact they could cause, “but many of them do. We need to do better, to make sure every of them care.” He then quickly transitions into what he really wanted to get to: “this is a hero school- we have to care for you two right now, it’s our responsibility, right? So,” he gestures sharply, “ we should go inside. ” And that’s probably the most candid thing he said to Shigaraki this entire time. 

Almost absent-mindedly, Aizawa realizes that Shigaraki is very different from Dabi, who craves to be alone, to rot in the corner of loneliness and let a tidal wave of tar and tears wash away his bones. Because Shigaraki actually is drawn towards the light, he doesn’t shy away from it. It makes sense, given how he’s a leader with a goal in mind. He’s desperate for what he can’t have, while Dabi rejects the notion of it. 

It’s almost sad, thinks, as he sees something crack within Shigaraki’s dull gaze. Aizawa wonders how many more futures that’ll never take root, promises that he can’t manifest, before the light in his eyes shatter completely. Really, it’s unfortunate. But any possibility for a deeply moving commiseration has been washed away by Shigaraki’s own actions.

“Anyone can be a hero. You’re not an exception.” And that wasn’t him. Aizawa turns around, to see obvious pity lining Yagi’s gaunt, nimble face, and Aizawa wonders how Shigaraki would feel if he knew All Might said that. If All Might was the one offering fragments of glass, claiming they’re dreams and opportunities, before closing Shigaraki’s fingers over them. 

But the worst part is, he sees All Might’s determined expression, and he knows that Yagi doesn’t think that way. That Yagi believes in his words. He shares another uneasy look with Kayama. Yamada, to the side, looks almost angry. And almost nothing can make Yamada angry. Instantly, caution slows his train of thought. Yamada's not mad. Not when he's encountering an infuriating situation, when he messes up, when others messes up.

He's mad when something's so viscerally wrong, it'd be almost disrespectful to face it with his normal laughter.

Aizawa just asked out of curiosity. He wanted to see if Shigaraki would be so adverse to the idea of becoming a hero. He doesn’t think anything Shigaraki answered with could change anything. 

Meanwhile Yagi is determined. Is spouting bullshit, shit that’s inconsiderate to Shigaraki’s victims, to even Shigaraki himself.

“Shigaraki's given up on becoming a hero- he said so himself, so first off, don’t be saying these types of things,” Yamada hisses slowly. “And secondly , him having given up on being a hero, that’s not a retractable claim. Not after what he’s done.” And Aizawa reminds himself to place more credit in Yamada’s unfaltering stances. Aizawa is certainly different, more flexible from case to case, but he respects his friend’s opinionated personality. “Maybe Shigaraki believed he was never given an option- and perhaps he legitimately never did have an option to be a hero. But the way he hurt others isn't something that could just be dismissed.” He finishes brutally, glaring at Yagi. And Aizawa’s pretty sure even if initially he wasn't given a choice, Shigaraki still went with it. Built his future off of villainy, off of the lives of others by his own will.

“Yagi, don’t take this personally,” Kayama says apologetically, “but shut up.”

Aizawa gently tugs on his scarf, and Shigaraki staggers forward, gripping tightly onto it like a lifeline. “Let’s go in,” he proposes once more, restless. They really shouldn't be lounging outside- if his friends want to start arguing about ethics even past their class time, then they can do that after they deal with the problem itself. 

“I can’t go in. I can’t.” And Shigaraki’s shaking his head frantically, and Aizawa wonders if he’d get dizzy from that. 

And Aizawa isn’t sure what the hell compelled him to say his next words, but he suddenly says: “we have bagels.”

Maybe. He actually isn’t sure if anyone refilled their depleted stock after Dabi decided to load exclusively on carbs. “Bagels. Tons of them.”

"But Toga-”

"But Toga can have bagels too.” Aizawa interrupts hurriedly. “You’re being a hero, for wanting to help Toga, right? You know what would help her more? If we take her inside. We have a nurse, she can help Toga.”

“But-”

“But Toga. You do want what’s best for her, right?” And Shigaraki warily eyes the building like he’s lucid dreaming. Meanwhile, Aizawa doesn’t think he can knock out the kid without causing brain damage, therefore he hopes Shigaraki will just submit to their demands.

Shigaraki’s silent, his eyes twitching faster than his wrapped hand. Actually, Aizawa’s pretty sure his entire body’s trembling from the drugs, and Aizawa isn’t sure if the kid’s too lost in his own world of colors and sensations to actually hear them, but Shigaraki finally replies with a cracked voice.

“There’ll be bagels?”

Aizawa sighs. “Yes. There will be bagels.”

“He wanted to be a hero and-”

“I was there, Yagi.” Aizawa interrupts, his voice desolate of emotion as Toga’s bony elbows smack against his spine. “And I don’t care if he wanted to be a hero. It’s tragic, but ultimately, you have to remember that this is a very fragile situation. You can’t be going around expressing direct sympathy at this moment, no matter how you feel.”

“Also, he clearly doesn’t like heroes anymore.” Kayama snorts. “It’s almost like he’s trying to take all of them down,” she says dryly. "You know. Almost like he's a villain."

They all glance behind them, at Shigaraki, who’s stumbling against a very displeased Yamada. "I know he’s not into heroism right now,” and Yagi almost sounds like he’s pleading , “and right now he’s into defeating all heroes and taking down society-”

“That just makes it sadder. That he turned out this way” Kayama intervenes, as always sounding collected despite the situation, her lips pale and thin from pressure. "Sad, but it's also like. It makes it worse that it could've all been stopped, that he could've been a hero. It's really unfortunate when you consider that his powers could've been used for good. Not because it'd be better for him, but mostly because then all the hurt he's caused would've been preventable.” She clicks her tongue. "And they're so young, like that's such a loss."

"Because they're young?" Aizawa reiterates dryly.

"I mean. It's a good part of it," she admits shamelessly.

“Well, I mean, yeah it's sad and all that they're lost potential,” Yamada begins, though his voice is respectfully quiet, befitting the atmosphere, which is majorly impressive given his usual absence of self-restraint, and how his neck strains with each time Shigaraki rams into him. “But we have three wanted villains on our school grounds. None of them that we are sympathizing with," he adds that last part threateningly, though at that moment, Shigaraki staggers against him, looking very close to puking, effectively ruining any seriousness his voice carried.

"We're not sympathizing, it’s just acknowledging how they turned out is really unfortunate, and that they were possibly dealt with a shitty deck of hands in life," Kayama hums.

"And they're sad not because they're lost potential, but mainly because they could've lived a normal life, even if they didn't choose the hero route," Aizawa fixes.

"Normally I'd say you're right, but, I don't like offering sympathy to killers," Yamada replies jauntingly, almost cuttingly. 

"How does that happen, like how do these people end up here all quirkless ?” Yagi pushes past the growing tension, clearly trying to clear it out before they start cracking. “Like. Does this entire situation not concern you?”

“I do wonder if we can get our hands on the drugs, assuming they’re the cause for their quirklessness.” Recovery Girl suddenly says. “In America, pretty sure there’s a law that allows chemical castration against sex offenders. Though, I’d assume that law would only be legal in certain areas,” she tells them. “If our government is capable of replicating the quirk-erasing drug, do you believe Japan would apply a similar concept against people who severely maluse their quirk?” She tilts her head. “When I was your age, I’m sure our government wouldn’t even consider such a thing. But now, I believe it wouldn’t be impossible.”

“I’m sorry chemical castration-” Yamada squawks, sounding more like himself than before. 

"Not like Mina's chemicals," Aizawa intervenes, knowing full well how he interpreted that statement.

“Wouldn’t taking away someone’s quirk be considered cruel and unusual punishment-” Yagi begins uneasily.

“Isn’t using it to kill people already cruel and unusual?” Kayama retorts dryly. “Also, on the topic of killers, we have three of them in total.” She abruptly groans, startling Yagi who’s walking beside her. “The parents will have a fit.” She gripes. Then she beams, turning to Aizawa. “Good luck, Aizawa-sensei!” She mocks cheerfully.

"You don’t understand,” Aizawa sighs. He looks on the bright side. “At least I didn’t have to deal with Monoma’s parents. I heard they were threatening to sue,” and Kan is his only friend in these trying times. Homeroom teacher solidarity. 

“I mean. I would, too,” Yamada shrugs. “We’re housing three villains around children. ” They lapse back into silence. Aizawa glances back from where Shigaraki’s following him, clutching an end of his scarf. “You know. That’s so weird. How does anyone take down three wanted villains? All of them are offensive and strong enough on their own, and it’s possible they took down Toga and Shigaraki together. And not even that, they are leaving them at our school .”

“Right, even quirkless, the girl is dangerous, right?” Kayama eyes Toga, who’s flopped over Aizawa’s right shoulder. “I’m guessing it’s a group, then. Makes no sense that one person took down all of them.”

“It is rather odd,” Yagi admits. 

“‘Rather odd’?” Yamada quotes mockingly. “It’s a warning, I swear.”

“I think it’s vigilante action.” Kayama muses.

“That doesn’t make sense though.” Aizawa frowns.

“Yeah, why’d they leave them with us? And, if they were vigilantes, wouldn’t it make more sense if they just killed them?” Yamada builds off that. 

They reach the front of the building.   

“I’m heading back out, I’m going to check farther out towards the wooded areas,” Yamada says, not waiting for a response to his previous question. His brow's knitted, and Aizawa knows he’s simmering over this situation, unpleased with everything. He probably doesn’t want to be near them at the moment, either. 

“Yagi, you shouldn’t follow. I don’t think you should let Dabi see you, or run the risk of Shigaraki recognizing you. I don’t think that’ll go over well,” Aizawa says firmly, and to his relief, Yagi, while he’s definitely a dangerous optimist, isn’t too unreasonable. He nods, gives Shigaraki and Toga one more glance, before taking his leave.

So with only Recovery Girl and Kayama, they take in the two.

“Do you need help?” Kayama asks, snickering as she holds open the elevator door as Aizawa attempts to worm his way past her with extra luggage on his shoulder. 

He’s very close to just dropping Toga and stranding Shigaraki.

“You want to help? Then shut up.” Aizawa says.

She doesn’t say anything.

Then, as he’s halfway through the door, she jams the ‘close’ button.

Aizawa hates working here.

They approach the medical wing, where Gran Torino is currently outside the door. Upon closer inspection, Aizawa realizes he’s doing a puzzle. Blinking, the retired hero looks up from his papers.“Youths these days.” He scowls. “Returning with more troubles than solutions,” he eyes Toga, and as Aizawa turns around, wondering where Shigaraki is, he finds the said man flat and facedown on the hallway. “Now, what’s another word for ‘lizard’?”

“What?” and now Kayama is crouching over the short elder, gazing at his sheet, abandoning Shigaraki on the floor. “What is that?”

“Foreigners call it a ‘crossword’. This one's specifically in English," Gran Torino introduces proudly. “Somewhat like a Nanogram, but you input words and it doesn’t create a picture.”

“Sounds boring,” Kayama murmurs, wrinkling her nose. “No picture? What’s the point then?” She lunges aside as he attempts to rap her with his cane. “Anyways. A lizard?” She echoes loudly, as Aizawa struggles with Toga while simultaneously gathering a Shigaraki against his side who’s still blathering about something. 

Recovery Girl walks past him, and enters her office, leaving him to his own devices.

Aizawa releases the most strangled sigh he’s ever breathed.

Aizawa hates ( hates) working here.

Shigaraki then stops his uneventful struggling in Aizawa’s arms. “Liz’rd? Like Spinner?” and Aizawa takes a second to recognize that name. “God, his quirk is lit’lly called Gecko. It’s so lame.”

“Gecko! Quick, Midnight, translate that-” Gran Torino gasps, and Aizawa stares at the two of them, and wonders exactly what they consider top-priority in this given situation.

“It fits!” Kayama exclaims, holding up the translation on her phone. 

“Yeah, anyways.” Aizawa clears his throat, as he kicks the ajar door and tries to bypass the doorframe without giving Toga brain damage.

He stops as he awkwardly shoves his way in, as he makes eye contact with Dabi.

“Glad to see you’re still alive,” he remarks, surprised that Dabi even stayed. He was somewhat expecting the kid to ditch the place the moment he left.

“No you’re not,” Dabi replies shortly, almost sounding amused, gaze flitting over before quickly attaching back to the ceiling the moment they make eye contact.

Walking over to an empty bed, he unloads Toga from his shoulder, leaving her awkwardly positioned on the bed. Dabi then cranes his neck up, and actually shifts onto his elbows, eyes wide. Well, wait until he sees Shigaraki. “Oh my god.”

“Oh it’s her-” Midoriya chokes.

“Unfortunately,” Dabi snorts.

Aizawa turns around to try and coax Shigaraki closer to him like he’s talking to an aloof cat.

Shigaraki looks at him, then at his extended hand, and flops back onto the floor.

And maybe it’s the stress, maybe it’s the fact that they found two bodies out on their front lawn like this is an American public school, but Aizawa feels an uncharacteristic urge to actually start fighting someone. 

Preferably Kayama. 

Speaking of her-

He glares at the lady, who’s now helping Gran Torino through the rest of his puzzle.

Reminding himself that it’d be unprofessional if he snatched her hair in front of someone already violence-prone like Dabi, he tells himself he shouldn’t go for her neck, and instead, he forces himself to walk over to Shigaraki.

“Shigaraki,” he says lightly, and the boy just continues decomposing on their carpeted floor. 

And suddenly, Aizawa’s first candidate of throwing hands against lowers to his second choice, as Shigaraki unceremoniously replaces Kayama’s spot. 

“Oh my god.” Dabi says, proving himself to be very uncreative with his responses. 

The moment Shigaraki nearly fell through the doorframe, the minimal healthy flush within Midoriya’s face drained, leaving his already pale visage almost concerningly ashen. 

Aizawa just breathes. 

“You’re kidding,” Midoriya murmurs. “What’s he saying? Is he sedated?”

“He’s screaming obscenities about capitalism that’s really just disguising another discourse about southern slang,” Kayama somehow summarizes Shigaraki’s blabber. “Also, what type of animal has over twenty-five-thousand teeth and is spelled with five characters?”

“‘Snail’?” Midoriya answers without missing a beat, sounding very confused for replying so confidently. 

Kayama looks at him, with a rather void gaze, as if she’s reevaluating some intense choices in her life. 

“What about in English?” She says, almost desperately. “Are there the five characters?” Then, “are you sure? Teeth? Snail? ”

“What?” Midoriya stares, looking very lost. 

“Okay, listen,” Dabi turns to Aizawa. “What the fuck is this school doing? Wh- what are you doing-” and Aizawa can’t believe the only person in this room who seems to understand the severity of what’s going down right now is a brat who’s going to suffer from gastritis in the very near future if he doesn't take better care of himself.

Aizawa’s gaze flickers anticlimatically to him. He shrugs.

Dabi stares at him.

“This is what peoples’ tax money are going into you guys have jails-”

“Wouldn’t that implicate you as well-” Midoriya intervenes.

“I would rather be in jail than here-”

“You guys have roommates.” Aizawa presents. “Have fun.”

“Aizawa, please make yourself useful and try to keep him down, I can’t properly wrap his hand if he keeps moving,” Recovery Girl sighs, impatience corrupting her motherly tone.

Obediently, Aizawa attempts to keep Shigaraki properly down on the bed. He doubts the kid’s going to be able to sit upright without twitching. 

“Wait, don’t touch it,” Shigaraki snarls. And it’s a struggle to get the cast off, especially due to Shigaraki expressing loud distress at losing the pony stickers, but to rewrap his hand? 

Shigaraki, too out of it to realize that it’s for his own good to just suck it up and let them apply ointment and bandage up his hand, looks close to a nervous breakdown every time one of them brushes by his fingers.

And it’s fair- the damage is utterly brutal, that even Dabi, who’s probably already seen the severity of the injuries before, appears discomforted everytime his eyes skim past his hand.

“Okay, but the stickers you’ll put them back on right? I can’d just get rid of them you know-”

“Yes, yes.” Recovery Girl reassures, by now sounding like a broken record. 

“I’ve returned!” a voice shouts behind them, and Aizawa doesn’t bother to turn around. “Ran to the nearest Seven-Eleven and the cashier looked ready to hot glue my mask to my face but I got the goods!” Kayama laughs, slightly delusional from the lack of sleep and from learning that snails have teeth and that a place called Las Vegas had a hospital that once suspended workers for betting on when their patients would pass. 

She has switched her mask for her glasses, and is currently wearing indoor slippers. She hands over the plastic bag, and Aizawa digs through it, to pull out more bags of bagels. 

He watches how Dabi’s eyes fixate onto the bagels the moment he unsheathes them from the plastic. 

Like a cat.

“Tsk,” Aizawa glares at Dabi, and in response, Dabi just flips him off. “Hey,” he turns to Shigaraki. “Shigaraki?” And watches betrayal shine in Dabi’s eyes. “Remember how I said I would give you bagels?” 

“Mhm an’ Toga?”

“Right, and Toga.” Aizawa adds patiently. He then frowns, and looks up at Recovery Girl. “I actually don’t think he should be eating right now.”

“Yes, we don’t know the condition of his stomach, he might feel weak or nauseous from the drug.” She responds sagely. 

“Oh. I was thinking more along the lines he’s too out of it to chew and would choke.” She gives him a weird look, and Aizawa just shrugs. It’s a valid concern. 

“Feed him, then,” Dabi says, eyes reflecting blazing infernos.

Aizawa straight out ignores Dabi. “Anyways, Shigaraki, I’ll give you the bagel but you have to hold still, okay?” And Shigaraki nods firmly, desperate to please, and Aizawa grimaces. Yaoyorozu has a similar attitude in class. “And you have to let her touch it, okay? Your hand? You have to let her touch it.” He demands firmly.

“My quirk is bad.”

“No shit.” Dabi scowls.

“Id’ll hurt you.” Shigaraki mumbles. “I didn’ wanna kill her.” He turns to Kayama, who gives a strained smile. “Just don’t touch Toga.”

“I won’t.” Kayama reassures, her voice much more comforting than Aizawa’s monotonous one would ever be. “And don’t worry, you won’t hurt us. You touched me, right? But look, I’m fine!”

Shigaraki’s face contorts into one of confusion. “Nah. I mean it. I’m not a good person.”

And Aizawa hears a quiet snort of “whose choice is that?” from Dabi’s side of the room. 

Aizawa hopes Dabi would just stop talking. He doesn’t need him to provoke Shigaraki at the moment.

“I hurt people on purpose,” Shigaraki adds. Then, the childlike innocence that was glitching across Shigaraki’s marred features suddenly conform into one of hysterics, “mean, look at what I did to my family.” And there’s something disturbed within Shigaraki’s smile that itself already looks incorrect on his expression, and Aizawa frowns. “I enjoyed it, ya know. I can’t be a good person.”

“God, you’re so fucked up. Can’t even tell your own emotions apart from whatever All For One probably feeds you.” And Dabi’s voice is louder, loud enough to capture Shigaraki’s scrambled attention. In other words, doing exactly what Aizawa was hoping to avoid.

He sighs.

Now, the maniacal quality carved deep into Shigaraki’s bones seems to flood out, cracked by the sudden change of his lips that split into a deranged scowl. And Aizawa turns around, glaring at the kid. 

“Dabi, stop.”

“No, no. hear me out, you think I’m past saving? Wait till you see him.” And it’s anger, some unbridled resentment, perhaps even jealousy, braided into Dabi’s tone. 

In all honesty, Aizawa didn’t expect Dabi to feel such intense emotions against Shigaraki. It’s disconcerting, to see such anger all at once, especially since Dabi doesn’t seem the most stable given earlier. He seemed almost calm when Aizawa encountered him after his previous breakdown. Worryingly so.

He doesn't know if Dabi's contradictory flame of disgust right now is better than that emptiness.

Aizawa purses his lips. “Dabi, don’t do this right now," he commands reluctantly. He doesn't know if he wants Dabi to stop- isn't this ultimately better than his earlier hollowness? And he doesn't know when he felt the need to reassure Dabi, but he adds gentler this time, "maybe after Shigaraki gets better?" And he already feels awful about not addressing Dabi's previous breakdown, feels bad for not properly handling it when it happened. 

And right now, he's essentially pushing him aside, asking him to wait for someone else. Aizawa licks his teeth, tasting yesterday's afternoon coffee and this morning's dryness.

“Don’t be childish,” Kayama suddenly chirps flauntingly, and Dabi reels back, something like disgust rearing its ugly head in his eyes. Aizawa grimaces. Kayama is very indiscriminately no-nonsense when she has to get things done, but he already knows that’ll rub Dabi the wrong way. “Say things you actually believe in, not because you’re angry and lashing out. It’ll cause more problems for you in the future," she warbles. Aizawa shifts uneasily. While Kayama is right , he already knows that her attitude won’t appeal to someone as stubborn as Dabi, and her forced flippancy will come off as condescending instead. Dabi’s features shutters.

“Fuck you, what the fuck do you know?” Shigaraki suddenly snarls, spittle flying, and it’s one in the morning , Aizawa doesn’t have the mental capacity for this. Actually, Dabi doesn’t even look like he does either, but he still insists on being Dabi . It’s simultaneously infuriating and impressive all at once. “You with your fucked up uncaring princess attitude. You’re so emotionless and refuse to cooperate with the others and yet they still cling onto you.” And maybe the jealousy isn’t just one-sided. “You offer nothing but they give everything and you still have the audacity to complain and act like no one in this world is on your side-”

And Aizawa takes this moment to quickly grab the roll of cotton out of Recovery Girl’s hands, and wrap it around the hand oily with medicine, letting Shigaraki vent so that he can wrap the hand tightly.

He distantly wonders if he could get information out of the League, out on All For One while Shigaraki’s not in the right state. 

“I never asked for Toga and Twice’s slobber,” Dabi leers. “Why should I feel obliged to play nice when I made it very clear I didn’t want to? And besides. You killed your family, you said so yourself, and you fucking said you liked it. Maybe it’s better if I can’t feel. Better that than being you with your fucked up emotions.” And really , that’s really rich coming from someone like Dabi. 

“I do like it! I have to! I-” And Shigaraki’s screeching now, and Aizawa, in the back of his mind, wonders if it’s appropriate if he just leaves. But he sees Recovery Girl struggling to keep Shigaraki’s hand from banging against the metal gate around the bed, and decides that’d just be a real unprofessional move. Besides, he doesn't want to leave Dabi alone. “-my quirk, it’s my quirk that means it was my fault and I liked it, I liked it when my father was everywhere-”

“Shigaraki, listen to me!” Kayama intervenes confidently. But Aizwawa notes the greying of her cheeks, the trembling of her hands. She doesn’t want to be here, either. 

None of them do. No one likes stepping into unknown territory. It's scary. Though, it's Shigaraki and Dabi who have the most to lose from this fight. Whatever fear Aizawa admittedly feels at the moment must be nothing in comparison to whatever they're overwhelmed by right now. 

He hears sudden clinking, and he looks over to see Recovery Girl yank the curtains around Midoriya’s bed, Midoriya looking rather offended before the curtain completely closes him off.

“I don’t think you meant what you just said. About your family and all,” Kayama hypothesizes. And Aizawa isn’t entirely sure if that’s the truth, but there’s no way any of them are going to call her out on it. After all, this entire atmosphere is murky enough on its own, enforced by the twos’ stressful screaming match of indecipherable feelings spat across the room.

And Aizawa has been worried about Dabi for a while . That mental breakdown of his was placed on the backburner due to the previous turn of events, and was never properly handled and Aizawa refuses to let it fly under the radar because Dabi’s been doing that with all his problems for far too long-

Him combusting on Shigaraki is probably a development of his unresolved tension and years of repressed hate.

“I did, dad fuckin’ deserved it I swear-” and Shigaraki’s voice is choking now, cracking in the air and charging lightning out the cloud. “And Hana, when Hana died-” and he breathes faster than the convulses of both his hands. 

“Why did your dad deserve it?’ Kayama inquires gently.

But Shigaraki’s staring at her with nothing in his eyes. Or at least nothing from this reality: there’s a soupy mixture of melted stars and watery ice cream flooding his irises. “And mom didn’t stop him she didn’t do anything and granny told me to stop. I did the wrong things they all deserved it-” but the obsessive smile and worship of want is gone now, replaced by broken, redundant echoes. “I liked it and I fucking enjoyed it because they deserve it-”

“For such a good liar, you’re convincing no one.” Dabi says calmly. Then, bullets replace his eyes, and a grin (that’s not quite right but not quite crazy) lops across his chin. “Maybe they didn’t even deserve it, and you are just an awful person. You keep saying you like it, but that’s just because All For One told you that. You worship him, think he’s right, but the reality is there’s nothing of your own in your brain. You’re not even your own person. How can you even trust yourself?” And Aizawa doesn’t miss how Dabi’s voice cracks at his last statement. “Huh? How the fuck do you know shit when you don’t know anything else than what All For One’s taught you? Fucking gaslighted bitch, how can you know anything-”

And Shigaraki’s literally a drugged quilt of bones and rotting muscle, but the way he weakly lunges against Aizawa’s grasp, startles him. “Shut up what the fuck do you know? They did deserve it and I wanted it to happen. As if someone like you, who's untrustworthy should talk like you're right. And I remember now! I remember, I wanted it to happen-”

“There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to do it,” Kayama informs sternly. “If you didn’t want to do it, if you didn’t like it, then doesn’t that make you a good person?”

And Aizawa just makes a noise of agreement. Times like these, in the most insensitive and cowardly fashion, he wishes he still was an underground hero. That way, he doesn’t have to deal with comfort, and there’s no one to look up to him as a hero. It’s hard dealing with people, but Aizawa would rather be here than not. He wants to be here for them. He knows for a fact most heroes don't handle these cases, that they purposefully avoid cases that involve comforting others, mentally saving others. Not that there's anything wrong with it, and their society has social workers and psychologists and those trained and empathetic for those who need help like this-

It's just that there's something helpless, that feeling, of knowing that the top of society, those meant to save others, don't want to save you. That they don't think even heroes could save them. And he doesn't know if anyone would be willing to put in effort towards villains.

“The fuck?” Dabi snorts, almost amused. He's looking at Kayama, who's dressed in normal citizen attire, with eye bags and silence somehow attributing to her image of confidence. “Maybe it’s different for heroes, but really. Apologizing afterwards or feeling regret after doing something irreversible is such a cheap move.” His pupils seem to melt by the speed they dart. 

“So? No matter how they make you feel, admitting remorse is sometimes the only way someone can move on or do a one-eighty. And it’s not cheap. If what you’ve done was awful, sure it’s unforgivable, but acknowledging regret is respectful to the people you hurt, as well as to yourself as a person,” Aizawa finally says.

At this, Dabi appears almost contemplative.

Aizawa doesn’t know how to feel about Dabi’s sudden calm.

“But I had to have liked it.” Shigaraki counters, but at least he's no longer wasting energy trying to physically reach Dabi.

Aizawa tries not to consider what the future will look like, having these two in the same proximity.

“I was born a villain, you know- raised evil. Born evil.” Shigaraki informs nonchalantly, as if that explains his stubborn complex. 

And Aizawa recalls his previous conversation with Endeavor, and slowly looks up, curious as to what Dabi’s expression may be. There’s one of fear again, and it’s too evident, too raw on Dabi’s face scribbled and demented with doubt, and Dabi’s slipping. Dabi doesn’t convey emotions, he’s a blank canvas. But now, colours and reality stains his skin, oozing over the edge and out of his stitches. 

Dabi seems more accepting that Touya’s never left- or at least, Touya changed with him.

Shigaraki and Touya are probably more alike than they’d like to admit.

Dimly, Aizawa supposes the two would hate that. 

“I- this quirk is mine it has to be and-” And then Shigaraki trails off, staring at Kayama who calmly meets his gaze. “Sorry, I interrupted you, didn’t I?” He begins slowly, his lips still trembling, but his voice steady. Aizawa hesitates, and looks at Dabi, who’s watching Shigaraki with forced disinterest, forced composure. “Sorry, I want to hear your theory-” And if that sounds like a threat, Kayama doesn’t comment on it. 

A creak on the bed alerts Aizawa, and he turns around to see Dabi slip out the room. 

He glances at Shigaraki, who’s perched on the bed, watching all of them through a haze of sedatives, and realizes that Kayama's conversing with him better than he could. 

He doesn't think on his good conscience, he could leave Dabi to his own devices again.

He follows Dabi out, who’s being confronted by Gran Torino. 

“You know, you look familiar,” Dabi comments, and Aizawa stares at Dabi, wondering if he’s being ironic. 

Gran Torino must be thinking something along those lines as well, since he looks prepared to go for Dabi’s throat. 

“Oh, I got it,” Dabi snaps his fingers. “I think that all old people look the same-” 

“Gran Torino, you may leave now, thank you so much for watching the door,” Aizawa speaks over Dabi’s words and Dabi looks at him funny. He’s going to kill the kid. 

At this, the ex-hero rolls up his newspaper, scoffing at Dabi, before wobbling away. Aizawa turns to Dabi, who’s still staring precariously at the retreating figure. “You know he beat you in a fight once, right?”

“Him?”  

Aizawa, thinking that Dabi’s pride was already put through the shredder enough times today, does not elaborate. And he wants to ask if he's okay, but why would Dabi ever answer that? Pity is sometimes deserved, so is sympathy. But Dabi seems to hate it- not because he finds it insulting, but because he just finds it innately annoying. Therefore, he says the only thing that he thinks Dabi wouldn't shut him down for: "hopefully I don't sound insensitive, but Endeavor," he sees how Dabi rolls his eyes, "sounds kind of like a dick." He says, partially out of concern, mostly to quickly move on from having to tell Dabi in the face that he got his ass handed to him by a man the height of his kneecap. 

Dabi's eyebrows arches, glancing at him suspiciously, before averting his gaze to the long hallway in front of them. "Where's this coming from?" He asks skeptically.

And Dabi likes honesty. Aizawa appeals to that. "From my inability to figure out how to ask if you're doing okay." At this, Dabi appears mildly entertained, rather than insulted, which is a start.

"So you start by calling Endeavor a dick?"

"Yeah. I mean." Aizawa doesn't swear unless if he's discussing something infuriating with Yamada and Kayama, which is usually about Yamada himself, but Dabi appears to like any atmosphere that doesn't require formalities. Besides, from what he's seeing, Endeavor truly does seem like a dick. It's just the question of what he's done. He can't be certain about anything, but clearly, he was't the most mentally or emotionally supportive given how two of his sons seem emotionally stunted (the term 'abusive' curdles his stomach). "He doesn't seem to be the best" father, "hero," he decides smoothly. And Aizawa's not the type to care about rankings in heroism, but if Endeavor truly is abusive towards his own family, then he's certainly not a good hero. 

Nor a good father. Though, he figures Dabi wouldn't like hearing Endeavor called as his father. But, he knows Dabi would love hearing him degrade his hero status.

"He's a shitty hero," Dabi snorts. Then, to Aizawa's surprise, he adds with an air of amusement, "a shitty father, too." And he didn't think Dabi would say such a thing after knowing that they're aware of his familial relationship with him.

"Sounds like it," and he wonders when was the last time Dabi's gotten validation for calling his father a 'bad father'. Aizawa feels his resolve against Dabi melt slightly more at that. "Doesn't deserve to be called a father, not even to mention a hero, if he wasn't a good dad," Aizawa says resolutely, hoping he's not overstepping.

Dabi nods at that. And he doesn't respond to this, so Aizawa doesn't, either.

Then, Dabi, almost hesitantly, adds: "he's fucked up. And it's because of the hero society. It influenced him because he let it happen and that's on him, and he definitely contributed to it as well. He shouldn't be allowed to be a hero."

"Do you," and he licks his lips, "want me to notify the Hero Commission about this? I'll leave you out of it, but I'll try and find a legal way to get him out of his hero work," and maybe he's saying this mostly to try and get Dabi to open up more, to trust him more, but it's also because if he really does have a sketchy family background, then he truly shouldn't be a hero. 

"As if they'd listen to you. And if they did, that does nothing. Like I said, it's the entire hero society that's fucked," Dabi snarls scathingly, but there's a mirthless smile cutting through his harsh tone. It's strangely relieving to see.

"Not wrong," Aizawa sighs. "Though, not like this excuses anything, but every society definitely has its own darkness," he adds. Before Dabi can withdraw from this conversation the moment he senses any hint of debate, Aizawa adds tactfully: "but when it comes to something as influential as a society composed of heroes, who have such a large hand in how legally things work, it's certainly a terrifyingly massive problem. This darkness, that is."

"Doesn't it feel unbeatable? It's not fixable." Dabi claims, leaning his head back against the wall he's slouching against. "Reformation isn't really possible if corruption runs that deep," he looks at Aizawa, before glancing away, "has to be destroyed and built back up again. The foundation is no good."

Aizawa contemplates that. "Yeah. I see that. I don't agree with your methods of how the foundation should be destroyed, but I do think it has to go," he says amiably.

"Right," Dabi says, his voice screwing awkwardly. "Anyways. Shouldn't you focus on Shigaraki?" And he almost sounds uncomfortable. Awkward. Like Kirishima after Aizawa tells him off for slingshotting Kaminari across the hallways in a trash can. And Aizawa has no difficulty reminding himself that Dabi's a villain and a murderer, but it's also similarly easy to begin to draw parallels between him and another student.

He shrugs. "Perhaps. Kayama's with him, though. I wanted to be with you."

“What the fuck sort of response is that?” Dabi scowls.

He shrugs once more. "I-" and Dabi doesn't like confessions of worry. But he also desperately wants Dabi to know that sure, they have their own disparities (ones they can't ever resolve because they're deeply engrained in different morals), but he's still concerned about his flickering mental state. "I was worried. Wanted to check up on you."

This time, Dabi's smile seems less entertained, more ruthless. "I hate that." And he sounds like he does.

"Sorry," he replies as earnestly as he could. He replies just like Bakugou. It's mildly ironic, mostly entertaining, and a definite death sentence if he ever told Dabi that out loud.

"You should check on Shigaraki." He repeats, sounding more miffed, more threatening.

"What about you? I thought you’d be happy to see your friends?” He says, knowing full well that Dabi doesn’t do friends, and if anything, probably doesn’t want his boss to see him quirkless. 

Then again, Dabi got his pound in flesh, actually witnessing and listening to Shigaraki’s word vomits.

“They’re not my friends.” Dabi is quick to reply snappishly, his eyes glittering something dangerous. “Toga’s a crazy, deranged mosquito, and Shigaraki? Mophead really is a manipulative bastard.” He grumbles. Aizawa tries not to feel amused by his nicknames for them. It's like Bakugou with all of his classmates, though, there's the underlying conspiracy that he genuinely has no idea what their names are. “He.” Dabi works his jaw, his teeth grinding his words into a paste. “It’s like.” And he laughs hoarsely, molars still screwed tightly together, “that guy was raised on lies, and he chases after them even now.”

Aizawa watches, before recognizing Dabi’s tone. “Oh. He’s dangerous,” Aizawa realizes.

“I mean, duh. Dumbass, don’t tell me you’re that unaware.”

“No, but you think he’s dangerous.” Aizawa narrows his eyes. He sees Shigaraki differently if Dabi acknowledges his own comrade as such. 

Dabi looks almost affronted, but combined with the fact that he doesn’t deny it, speaks volumes. “Listen.” He sighs. “I’m not fucking betraying Corpse Bride over here,” Dabi licks his lips, slouching. “But he’s smart. I don’t know if it’s because he’s crazy, or maybe he’s a freak like that other kid there-” Aizawa blinks, and he instantly remembered that Midoriya was in the same room, witnessing that entire fallout. He sighs. That’s another problem he’ll have to deal with later. “But the man’s a fucking pest.” And Aizawa knows that Dabi’s not necessarily the best at gauging others, considering his social skills and sketchy insight. If anything, Dabi’s the type to underestimate Shigaraki. But what he’s saying right now, suggests otherwise. “He’s smart but dumb at the same time. He's annoying because you can't win against him. He doesn't see outside of his own perspective, doesn't think anything's right outside of his own opinion but the issue is I don't think he even knows what's right. He just lies until it becomes the truth and it works, and that's why you can't win. Fucking weirdo.” Dabi’s foot is grinding into the shag of the carpet now. “He adapts, ya know. Quickly. If anything, he probably already knows how to use all of you guys by now, and knows how to change himself to get whatever he wants out of you guys.” 

“And you’re telling me this because?”

And Dabi’s quiet, staring into the distance, his foot now reduced into a blur as his consistent, rapid tapping is muffled by the carpet. "S'important." He finally responds.

“Why’d you leave the room?” He pushes a bit more. “If anything, I thought you’d enjoy seeing Shigaraki like this.” And Dabi isn’t the type to admit that he’d feel sympathy, and Aizawa doesn’t doubt that he probably doesn’t, but the fact that Dabi doesn’t appear pleased with this entire scenario, suggests that perhaps seeing Shigaraki like this bothers him more than he likes to admit.

Dabi scowls, folding his arms, knee rattling now.

“You think Shigaraki’s going to see something in you?” He guesses. “It’s clear that you think he knows how to use others.” 

“He sees any part of me, and I’ll never live it down. He knows shit.” No wonder Dabi is so forcefully distant from his own boss. 

“If anything, I think Shigaraki’s the more vulnerable one at the moment,” Aizawa says, not unkindly. “Do you want to head back to the room?”

“Huh?”

Aizawa shrugs. “I mean. Recovery Girl isn’t done with you, but if you want to head back to the dorms, I can unlock the room for you.” He regrets not offering this earlier. The moment Dabi broke down, it was probably best to just halt all activities and let him recover. Because while it's terrifying how Dabi's still alive and has all functioning limbs given how he's essentially an open wound with legs and probably has numerous internalized health problems, he's sure they can wait an hour or two before Recovery Girl tries to drag him back in. 

Dabi pauses his action of destroying their carpet like a petty household cat. “...Will you be the one watching over me?” Dabi asks.

“Probably not,” Aizawa admits. “I have to stay here. But I’m sure there’ll be someone in the dorm with y-”

“I’ll stay here.” Aizawa trails off, surprised by his choice. Then again, Dabi probably would feel more comfortable around people he knew, even if Shigaraki and Aizawa got on his nerves. “Besides. I can tell. Granny would drag me hard if I don’t go back in,” he wrinkles his nose, appearing like a sullen child. Aizawa watches him, interested by his unusually cooperative behaviour. Well, it's not like Dabi was ever really disagreeable. He's usually quiet, after all. Dabi throws open the door dramatically, and stalks back in. 

Aizawa follows behind him to see Dabi sulkily seat himself at the foot of an empty bed, opposite of Midoriya (who’s definitely not asleep), and Shigaraki chatting to an awkwardly responsive Kayama. Well, he’s relieved to see that Shigaraki’s calmed down, not even noticing Dabi, but he wonders if perhaps Shigaraki’s just acting calm. Dabi’s words, even if they’re out the mouth of a villain, found root in Aizawa’s perspective in the man. Shigaraki’s watching Kayama with an unsettling yet calm smile, and hazy eyes that flicker onto him, clapping onto him. His smile broadens, paling his scars. 

“I was just talking to Shigaraki, that it’s common for trauma victims to start shifting the blame of a certain event onto themselves, for a variety of reasons, one being survivor’s guilt.” 

“That’s nice,” he says distantly, reeling over Dabi’s words. Dabi claims Shigaraki knows how to use others- and Aizawa suspects that this is possible due to an ability to understand peoples’ strengths and weaknesses. Almost like pawns. Though, he’s sure Shigaraki does have some emotional attachment or empathy for his said pawns- or at the very least protective over them due to their objective value, especially if he’s aware of their capabilities and how to use them to his advantage. Shigaraki’s clear defensiveness towards Toga, even while warped on drugs, is proof itself.

But what Dabi says matches up with what Aizawa’s starting to see in Shigaraki. The man craves control. He also must be used to being in control- especially over himself. With a quirk like that, you can’t really choose to afford not to be.

And Aizawa doesn’t know if the next words he says are out of insight, or to get under Shigaraki’s skin: “you know, sometimes, these types of victims push the blame onto themselves, because it gives them some semblance of control over their behavior, because the idea of being in control is more reassuring than the idea that they’re not.” 

And Shigaraki’s grin, plastered wide, falters.

He ignores the way Dabi’s wry smile childishly broadens.

Shigaraki’s eyes are now trained onto Aizawa. It’s almost creepy.

It’s also utterly ineffective because Aizawa deals with Midoriya daily.

“Maybe the reason why you say you’re a bad person, why you convince yourself of being so screwed over, is a coping mechanism.” He expounds further. “Even though,” he leans closer, “whether or not you liked it or not, you still did those things,” he leaves the rest unsaid, letting Shigaraki’s currently foggy brain absorb his words. “Anyways, Shigaraki, we need you to hold still, got it?” He adds a bit louder.

“Huh-”

And before Shigaraki can digest the scenario, Recovery Girl plunges the needle into the crook of his elbow, and Kayama makes sure to hold his arm in place, as she draws blood. “This is to make sure you’re not sick, okay?” He says, fully aware that they’re doing this for other purposes as well. 

“That’s my blood wait you can’t just-” And Shigarkai’s hand is raised, only for Kayama to entwine her hands in his. 

“Look, Shigaraki! You can touch without your quirk going off. You don’t have your quirk,” and Aizawa instantly recoils, unsure how Shigaraki would take that.

From what he’s learned, Dabi would have a reverse epiphany if Kayama pulled something like that on him. Every time the topic of his quirkless state is brought up, Dabi’s mask of normalcy slips into one of a frightened child, who when pushed far enough, would be the type to push another kid down a well. But Shigaraki’s staring at their hands in wonder, something frozen and preserved within his gaze. 

“You thought your quirk was bad since birth, right? Even though quirks should never be categorized as that, do you feel better not having your quirk?” She’s going out on a limb (literally, if he wasn’t quirkless), but Aizawa’s pretty sure that Shigaraki can’t even properly digest words past two syllables in his inebriated state. He’s still staring at their fists.

Then Aizawa’s worst fear comes true.

People crying. 

Shigaraki’s trembling once again, but this time, there’s a numbness to his expression. He’s crying. He shudders so hard that his head hits the UV drip. 

Aizawa himself nearly trips over his two feet. He remembers when Eri first sobbed, and that nearly sent him on the verge of a heart attack.

He sees Kayama melt.

Well, at least she's here.

Aizawa, unimpressed, looks at Shigaraki. Yeah, well. And it’s not like he doesn’t pity whatever the kid went through. To someone of Aizawa’s age, he’s basically a child. His eyes slide over to Dabi, who looks like his eyes are breaking out in hives at the sight of seeing Shigaraki this way. He’s also a child, too.

They’re definitely not children in the sense that they should be responsible over their own actions, and that they’re old enough to know between right or wrong. But he wouldn’t deny that he sees them as children in the sense that they’ve never been properly raised into adulthood. And he has a sinking suspicion after what Dabi and Shigaraki said, that Shigaraki himself was raised at a young age by All For One himself. If that’s the case, then it’s impossible that Shigaraki would’ve been raised knowing the differences between right and wrong. 

And then he also allegedly murdered his family at a young age, so there's that.

This is truly a fragile situation. Aizawa tiredly rubs his eyes.

“Shigaraki,” Aizawa croaks. “Do you know who we are?”

Shigaraki hums.

And if he’s cognizant enough to recognize Dabi, he definitely should've known who they were by this point, even while drugged. But he’s still clinging onto Kayama’s hand like a lifeline. 

He wonders if Shigaraki voluntarily shared so much of his story, possibly because he knows they’re here. Maybe it’s to lower their guards, garner some pity (and if his story is true, Aizawa won’t deny that it is a pitiful story, whether or not he’s using it against them), or whatever . 

He wants to scream. Just a little bit. 

“Shigaraki, I finished with this procedure that I improvised two days ago due to another patient,” Recovery Girl informs, before turning to Dabi, her eyes flashing. “Now you-” and Dabi literally looks like he’s experiencing heart failure, his eyes slowly cascading over to the door, before back to Recovery Girl, and then the window. They’re on the third floor.

Aizawa steps in front of the window, watching Dabi hyperproject through the five stages of grief in less than two seconds, betrayal flashing through his eyes like someone aimed a gun at him and then stabbed him with a knife. 

“I said I was fine, didn’t I?” Dabi squirms.

“Yeah, and I said you weren’t, so sit down.” Recovery Girl says snippily. “God, you’re almost as bad as Midoriya-”

Once again, Aizawa has forgotten about the boy’s presence. He glances over to Midoriya’s silhouette behind the curtain, that’s turned longingly in their direction. 

“Dabi, you know Kayama didn’t buy those bagels just for Shigaraki, right?” Aizawa says dryly, knowing Dabi wouldn’t listen to them so easily. 

And Dabi makes the face of a man who knows he’s being tricked, but is willing to be.

“I feel like we should shut him up,” Dabi gestures at Shigaraki, whose ramblings have been going strong for the past one and a half hour that Dabi’s been slouched lousily on his bed, letting Recovery Girl patch him up. 

“Why? We’re gaining information on him, and we understand a bit more of his situation.” Aizawa says. “Sometimes people just want to be heard.”

“So?” Dabi shrugs sloppily. “Everyone has bad things happen to them. Not everyone becomes killers.” He gives a dry and (Aizawa dare says) uncharacteristically playful grin, “and yet you want to listen to us?” Though, there’s a poorly masked sense of obvious jealousy in the smear of his undertone. 

Aizawa grimaces. Really, hearing Shigaraki talking about his life, jumping through random events without any conclusive dates, but going into explicit details about Hana’s shredded head and the training of his quirk, is already secondhand trauma to any normal person. Which is why Recovery Girl wanted to wheel Midoriya out.

And then there's the fact that Shigaraki would continuously breaks off from his ramblings to start talking about how happy he is to be able to touch things, makes Aizawa feel dirty. 

It also makes him suspicious as to how much of it is real, and whether or not Shigaraki knows what he’s saying right now. Makes him wonder if Shigaraki’s trying something. But he’s also looped out of his mind, so there’s that. 

“I killed her.” And that’s what Shigaraki said, between two solid rows of teeth crooked with misguidance and abandonment. Aizawa supposes if Shigaraki really was trying to gain sympathy for an upper hand against them, he wouldn't be saying statements like that.

And Aizawa couldn’t decide at the time if Shigaraki’s smile was mad from genuinity, or from self-deception. 

He supposes if he asked Dabi, Dabi would answer with deception. Dabi earlier told him that Shigaraki was a scarily honest man only because he forced his lies into truths, though he admittedly didn't know if it was for their sake or for his own.

And when Shigaraki continued to ramble about Hana, about how his debris wasn’t dust as Aizawa assumed, but rather, chunks, alongside full apparitions of limbs and ropey entrails rather than granules of unidentifiable ash- Aizawa felt simultaneously hot and cold. As if he wasn’t sure if it was merciful of them to let Shigaraki get that off his chest, or cruel that they’re receiving intimately sensitive and graphic details under dubious consent. 

Kayama would’ve left the room by that point if Shigaraki’s grip wasn’t so intense.

“‘M glad Yagi isn’t here to hear this.” Blankly, Aizawa swims out his ocean of incomplete thoughts. He retraces the conversation, all the way back to the shit spilling out of Shigaraki’s mouth, reeking of loneliness and desperation. “God. When he hears about what happened to Shigaraki’s family, and what All For One has done to him…” Kayama shakes her head.

“He’s still a murderer. Though it sounds like he’s been manipulated into being one since he was a child,” Aizawa muses. And he doesn’t say this out loud in front of Dabi, but honestly, Shigaraki has a more airtight ‘excuse’ (an inaccurate but suitable choice of words, Aizawa knows) as to why he turned out this way, at least from a legal perspective. Personally, Aizawa thinks both of them understandably developed from their individual trauma, but Shigaraki was literally raised by a villain, and had a specific traumatic experience when he was a child. Shigaraki himself was also the source of said severely traumatic experience. He’s one of those cases that Aizawa would admit was given a bad hand, a shitty deck of cards where it’s almost like it’s inevitable Shigaraki would’ve turned out this way. With someone like All For One presumably entering his life from childhood, it’s almost impossible that he wouldn’t have. 

Dabi on the other hand, he doesn’t know enough of. But he suspects it’s the same thing, that there would be high probabilities of a person turning out to become as deranged as Dabi if they were placed in a situation such as Touya’s. 

Aizawa feels a building headache. Whatever. A headache is nothing in comparison to whatever’s been going on in Dabi’s head these past couple hours. 

“Japan’s justice system has always been more sympathetic towards these cases.” Kayama shrugs. “If they know he’s been traumatised since young, additionally has been groomed into killing, they’d definitely place him for reformation rather than jail.”

It's true, Japan's justice system was always nicer when it comes to specific cases. His opinions on it tends to change from time to time. “I do think that he deserved therapy and mental help no matter what he's done, and that a jail or a life sentence won’t actually help him or do good for anyone, but this is a justice system. Meaning there has to be justice served for his actions, so jail would be punishment for him and closure for the people he’s hurt," Aizawa rationalizes. 

Aizawa ignores how there might be capital punishment involved. That's an entire moral and ethical debate that he won't get even think about unless if he has. There's no point in stressing about it if it's not even an issue.

"Yeah, but if he went to court, most likely there'd be national debate over how he turned out this way. I don't," she inclines her head, "it'd definitely cause some sort of reform in society." 

"Um. Not even thinking that big," a sudden third voice speaks up, "but what’ll you tell the parents? And what’ll happen if jail isn’t an option? I guess mental institution-” Midoriya suddenly murmurs from behind his curtain, sounding hesitant, as if he’s unsure if he’s allowed to stand out. 

They all actually wanted to move Midoriya out. No one wanted him to listen to Shigaraki’s muttering, especially given how disturbing they are.

But that’d require moving his healing body and broken leg, and it’s not like they have another room to place him and his entire bed and equipment, either. So it resulted in Aizawa running to find earplugs from Hound Dog's office to give to him. 

Aizawa suspects that Midoriya didn't end up using them, despite promising he would. 

And at least behind the curtains, he couldn't see Recovery Girl work on Dabi. Not like Dabi tried to stand out. While Recovery Girl threaded pieces of his skin together and applied gauze and antibiotics, Dabi himself barely spoke. As if he receded into himself to avoid confronting his own humiliation. Dabi, who was fine with Aizawa witnessing the first fullbody procedure, clearly wasn’t okay with Kayama, and worse, Shigaraki. It didn’t help the moment he tugged off his shirt, Shigaraki said he looked tiretracks. 

An insensitive statement that still completely took Aizawa out. 

“A mental institute?” Dabi murmurs. “You think that’ll solve shit? That your society made someone as fucked up as him?” And he sounds more alive than he did earlier, when he was dazing off as he sat on the bed. “You let him slip through the system and you think shoving him aside like trash will help out?” Dabi scowls, gauzy eyes glancing over from underneath his oily eyelids. And it almost sounds like he’s only using Shigaraki’s unfortunate childhood to rub their inabilities in their faces. 

Right. Mental health isn't really prioritized in Japan. 

“And you? Dabi?” Midoriya says quietly, staring at his direction from where he’s isolated.

Now, Aizawa stiffens, turning to Midoriya, who has gotten bolder after his first comment, and maybe also because he’s used to dealing with uniquely dangerous personalities since he was a kid.

On a completely unrelated note: Aizawa has once seen Bakugou attempt to pin Mina’s ears against the sides of her head by her earrings when she replaced all his shampoo with tacky glue.

Dabi doesn’t even dignify Midoriya with a glance. 

“Dabi, do you think you deserve to go into a mental institute? That maybe you need help too-” And he expected Dabi to reply with a roll of his eyes, or perhaps with some wry smile jailing spite and arrogance, but not a look of utter anger emphasized through bloodshot eyes and a curdled scowl. “Humans deserve the right to live, which includes being mentally healthy,” Midoriya finishes quietly, unable to see Dabi’s response. 

And it’s obvious that it was always something deeper than indignation fueling Dabi’s disastrously sniveling sneer and unadulterated rage. After all, it'd makes less sense if Dabi didn’t have a mental disorder.

“Fuck off. If I needed help, then it’s too late anyways.” He wheezes, the metal within his collarbones creaking from a sharp inhale.

Aizawa has of course, searched up all the files on Touya Todoroki. There were reports that the possibility he had a possible psychiatric disorder was high, but seeing the way that Dabi appeared so resigned yet averse to this possibility, speaks louder than the few sentences from a pathetic doctor who never bothered to report any signs of abuse. 

“Dabi.”

And Dabi slowly glances at Shigaraki, as if testing him to say his name once more. He does: “Dabi.”

“Shut up.”

“Dabi-” Shigaraki almost croons.

And Aizawa doesn't know much about Dabi. But he understood enough to take a gander as to how Dabi feels towards certain things. After all, Dabi staggers on, with a dented movie projector running snippets of his childhood within his cobwebbed mind, generating a browned film of motivation and destruction behind his eyelids.

It's ironic that the thing that probably killed Touya is now his sole source of fuel to even get up in the day.

Dabi is mean, because everything reeling through his broken projector gives him no resource to be kind.

Dabi’s mean, because he can be and he has no reason not to be.  

Not even Shigaraki, echoing Dabi’s name like a dying recorder, can stir anything nice within the boy.

And that’s why Aizawa steps in front of Shigaraki’s bed, almost protecting the man whose wails grow louder as Dabi’s blocked from his vision. Dabi’s already swaying on his  feet, clearly ready to throw hands at Shigaraki if his name was uttered once more. Recovery Girl, disgruntled that Dabi moved and loosened her current thread, smacks him on the thigh.

“Dabi,” he says at the same time as Kayama, whose hackles rose at his tone. 

“He’s so annoying-”

“He’s drugged.” Aizawa says with his typical stoic attitude. But even he can hear the understanding in his tone, and the way that Dabi bristles in response.  

“So? I should just-” He grits, his body engulfing within itself defensively. And he can see the way Dabi bites back on his complaints. In the back of his mind, he wishes he wouldn’t. 

If anything, Dabi’s current restraint is rather impressive, given that he earlier went through an emotional meltdown. And he looks tired: Aizawa can recognize his own kind when he sees one. Sleep-deprivation really ate through Dabi’s mental tolerance and emotional stability. 

“I mean, a lot has happened today,” you went through a lot today , is what he doesn’t say. Dabi is prickly- doesn’t like being directly acknowledged. “I’d just sleep. I mean, it’s unfair and just unreasonable you have to continue putting up with things,” he says, doing that thing where he coaxes his students into listening to him by appealing to them first. Children are essentially like cats: fussy, intense, and at least a tenth of them have rabies. 

Dabi’s really no exception, especially since he’s bristling right now.

“Also, Recovery Girl’s almost done,” Kayama says. “This day is almost over.” And there’s a strange patience in her tone that’s only reserved for Howard, their damaged coffee maker that Kayama, in an act of capitalism, refuses to retire. Not for the first time, Aizawa feels remarkably and begrudgingly impressed by Kayama's nature.

“Dabi,” Kamaya says. And there’s a harsh jerk to Dabi’s head at this. “You should sleep in late today.” And she’s speaking to him in a way that Aizawa does not understand, but he trusts her to know how to work around difficult situations. “You can’t do anything more than that right now.”

“Yes I can. Why should I sleep more? ”

“Why not?” She shrugs. “It’s good for you, and you have to, for all your wounds to heal.”

Dabi stares at her. "Aizawa's a teacher who's in charge of children and yet he looks like his only source of sleep is during bathroom breaks I-”

“Aizawa doesn’t deserve human rights,” Kayama replies sharply.

Dabi looks rather lost on how to respond, and Aizawa figures just a couple days ago Dabi would've adamantly agree with her. Unsure if he should be distantly touched by the fact that Dabi hasn’t shittalked him upon an open opportunity, he decides he’s become slightly more redeemable in his eyes. 

“So you should rest up in the infirmary. I know you probably don’t feel safe sleeping here. But Toga’s asleep, Midoriya is too-”

“No he’s not.” Aizawa says.

“No I’m not.”

“As I said, Midoriya is too, because Recovery Girl is grabbing the painkillers now and it’s surprising that the boy still hasn’t built an immune system against their sleep-inducing side effects due to how many times he’s taken them by this point-”

“ Wait I lied I’m asleep- ”

“Besides, if you sleep,” she looks him in the eye, “you won’t have to put up with Aizawa’s unreasonably petty personality.”

“Oh. That makes sense,” Dabi says, sounding very different from his previous indignation of being told to recover and sleep like a normal human being.

Aizawa instantly retracts any inkling of affection he ever felt for this poor excuse of a man.

“I have two other emotionally questionable children to deal with right now,” Recovery Girl snaps at Midoriya, and Aizawa eyes Dabi warily, who doesn’t respond to her underlying insult. If anything, Dabi must be too tired to retort. “The least you can do is at least pretend to be asleep so I don’t have to slip Benadryl into your milk again.”

Midoriya’s stature freezes. “Is that why my milk always tastes like grapes? I just thought it was the aftertaste of vitamins-”

“Is that legal?” Kayama whispers.

“The parents did sign their children’s health to be dealt with in any way we deemed appropriate,” Aizawa shrugs. “But Dabi, at least things will all go away while sleeping. Everything that’s bothering you just doesn’t exist. We can do Shigaraki’s hand surgery after wrapping you up.”

“Yep, Dabi, I’m almost done,” Recovery Girl nods. “Though, I can’t do anything with the other one- it’d be unsafe to continue feeding him more drugs or sedatives with the current ones running through his system, especially since the anesthetics I’d have to feed him would have to be super strong if I wanted to do anything with his current hand,” she grimaces, referring to Shigaraki’s shredded fingers. “I also wouldn’t want to mix drugs with one I don’t fully understand.” She sighs. “Did tests come back about it, by the way?” At this, Dabi does appear semi-focused now. 

“Tests?” 

Kayama winces. “Sorry for doing so without your permission, but we used your blood to try and get traces of the drug, and we sent it to a lab to try and figure out more details about it.”

“Whatever.” He seems almost as if he was expecting this, anyways. 

“Recovery Girl, do you need my help here?” Kayama asks when he doesn’t seem interested in furthering this conversation. 

“Well, I’m not the one that needs you.” She chuckles hoarsely, and Aizawa eyes Shigaraki’s innocent fingers woven between her own. Funny. Earlier, it was a desperate grab, an iron and unreciprocated grip from the boy, only saved by pity from the teacher.

Now, her pale digits are entwined with his knobby, dry ones.

Chapter Text

“You think we’re doing the wrong thing?”

“No.”

“That was terrifyingly quick.” Yamada pauses, “and terrifyingly confident.”

Aizawa shrugs. Yamada at the very least seems more like himself. To a degree, he understands Yamada’s rage. Yamada’s one of the most compassionate people he’s ever encountered. Knowing him, he probably can’t look Dabi in the eyes unless if the kid, at the very least, showed remorse for what he’s done. 

It's just he struggles with empathy: he can't relate to others in situations that are completely different from an average person's. 

Aizawa personally feels bad for Dabi. And is already extremely set on the idea of Dabi being able to find happiness; of being able to understand what it’s like to value himself and others' lives. Not simply for the whole concept of ‘becoming a better person’, but mostly because Aizawa strongly believes that people deserve to have periods of happiness in their life, alongside the comfort of being able to live happily. Existing should come with the human rights to just live.

He doesn’t think it's fair to expect good things out of Dabi, if the man's never once really experienced it himself. It’s like asking Dabi to describe a colour he’s never seen before.

“Do you think we’re doing the wrong thing?” Aizawa reflects back the question, accepting the mug that Yamada hands over. 

He looks inside. It’s chunky. He regrets accepting it. 

At this, Yamada glances over at the door beside them, that leads to the nurse’s office with three villains.

Then, almost hesitantly: “not entirely. I don't think it's wrong, I just don't know if it's the best thing to do.” Fair. Yamada just wants justice for the victims, but past that, he’s not the type of person to seek revenge. “I also don't think what we're doing is smart.”

“And you have smarter ideas?” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a genuine question or an insult.”

“Why not both?”

Yamada smirks. “Drink your coffee.”

“This isn’t even liquid.”

Yamada frowns, and peers over. “Uh? Yes it is?"

“Sludge isn’t liquid.” 

“Picky,” Yamada scoffs.

"'M not picky. You just have low standards." He mutters, but Yamada's already speaking over him. 

“Anyways, to answer your question-” Aizawa takes a moment to reel back. “We have professionals who are actually trained in handling people. Like therapists. Psychologists. I don't know much in this area, but what I’m trying to get across is that we’re not trained in handling people with," he gestures, "difficulties? Trauma? I don’t know, but what I do know is that people who are capable of killing others in such brutal ways, aren't very  normal."

"That's the most generous way I've heard anyone put it."

"And while I get that as heroes and as teachers we are supposed to act as a mental support when the situation calls for it, we're not professionals at all." He drinks his coffee, and impressively, does not gag. “We shouldn’t deal with things we don’t know how to, specially when it comes with such a high risk and we could cause more damage than good. I don’t want them near the children, and I don’t want them in the same building as them, especially since we don't know what we're doing. Like if it was just us, I'd be more okay with it, even though I'd still think that if we can't do more good than bad, we shouldn't act like we can."

Aizawa sniffs his coffee, and grimaces. It’s oily. 

"I think we can do more good than bad." Aizawa says confidently.

Yamada raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"At least. I don't think other places, even professionals would try," he says. "By comparison, we would. And honestly," he hesitates, "strip people like Dabi to his core, and you see copy-pasted versions of his mentality everywhere." He saw too many of them while undercover. It's just that those people don't go around killing people, so in a sense, his argument against Yamada's fall flat. 

"I mean. We could just turn them over to the law, it’s not like the court won’t take in consideration their mental health and backgrounds if they had a shitty upbringing. If they’re deemed unfit to stand trial, or do go through it and are deemed mentally unstable, then they’ll probably end up in an institute or something.” Yamada shrugs. "Are you sure what we did was the best option?"

“First, you think those institutes work?” Aizawa remarks. “Even in western countries, where they are more accepting of mental health, have shoddy methods of dealing with mental health. What makes you think we’re any better? And what makes you think the Hero Commission won’t have a hand in how the court handles them? While Japan is pretty lenient when it comes to convictions, it’s heroes that are on top of this society. They won't have a fair trail, and the real problems surrounding them will be swept under the rug."

Yamada takes another terrifying sip of his coffee, and Aizawa frowns as he even swishes it around in his mouth like reversed mouthwash. “Yeah,” he swallows. “We're definitely not any better when it comes to mental health. I just don’t know if we are any better than professionals, even if they’re not of the best standard.”

“Not even ‘best’ standard, their average shouldn’t be considered acceptable,” Aizawa says, thinking of the heavy stigma around the topic of mental health in Japan.

Yamada inclines his head. “But we’re better?” He repeats. “And also, admittedly, you’re not wrong about the court thing. Like,” he snorts, a breathy laugh escaping out the edge of his curled mouth. Yamada was always a nervous laugher, one who choked out a scoff paired with a wry smile at the face of something horrific. “The Commission definitely won’t let them off. Will probably sweep everything under the carpet,” he grins at his hands mirthlessly. “...Will definitely sweep Endeavor’s involvement under the carpet.” He remarks weakly. And Yamada’s never expressed sympathy for Dabi, but at least he seems to be aware that an important and influential percentage of Dabi’s character resulted from Endeavor. “Also, stop spitting out my coffee you’ll just drink backwash-”

“It tastes gross.” Aizawa says remorselessly. "And about you mentioning that professionals are better than us- I actually question that. They never dealt with villains and aren’t very educated on the sociological elements between heroes, villains, and citizens.” 

“... Ohhhhh ….”

“You have no idea what I’m saying.”

Yamada shamelessly looks him in the eyes, and lies. 

“I totally do.”

And he really just did that.

Aizawa rolls his eyes. “You’re doing that thing where you ask a student if they understood a concept you've explained to them for the fourth time, and they just want to end it all so they say ‘yes’.”

Yamada averts his gaze, then meets his again. “Maybe.”

Aizawa sighs. “The dynamics between the social groups I listed would have an impact on the villains, and let’s be real, people outside of hero or villain work don’t really know how uneven the power dynamic is.” Aizawa lowers his voice to a whisper, as if uttering a dark secret. It really is one, given how heroes who’ve been here long enough know , but everyone outside didn't . Aizawa knew since he was young, weeks into when he worked undercover. “People who deal with villains or heroes' mental health, they. They won’t get it, because they don’t really know what it’s like to be a part of them, and no one speaks about it either, so of course they wouldn't know." Most heroes don't know, either, past the ones who specialize in case-by-case individuals or work undercover.

“And mental institutes? I don’t think many of them actually care about their patients' health." While there are many good professionals, and a few that help, none are open to villains or the poor (and no wonder so many of them rot in the slums or turn to villainy, unable to get help or get better), and none are actually experienced with villains, either. Many of the professionals wouldn't empathise with them, anyways.  

And many patients in the institutes- they're treated more like prisoners, or people simply unfit to roam freely in society. He isn't sure of the quality of the institutions now, but mental illness isn't an easily broached topic in Japan.

Knowing Dabi, the man would probably prefer to be sent to jail than to a mental facility.

“They won’t care about villains’ health.” Aizawa reiterates. “And they won’t see them as capable of getting better. If their normal patients who desperately need help don’t show progress, why would you think professionals would place any hope in villains? Besides, mental health care isn’t the best in Japan- in most of Asia. The general public just label these people as ‘crazy’ and move along.” He hesitates. "I can’t see how professionals from this type of culture can do much better, even though I’m sure there's a good handful that probably can.” 

“I-”

Aizawa interrupts him. “Also, Dabi possibly has certain disorders. I personally can't tell if he actually does or what they may be, but we can always get side treatment for that. He can function independently, and overall, if he has any mental health issues, it certainly wouldn't call for an institution where they'd watch him every day and force him to comply to a schedule. Lots of our students have mental health problems. Anxiety, depression, trauma, you can't say that just because Dabi in particular has a mental health problem, that means he should be sent away. He can live just fine, like other students who share certain issues, too. I’m sure many people in mental institutes are similar, but aren’t allowed back out because they’re deemed ‘unfit’ even though they’re not. That’s way more damaging to them than if they lived in a supportive environment with perhaps weekly therapy sessions or something less intense."

“See, I want to refute you, but I know jack shit about the mental institutes.”

“Frankly, me too. They could be much better now than when I first saw them.” Aizawa admits. 

“Also, you’re making good points, but, other students also don't kill people. Like. You really can’t compare a kid struggling with mental health to a killer who could have a similar issue as well.” Yamada cards through his hair that's falling out of its shape from the stress of today. "Like certainly mental disorders don't correlate with how dangerous someone is, but these people specifically, we know they're dangerous.”

Aizawa lifts his mug up at that. "You got me there," he mutters. “But they were dangerous because of their quirk, and because of their killing intent. Dabi hasn't exhibited either of those within these past couple days.”

“Killing intent comes and goes,” Yamada shrugs. 

Aizawa glances at his crusty coffee, then to Yamada, then has a rerun of this past week. “Yeah, it certainly does.”

“...For some reason, I hate how you said that.”

Aizawa just takes another reluctant lap of his coffee. “I’m just saying, Dabi has the physical strength of a wet popsicle stick, and I don’t think he’s feeling emotions half the time to feel anything intense enough to start getting stabby. If anything, he's just depleting my blood sugar levels by how increasingly concerned I’m getting each time he opens his mouth." He sighs, pinching his nose bridge as if that could chase away the pounding in the back of his head. "Shigaraki and Toga, we'll have to wait and see. But I’m sure they don’t exhibit killing intent towards any of the students.”

“Uh, but they did to other people!”

“It’s a risk that if we take, we can get a reward that eliminates the same risk forever. If they change as people, then they can change how they view a human life; making their killing intent a struggle we won’t have to deal with again. Besides. This building is filled with hormonal children with powers that we’re essentially weaponizing for their future, training them for dangerous situations that could easily involve deaths. And more than half of them already have an innate murderous instinct-”

“Bakugou’s an anomaly.”

“Yeah, but he can cause enough damage on his own to count as a hundred people if we’re to try and calculate the casualties these students could cause based off of emotions,” Aizawa waves off Yamada’s point. “Therefore, I think Dabi is definitely not our biggest worry.”

“I hate that.”

“I hate me too.”

They fall quiet.

Then: “okay.” Yamada says slowly. “Fine, we keep the villains. But we don't have the resources or capabilities. What can we even do?”

“Certainly nothing if you don’t try.” Aizawa remarks. Then, he leisurely looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. "And we do have the resources. We have people who'll listen. They're taking down what? A society they felt abandoned by and they were abandoned by. We just need to make sure they no longer feel that way. However, people like Dabi certainly won't settle for temporary solutions or solutions that impact only them and not the entire society; so there has to be actual fixes to the said society to reassure what happened to them doesn't happen to others. Now that's the tougher part. But that’s why I said we do have resources that they can’t access in any other environment- we have actual heroes. And we know heroes are what makes Japan go round. We’re the direct cause of the power imbalance as well, so not is it only a responsibility for us to fix it, but we also  have the abilities to if enough of us cooperate.”

Yamada looks at his own mug. Then downs all of it at once.

Aizawa stares. He’s been mildly concerned over Yamada, mildly annoyed, mildly distant, mildly everything (though on a regular basis he’s always like this but he usually ignores him too), but the man just took liquid death like a shot. “Okay. Fine. We’re a chance in comparison to the rest of Japan’s mental health care system when it comes to these people,” Yamada makes a face, and Aizawa doesn’t know if it’s the coffee or the admission that tastes bitter to him. "And we're a chance in reforming society, which matches their ultimate goal and should be something addressed in the first place. I might not like them as individuals, but they're not wrong that we should bridge whatever divided them from getting the help they should've gotten before they turned out this way."

Yamada glances at his empty mug. “Okay." He mumbles to himself. And Aizawa can't tell if that's to comfort himself, or said out of determination.  

“Okay.” Aizawa echoes, eyeballing him as if he could detect the first immediate symptoms of respiratory failure. When Yamada (un)fortunately does not start turning blue, he continues. “‘Okay’ is such a weak response.”

“Listen,” Yamada rolls his eyes. And he has eye bags.

Aizawa thinks he should wear his stupid glasses for the next couple of days.

“I mean. Yeah, I said 'okay'. What else could I say? I don’t think this is the best idea, but clearly, I don’t have a better one and even if I don’t want to agree, you’re leaving me no reason to disagree. And it really does sound like a good plan even though it has so many problems but most of the problems are just hypothetical.” He sighs. “I’m just. Angry about their victims. Dabi doesn’t seem to care about what he’s done and that’s why I just- I can’t-” He gestures furiously at the carpet, then at the door, his previous rage flickering back to life, before he suddenly wilts against the wall they’re leaning against. 

“We can’t do anything about the dead.” Aizawa finally says. Yamada freezes, and he almost looks hurt. “I want justice for them, for sure. But that doesn’t mean we should reel back any progress for peoples’ changes and developments. We can only affect the living, not the dead, after all.” He drinks his coffee.

Tastes like shit with the grainy texture of sandpaper. Howard must’ve made this. 

He’s going to dismantle Howard for parts.

“How did you drink all of this?”

“Um. I think I didn't, since it’s not going down my throat.” Yamada admits fearlessly.

“Do you want another piece of advice for you to get over your anger over Dabi?” Aizawa asks, deciding to pretend like he didn't reply with such a worrying admission. 

“Not really.” Yamada’s smile widens. “But I’d just be narrow-minded if I turned it down. Anyways, I’m already tired, so if I hate it that much, I’ll sleep it off.”

Aizawa is feeling less irritated about Yamada. A feeling he knows won’t last when he runs into him later.

Yamada's existence is simultaneously the most comforting yet absolutely annoying existence Aizawa’s ever encountered.

“For someone like you, who’s motivated over justice, don’t you think that making people like Dabi feel remorse, is probably the best thing you can do for who they've hurt before? The most reforming way as well, given how not only would you be instilling in them the value of one's life, but you’d also be introducing them into the possibility of just,” he pauses, “being normal? To value lives, which includes others’ and their own? When they understand that lives hold an intrinsic value, then of course they’ll feel regretful for what they’ve done, which is the most progressive thing we can do for who’ve they’ve hurt before. But it’d also give them the ability to want to better themselves and also like themselves and just-” he doesn’t know how to word it, “be happy? After all, as a hero, saving people should also be your goal. And the League, and a bunch of regular citizens also grouped similarly as outcasts in our society shouldn't have to fight to have the right to be happy. They should've been born with the equal opportunity to thrive, but they weren’t.”

When Yamada doesn’t say anything, he continues. “People should just be allowed to live without having to fight to live. They should at the minimum, be provided with basic human resources and necessities to grow, such as stable and supportive environments." And the truth is, a world like that will never exist, since there's no way to guarantee that everyone will be a good person, will be good parents. But that doesn't make this ideal world wrong. "People like Dabi, they have a formidable goal of trying to balance out society even though their methods aren’t right and are awful. If I really want to be controversial, I'd even say to an extent, their methods can't be questioned by people like us, us as in heroes, because we're the ones who allowed this imbalance to continue and grow." Not like he doesn't think it shouldn't be questioned- it definitely should. Killing innocent people isn't acceptable.

"People shouldn't have to fight for equality," Yamada reiterates. He snorts. "That’s true, but will equality ever exist?" And he sounds upset, and the wetness in his voice grows with the curvature of his smile. "Nowhere in the world with a large society of different people would have true equality."

"That's only if we don't do anything about it. People's ability to change things is powerful." Aizawa shrugs. "And that's why we should pity people like Dabi, who exist because there's nothing done about such inequality."

Seeing Yamada's stance crack, Aizawa pushes a little farther. "We can't save the dead, but Dabi, Toga, Shigaraki, and others just like them are very much still alive." He thinks about Dabi's body. "Somehow," he mutters with an internalized roll of his eyes. 

Yamada doesn’t answer.

But he’s also not arguing.

Aizawa knows Yamada well enough to understand he’s simmering on it. Which is usually a good thing. 

“They both never got a chance to actually experience happiness and a good life, so it makes sense why they grew up angry and destructive,” he hesitates to elaborate. But it’s Yamada, and Aizawa will never admit it, but he likes him. Somewhat. He kind of trusts him and he wants Yamada to see his perspective. In other words, he likes him enough  to care about what he thinks. So he confides almost guiltily, “Shigaraki was raised by All For One since he was young.” And that wasn't his secret to share, but he's sure that Yamada would've learned that sooner or later, anyways. 

“Oh.”

Yamada’s staring extremely hard at his empty cup.

“Think on it,” Aizawa advises, satisfied for now. 

Yamada may be extremely confrontational when it comes to his beliefs, he’s still inherently flexible. He’s defensive, especially over those who can’t defend themselves, but he's not impenetrable.

Aizawa hands the mug back, and returns into the nurse’s office.

Yamada laughs dryly. “I thought on it.”

“That was quick.”

“I mean, once again, you’re not giving me any reason to disagree with you.” He sighs. “And. Just to be clear, I don’t think there's any excuse for their actions-”

“You said that many times. And I agree with that. I understand where they come from, though."

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ll admit. When Shigaraki said he wanted to be a hero when he was a kid, I did think it was a shame that he turned out this way.”

“Shame in what way? Like, clarify for me.” Aizawa asks carefully.

Yamada snorts at that, his unfathomable liveliness returning, persona rejuvenated. Aizawa should leave now. “What? Can’t believe you’re saying that. Aren’t you usually a mind reader?”

“Mm. I’m just unused to figuring you out, because there’s usually nothing in your mind for me to read.”

“Things are looking up!” Yamada whoops at absolutely nothing, with zero context. Aizawa narrows his eyes at his loudness. And he agrees, but he doesn’t see Yamada’s line of thinking.

Yamada smothers a snicker, as if he knows Aizawa’s thinking exactly that. Yeah. I’m the mind reader, my ass . “I think it’s a shame, because-” he pauses, “you know how children have dreams? Even if he’s a bad person as an adult, I feel bad for the child. He never got what he wanted.”

“You’re sleeping here overnight-”

Dabi looks ready to take Aizawa’s neck in his hands.

Probably because his main source of company would be his delusional boss who had not ceased talking for the past three hours and had tried to physically fight him twice.

“Think of it as a sleepover,” Aizawa reasons, attempting to console Dabi.

Dabi in fact, does not look consoled by this at all.

“You-” And the sharpness of Dabi’s tone and accusatory point of his finger directly contrasts his usual molasses, all-the-time-in-the-world attitude. On the other hand, Midoriya still looks stuck in the past by a few seconds, looking very disoriented by Dabi’s sudden nonsensical words. “Scoot,” Dabi commands.

“I can’t move,” Midoriya exclaims rather anticlimactically. 

“Just move your legs?”

“Dabi, I broke my leg.”

Dabi appears even more confused. “That’s never stopped me before?”

This time, Aizawa does force direct eye contact through his look of judgmental disgust over the boy’s lack of self-preservation. As much as their hero system let him slip through the cracks, clearly, so did natural selection.

“How are you still alive?” Midoriya asks.

“Impressed?” Dabi cocks an eyebrow. 

“Horrified,” Midoriya corrects.

“In that case, if you’re too pussy to move,” and Dabi looks personally attacked that Midoriya has the bed farthest from Shigaraki, “then let me on,” he demands, like Midoriya’s bed is really just a surviving lifeboat bobbing away from a massive shipwreck. 

“Dabi.” Midoriya says patiently. And Aizawa recalls when Midoriya looked like the word ‘lactose’ and had the confidence of a doormat.

It’s been a year and Midoriya’s developed not only a backbone, but also cement immunity against bullshit and teenage angst.

Give the next three years, and he’ll end up almost like Aizawa himself.

“I’m not taking advice from someone who looks like they’d catch on fire like a devil bathed in holy water the moment he touches hydrogen peroxide-”

“Fuck off, move.”

“This is a single bed-”

“Oi, bastard,” Dabi clicks his tongue, “I’d rather rub shoulders with you than sit next to Shigaraki-”

“As if I want to be your neighbour,” Shigaraki remarks flatly.

Aizawa doesn’t know there’d be a day when Dabi actively prefers Midoriya over his own company and boss. 

Aizawa then thinks of his boss.

And decides he respects his decision. 

“And you,” Dabi turns his accusatory glare to Aizawa. “Are you going to stay here?” His harsh tone collapses with a croak.

Aizawa blinks, startled. “Yeah.” He has to. For legal reasons, he’s here for Midoriya’s safety. Personally, he thinks that’s pointless. The kid’s biggest danger in this room is himself. What’s Aizawa going to do? The kid breathes and his airway expands fast enough to shatter his bones. 

If anything, Aizawa’s more concerned about the three villains, specifically Dabi, who’s rabid in his own right and has a complex against authority and just living in general. And quite frankly, he can’t see any of the four patients causing trouble outside of this room; though Yamada is still planted outside as a precaution. But, seriously. One of the patients is dead to the world, another basically nonexistent to reality, and two of them are painfully sober that he bets that they wished they were knocked out. 

Aizawa is less concerned about them escaping, and more concerned over their self-destructive personalities. 

“What about you?” Shigaraki asks Kayama. “Will you stay here?”

“No, sorry!” Kayama says, sounding not at all sorry. Kayama has never been good at hiding her excitement towards knocking out for the next ten hours, no matter which method she took to get there.

Aizawa has a distant memory from last week when he attempted to waterfall the contents of her Poland Springs bottled water, only to choke as he found himself gurgling hardcore tequila.

To no one in particular except to the scientists of this simulation, he sighs.

“It’ll just be Aizawa, don’t worry, he’s really cool and super dependable,” she promises, winking at Shigaraki.

Aizawa ignores how Dabi looks distantly offended by her statement.

Aizawa himself tries to ignore how he feels distantly offended by the unwarranted liability. 

“It’s just out of safety concerns,” she continues. “Not because we don’t trust you- I mean we don’t ,” she cackles, and nice to see that she’s equally delirious, “but his presence is more so to make sure none of you guys break anything, not of the usual ‘killing our students’ sort of concern.” 

Dabi does not look remotely less insulted, and in fact, possibly more. 

“I’m going to sleep.” Aizawa announces.

“‘Dependable’, she said.” Dabi repeats dryly.

The truth is, Aizawa has a feeling that if he consistently sleeps during homeroom when there are twenty lawless students with the self-restraint of dried corn and still wakes up to no lawsuit between them, he can knock out amongst four incapacitated people without worry. And quite frankly, he does not have the emotional capacity to babysit four awkward man-children with entwining relationships strained by the occasional murder, politics, and dramatically exposed familial secrets. 

Recovery Girl chortles, as she plasters down the last of Dabi’s bandages. “I agree.” Her smiles widens. “Shouta, you can sleep in my private office-” she gestures towards the door in the back of this room, “it’s designed to have multiple people over in case of emergencies, after all. Though, I barely use it, so you might have to clear out some storage for space."

He lifts a hand, “no worries, I can just sleep on the floor,” he reassures. Just like homeroom.

And Recovery Girl sounds so sweet.

He also knows she’s only so persistent in him overtaking her responsibility to watch over the patients because she earlier mentioned how she was very close to going mad due to Midoriya being her only source of consistent entertainment for maybe the fourth weekend in a row.

“Thank you for the offer, it’s very generous of you,” he comments, knowing full well that if he declined with equal courtesy, she’d incapacitate him and turn him into a patient if it meant keeping him in this room instead of herself.

“In that case, Kayama, you may head back.” Aizawa attempts to look at the positives. For one, he’s not rooming with Yamada for the first time in a while, so it’s basically a given mental cleanser. Not a full cleanser since nothing can ever remove the irreparable organ damage caused by living around people like Yamada, Yagi, and Kayama for so long- but certainly a breather. 

Then again, he’s replacing Yamada’s existence with four overwhelmingly unreal presences because god decided to make these people out of his leftover materials. 

Leaving Yamada and then rooming with these four is like attempting to blend a mental detox drink and then straight up snorting crack cocaine through its bubble tea straw. 

He sighs. 

Well. And it’s not as though he’ll be in the same room as Shigaraki, whose depressingly spiraling stories will be prattled off past five in the morning. They can’t really dose him to sleep since there’s no way the percentage of drugs in his bloodstream isn’t the same as the percentage of water in his system. 

Statistically, that should mean fifty percent.

Realistically, it’s probably seventy-seventy percent, because Shigaraki, much like Dabi who was probably cut from the same cloth, was not spawned out of Mother Nature's good graces.

“Shigaraki, you have to let go now,” Kayama says gently, attempting to unknot the tangle of fingers trapping her in place, next to Shigaraki’s bedside.

And Aizawa almost feels bad.

Because even knowing what Shigaraki’s done, how messed up he is to have such a drive to achieve his goals, to twist the world into the view he wants and views as God, that there’s a reason behind all that. That while he may be a notorious manipulator, he must’ve learned from the best.

The only reason he doesn’t feel bad is because he’s tired, and he wants to sleep, and Shigaraki is currently the Main Obstacle disturbing that.

He’ll feel bad later tomorrow.

It’s past three, his mind helpfully supplies.

He’ll feel bad this afternoon.

“So. You come here often?” And the nerve of this child. Dabi doesn't care if Midoriya's a minor or not- he's going to catch a physical assault case if the boy continues talking. 

“Where even is here?” Shigaraki replies numbly to Midoriya’s question, after a couple of awkward coughs cracking the otherwise dead silent room. “Dabi, where were you? Toga cried because she thought you died.” Dabi understands there’s an underlay of sentiment in those words, but he shamelessly feels affronted. Because god he wishes. He sighs, flopping onto the hospital bed. Unfortunately, it’s not Midoriya’s hospital bed, which is against the wall and far away, with its own pink curtain.

Even more unfortunately, it's the one against the wall, right next to Shigaraki's. 

“I didn’t ask for her tears.” Dabi grumbles.

“And we didn’t ask for you to suddenly dip.” Shigaraki retorts hotly.

“Wasn’t a conscious choice,” Dabi replies, tone hoarse as he gracelessly rolls over onto his stomach. He’s thirsty. 

The three conscious residents of this ghost town fall into awkward quiet. 

“Wow this is uncomfortable.” Midoriya narrates, chipper.

He glares at Midoriya, whose dumb mouth unhinges once more, as it has been for the past ten minutes after Aizawa locked himself in the nurse’s office (and Dabi knows that even if they start screaming, that door is never opening again), clearly attempting to stir up another deadbeat conversation. 

None of them are interested in talking, and if anything, he doesn’t think some of them are up for it. Shigaraki looks nauseous, his temple protected between two knobby knees brought up to his ears, and his rambling around half an hour ago had died out into incoherable mutters and unintelligent hisses.

Shigaraki’s good hand keeps flexing, as if feeling the ghost of Kayama’s grip. It’s unnerving. A freak , he thinks nastily. 

He doesn't know why he has a reserved disgust for Shigaraki.

He has no reason to actively hate Shigaraki. Sure, he dislikes everyone, but to dislike with a passion takes a lot out of him, and Shigaraki hasn’t done anything to deserve that disdain and definitely none of Dabi’s energy. Dabi doesn’t know why he isolates him in his mind, especially since they’re all outcasts and of the same breed. If he calls Shigaraki a freak, then the League, including himself, must be a freakshow.

He’s thought about it a few times. He can understand why he doesn’t like Shigaraki: it’s simply because their personalities aren’t compatible. However, even that’s a weak reason for consistent contempt, since none of them in the League really click past Toga with everyone else but himself. They all cooperate, for sure, because whatever they have as a dysfunctional group is the closest thing they’ll ever get to validation and acceptance from others.  

But Dabi just can’t with Shigaraki. He didn’t hate him at the start- it felt like Shigaraki did though. But it was definitely a childish hate.

Somewhere along the way, Shigaraki matured, and so did that resentment.

Dabi matched his pace, but he could tell that a lot of his derision was also from something within himself. 

He looks at Shigaraki, and he's more mature, for sure, but there's still this childish aspect of his personality that- it riles Dabi up. He speaks loud on heroism, his anger lashes out towards his goals and Dabi sometimes looks at him and sees the same fire reflected in him as well but Dabi can't help but feel as if he's just a child just playing with dolls. Shigaraki truly believes in what the League stands for, isn't just doing this for selfish reasons of vying for destruction, but something hot always fogs Dabi's lungs whenever Shigaraki talks about the atrocities of the hero aspect of society. 

He and Shigaraki share the same anger, but not the same backstory. Shigaraki doesn't know what it's like to hate heroes deep down, yet he does all at once but because of what? Because his master told him to? His motive is just fed straight from All For One's hand, and Dabi resents it; finds it arrogant that the boy chews what the man feeds him and spits it out as his own, when he doesn't even have a real incentive past what he was taught. He was taught to hate, taught to destroy, taught to rip things apart and he's doing all this for what? For his fucking master? 

(Sometimes, it just feels like Shigaraki's treating this world like a video game. Correcting something because he was told to, not because he was slapped in the face by heroes themselves. And this is wrong and Dabi knows it but he can't help but feel defensive and invalidated every time he looks at Shigaraki and it's because he's being a little bitch over nothing and he knows he has to stop but he can't-)

Dabi was taught through burns, disappointment, and the looming figure of Enji Todoroki, and he had to witness firsthand the unfairness of hero society and Shigaraki has the nerve to act like he should be the one who takes it down? And Dabi understands this is wrong: he's comparing trauma, comparing lives from two separate worlds, being unfair and cruel and toxic-

They were both constructed to take down All Might and Dabi knows it's not Shigaraki's fault, that the man clearly faced his own particular trauma and neglect by the good guys, by society, by citizens who claim they're morally right simply because they follow the laws enforced by heroes, but Dabi can't help but hate him. He hates how Shigaraki sees Dabi as someone with nothing to lose, as someone who doesn't share the same bitterness, when it's not his problem because Dabi's never bothered to share his own story, and on the other hand, never bothered to get to know his, either. 

Dabi's not a good person, but every time he prattles off every reason why he hates Shigaraki, he feels more aware of that fact than ever.

It's not like he ever bothered to befriend or at the very least, know him a bit more.

There's nothing between them but secured loyalty and professional transactions. And every once in a while- comfort in the similarities they never admit to.

But not enough intimacy goes on between him to convince Dabi that Shigaraki doesn't dislike him in return. Whatever. Fair enough.

The problem is that there's nothing to reassure him that Shigaraki wouldn’t kick him out of the League once he’s of no more use to them. And fine. Dabi’s out. Whatever.

He tolerated the League and Shigaraki’s ideals, but it feels as though they’re no longer on similar pages by this point. Shigaraki wants to utterly demolish society and attempt to rebuild it. He agrees with the idea that society needs reformation, but he knows it’s not possible. And he never intended to live long enough to see the fruits of Shigaraki’s labor, either; he only hopped on their wagon knowing that it'd  cross paths with Endeavor. 

It’s just that now, Dabi doesn't even have an individual goal: if he died now, it'd feel like giving in and that makes him so angry because he has nothing to live for but nothing to die for either- it's like he can't win. That in the end, Endeavor was right, that Touya was nothing. 

However, if he stayed with the League, at least their activities would've provided him with a false semblance of productivity- of worth. If he died for the League, then fine, at least his death will sit right with him. 

But now, he knows deep down, he can't even have that. He's useless without his quirk. 

If Shigaraki knew he was worthless, he wonders if he’d be instantly disintegrated. 

And he knew he was just a tool. Shigaraki, a manipulator, is contradictingly the most brutally honest person Dabi’s ever encountered. Not like he had an issue with it. He likes that their relationship is purely symbiotic: built off of using each other. Shigaraki treats others the same way, too.

But they’re different to Shigaraki. Dabi's noticed. Shigaraki takes care of Toga like she's an adopted wild animal, he listened to Kurogiri like he respects him, polishes Twice with aloof compliments and validation, and used to always ask Magnus for her opinion before others’. Not like Dabi’s sure why he’s so conscious of these little things. He truly doesn’t mind that they’re receiving such treatment- it's none of his business. And Dabi himself doesn’t need intimacy, favoritism, and definitely not affection; he’d hate it if Shigaraki treated him with temporary kindness and softness when Dabi’s nothing more than a tool in his eyes and vice versa. Though, that doesn’t mean he enjoys their cultivated hatred, either.

He just likes professional indifference (as if Dabi himself can promise insouciance on his behalf, either).

But that’d just confirm that Shigaraki would definitely kil him when it comes down to it. But if it was out of obligation, that’s understandable. Dabi knows too much: so he’s gotta go. But it’s not that. Because Shigaraki hates his guts. If Shigaraki ended up killing him, it'd mean he got the last laugh. Shigaraki never liked him, simply tolerates him (though, Dabi’s the same way, isn’t he?), and if Shigaraki kicks him out, the fact that he would probably want to do it, would be satiated by doing so, is what bothers Dabi more than he’d like to admit.

Shigaraki has killed his family. Who’s to say he wouldn’t get rid of Dabi, who isn’t family?

Though, Dabi supposes Shigaraki killing his family might be a sibling love sort of thing. 

He thinks about when Natsuo cultivated a mold patch in the corner of his room with melted ice cream.

So maybe homicidal intent towards direct siblings is a common thing.

“Hey, Dabi?” Midoriya’s faint voice is eerily heavy in the hauntingly still room. 

Even Shigaraki by this point has fallen quiet, frozen in his position, trapped in his own thoughts. 

It’s as if there’s an unspoken armistice, but the fact that it’s unofficial is what causes the unease, the tension in the air.

“Dabi?”

He eyes the door to Recovery Girl’s private office. Fucking Aizawa. Should’ve taken him with him. His eyes skitter across the beige walls, landing on Shigaraki. 

And he wants to look away. Away from Shigaraki, a pitiful, hunched figure, who’s quiet (Shigaraki’s never quiet, if anything, he’s loud even without words. His calculative gaze and unblinking eyes convey life and awareness without his mouth even moving).

And suddenly, the anger churning within his gut sours, and he can finally tear his gaze away after he purses his lips to repress the bile from draining out between his gritted teeth. He’s well aware that Shigaraki’s not at fault here. But there's something disconcerting, upsetting almost, to finally see him. He supposes he should feel satisfied, or relieved, that at least Shigaraki’s quirkless, the same as him. 

He isn’t sure why he doesn’t. He just feels muddy. 

“Dabi.”

And out of nowhere, Dabi suddenly feels like he’s upset. Upset . Not only irritated, just viciously sad and resentful. Over Mophead. And it’s not even broken pride that disturbs him, it’s the fact that he has no reason to be upset.

His chest feels hot.

“Dabi!”

“ What?” The repetitive background noise that was just Midoriya finally buzzes too loud for him to ignore. “What the hell do you want?” He snaps harshly.

“I’m really sorry for bothering you,” and wow Midoriya didn’t even flinch. “But I really need a tissue I really have to sneeze and you’re like the only really conscious person right now like it’s just over there next to you-”

“Sneeze, then,” he remarks flippantly, distracted by his growing heartburn.

“I.” And Midoriya looks mildly offended. Dabi’s going to fight him. “Dabi please- ”

And Midoriya's annoying. While Bakugou is his own genre of natural disasters, Midoriya’s like global warming: consistent and always developing. In other words: a fucking pest that won’t leave him alone until he’s dead. A skeeter. 

He compromises between his own sanity and unwillingness to be compliant by chucking Midoriya in the face with the box of tissues.

“That’s not nice.” And Shigaraki sounds much more clearheaded than he did half an hour ago.

“Neither is killing your family.” And he doesn’t know what spurs him to say it, because Dabi knows that he doesn’t give a shit about what Shigaraki’s done, and if anything, he’s actually not in the mood to give any indication that he knew what happened in the man’s past; because that’s a can of worms that he doesn’t have enough energy to deal with. Besides, not picking at the guts Shigaraki spilled at three A.M. like a starving crow guarantees that Shigaraki doesn’t mention the name ‘Touya’, if he even remembers it.

“At least I didn’t run away from mine, Touya.” 

Oh. Guess he remembers it .  But it’s not like Shigaraki knows what family Touya belonged to, so it’s whatever. Whatever Shigaraki’s heard, seen, means nothing to him. Even when Shigaraki saw his whipcord body bearing the consequences and sins of his quirk and of his father, it means nothing to Dabi. He always knew he was never pretty, and he has nothing to lose with his macabre appearance. And it’s not like Shigaraki, with the body like someone peeled a Kleenex, can truly say anything about Dabi’s body. 

It’s the history of his sickly frame that can’t be revealed. 

“Running away, being unwanted,” Dabi shrugs nonchalantly, feeling okay to expose this much because everyone who lives on the streets has a general story like this, “as if I care.” He smirks. And Shigaraki’s staring at him with something unreadably wild in his eyes, anger only highlighted by obvious humiliation flushing up his neck (and if Dabi didn’t know any better, he might’ve thought his embarrassment was ‘fear’). 

Dabi wants to feel good about having the upper hand in this situation.

He doesn’t.

“You know Dabi, you’re a real piece of shit at times.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh. I thought you two were comrades?” Midoriya squeaks with a chipper voice, high and naive. 

“Shut it,” Shigaraki hisses at the same time Dabi turns to glare at the kid. “Dabi, what is your problem? You literally have to be a dick for no apparent reason,” and Shigaraki’s typically all smiles, the look of a man who knows he’s the one playing the game, but Dabi done a bad by defying that rule, and Shigaraki’s sneer is a testament to that. “So this was where you’ve been? Staying here with all your hero friends-”

“And now you’re just spouting shit that you know is true.” Dabi cuts him off, tearing through the given opening. “I thought you were smarter . You know my situation like this isn’t purposeful.” While such a claim makes him want to smack the boy because he was suffering and he had to sort out laundry by colour only to realize that was utter bullshit and living here was a literal hell between Yamada’s alarm clock fetish, Bakugou's lack of self-restraint, and Kayama’s need to pick on his bagel calories and (lack of) skincare routine-

He also knows Shigaraki’s just venting.

Also he technically did make a comment about his family, so really, who started this?

“You know, considering how me and Toga are here, I thought you’d be at least happier to see us here.” Shigaraki says, wearing an expression of mock hurt. 

“Like I’ll be ever feel happy seeing your face,” Dabi scowls. “You look like one of those shrunken heads, too bad Father isn’t here. Don’t use me to stroke your ego when you're nothing without your quirk. You're nothing on your own.” And he knows he’s being unreasonably snippish, that he’s just pissed and distant because Shigaraki would’ve ditched him, and the paranoid thought of being alone without even himself to rely on manifests in the cold, in the absence of his quirk. 

The undecipherable mess that crashes on Shigaraki’s face makes him feel something strange, something glaciar and terrifying in him and he’s never cared once what Shigaraki thought about him but-

“I didn’t mean it,” he blurts upon seeing that expression, knowing how much of a common excuse it is, and he hates it because Rei would always use it; but there’s uncharacteristic desperation in his tone that he hopes will prove its genuinity, even though it’s grossly vulnerable and disgusting to his ears. 

Shigaraki appears shocked by his sudden admission, and to be fair, Dabi is too. Like that really just threw up out of nowhere.  

“So...you guys aren’t friends I take it?”

“No.” He and Shigaraki verify in terrifying unison, their voices scarily close in shock and offense.

And Midoriya’s making the same countenance that Fuyumi did back when they were five and Touya straight up told her that it was Natsuo who forgot to flush, even though Natsuo wasn’t potty trained by then. 

“What?” Shigaraki scoffs. “Do you think we’re liars?”

“You guys are villains.” 

“Yeah, but not necessarily liars,” Dabi points, as if he didn’t announce to everyone that Shigaraki was a liar literally these past three hours. 

The Look™ has returned upon Midoriya’s very expressive face. “Do you guys share the same ideology?”

And ooh, not a question that should be asked when both the boss and employee are in the same room, especially since both of them aren’t really past murder.

“Well, I’m not getting paid, so I’m saying no.” Dabi replies shortly, ignoring Midoriya’s countenance.

“I didn’t know you cracked jokes.” Midoriya observes, sounding amused. 

“I didn’t?” Dabi was simply attempting to avoid the question without pissing off Shigaraki, or insulting his own beliefs. “Did I?”

At this, Midoriya snorts. “My friend, Todoroki, acts the same way too.” 

“Really?” Dabi says. He doesn't know how to feel about that, but he's certain that this comparison has to be insulting on some level. 

“You know him, definitely.”

“I suppose.” Dabi replies. 

“Ah, the outcome of the Endeavor experiments,” Shigaraki murmurs. “His hair makes him look like a moldy tomato.”

And Dabi expects at least offense from Midoriya for Todoroki’s sake, but instead, Midoriya leans forward as much as he can on his elbows, struggling clumsily around his leg cast. “I know right? Don’t get me wrong, I think his hair is super unique-”

“Nice way of saying weird.”

“No, it's cool!” Midoriya retorts. “But when I first saw him all I could think about was our country flag.”

Shigaraki’s now entirely absorbed in this conversation. “His hair. It kinda looks like a sideways pokeball? Wonder if we decapitate him and use his head, it could work out like one. His mouth can be the opening.”

Midoriya continues smiling. “What the fuck?” He’s speaking through his teeth.

And Dabi’s perfectly content letting the two run their mouths as he falls asleep. However, it’d just be poor of him to pass up a chance to make fun of Shouto. 

“Imagine waking up each day looking like ketchup and mayo and thinking it’d be socially acceptable.”

Midoriya nods solemnly, as much as he can from his position.

“I just wouldn’t wake up,” Shigaraki confesses shamelessly. Then he pauses, and whirls to face Dabi. “But shouldn't you not make fun of him? Your previous outfit was literally straight out of World War Z,” Shigaraki scoffs.

“Okay, Downgraded Squidward,” Dabi retorts dryly. “I don’t take constructive criticism from someone who wears a rubber onesie as your villain suit,” Dabi replies hollowly. 

“Where would you guys hide a body?” Midoriya suddenly asks.

Dabi closes his eyes slowly. “You have to stop this. Like. I don’t know why you just jump topics without disclaimer like-”

Midoriya shrugs as Dabi’s glances at him. “But there’s really no bridge between the two topics. Just thought of it.”

“You’re the type of person whose Google search history is currently on our government’s watch list,” Dabi accuses dryly.

“Okay but, like, where would y’all hide a body?” Midoriya inquires impatiently. 

Shigaraki and Dabi make unwarranted eye contact.

“Ashes?” They say in unplanned unison, both sounding uncertain. They don't really hide their activities. 

At this, Midoriya nods sagely, almost approvingly.

And Dabi may or may not be slightly concerned that someone like Midoriya, whose eyes look like they’re empty of everything except for murder, and is in the same class as Bakugou, appears to take their response in serious consideration.

“In that case, I should be more cautious,” Midoriya suddenly mumbles, and Dabi really thought that U.A. would be the exact opposite of the League base, but clearly there are more similarities than differences. “I suppose in that case, I could always ask Kaminari,” he continues, glancing off hard at his cast.

“Wasn’t Kaminari the one that Toga was watching on YouTube?” Shigaraki turns to Dabi, who quite frankly, doesn’t know what to do with their weird compromise of not trying to take the fuck out of each other right now. 

Dabi has to take a second. “We don’t have YouTube. Or WiFi.”

“But Toga,” Shigaraki presses. “I mean, she has a TikTok.” And oh, he’s talking about her stolen phone, the one that they found and decided to use to their hearts content and go overboard with the original owner’s data plan.

“Hey, you,” Dabi gestures, cutting Midoriya’s words short and probably saving him from turning blue. “Kaminari, Lightning McQueen kid, does he happen to have a YouTube channel?”

Midoriya, quickly latching onto a new topic, completely abandons his previous story that nobody could even follow. “You heard about it?” 

And Dabi sees it, the statistics and branches protruding from that tidbit of information. Can hear the gears whirring in the boy's head. Well of course Midoriya would be suspicious about how much they know about him and his friends. 

“Yeah, watched his video on electricity. It was so wrong. Just. Wrong.” Shigaraki says bluntly.

And Dabi’s memory is not the best. He’s not sure why, but over the years, it’s deteriorated to the point where even he wonders if it’s normal development.

So the fact that he absolutely knows with such terrifying confidence that someone like him should not have, about what fucking video Shigaraki's talking about, is equally surprising and disturbing. The video's just that memorable to even his brain. And he usually can’t even remember anything Toga said some previous day (though, he highly suspects a good portion as to why he doesn’t try and mentally store her white noise is because he never focuses on her newest gossip she picked up from two school girls she consistently stalks; however, he is curious as to whether or not Blonde Girl dumped Horishito yet).  

“Is." And Dabi's having a visceral replay of the twelve minute, thirty-seven second YouTube video in his mind. "Is it that video where Knock Off Charlie Brown said electricity was an element of water?”

“Yeah. That’s the bitch,” Shigaraki scoffs. “Absolute horseshit. We all know what element electricity comes from: we all watched Avatar .”

“What?” Dabi says.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Shigaraki’s brow furrows downwards.

“What’s ‘avatar’?”

The other two people fall silent, and Dabi already knows he said something wrong. 

“You never watched Avatar ? You know? The Last Airbender? ” Midoriya reiterates, looking almost scandalised. “But you watched Snoopy and who Lightning McQueen is?” He continues, voice pitching in disbelief. 

"Snoopy's a show?" Dabi frowns. "I never watched it either. But everyone knows the characters. And lemme just say, sorry you have to hear this, but your friend, Calamari, he looks like a permanent cosplay of Charlie Brown." 

"Kaminari.” Midoriya says.

"What?"

"His name?"

"Yeah. That's what I said."

"You said-" Midoriya makes a strangely strangled noise, and Dabi watches blankly. "Never mind." 

“Even I watched Avatar because of Toga.” Shigaraki clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Though, it makes sense why you wouldn’t have. It’s not a Japanese show, and Snoopy is popular in Japan.” He glances at Dabi. “No culture, though.”

“Better no culture than common sense. I’m not posting educational videos online for students and claiming electricity is from elements in the first place,” Dabi knows enough that it should be some atom-magic or some shit.

“I mean. You could say that lightning is derived from fire and air-” Midoriya begins prattling, and Dabi collapses back in his bed, his tonelessly lecture drowning out into background noise.

“Shut up.” And for the first time, Dabi’s glad for Shigaraki’s presence.

“S-sorry!”

Shigaraki looks drastically put-off by Midoriya’s visceral response.

“He’s always like this,” Dabi tells Shigaraki, who doesn’t seem less concerned after his disclaimer. 

“Also, uh,” Midoriya attempts to regain composure, “Kaminari’s obvious inaccuracies in his videos are excusable, because they’re purposeful. He's just making lesson videos with absolutely no research beforehand like a parodied Organic Chemistry Teacher, but after none of Kaminari’s viewers called him out on his absolute bullcrap this entire time, he never stopped doing it. With each video he makes, they get more abnormal and surreally wrong from the truth as an unprofessional test to see how far he can go without people realizing everything he says is just wrong.” Midoriya elaborates. “He’s like if Bill Nye had no morals.”

“It’s because people are too nice,” Dabi rolls his eyes.

“No. People on the internet, especially in comments of any platform, are the absolute worst,” Shigaraki scowls. “This is a scam. Some college student is going to fail their entrance exam and bring a lawsuit over your friend."

“It’s YouTube, it’s lawless,” Dabi remarks dryly. Then, more curiously, “what video did he make would Toga even watch?” Educational videos don’t seem up her alley. 

“The one about how emotions worked.” Shigaraki replies.

Midoriya eyes the girl uneasily, though, to be fair, his most prevalent impression of her is that she's a stalker with a blood kink. Which isn't wrong. “Yeah, that video? That was just an entire cover for him to talk about how to get girls.”

“Does it work?” Dabi raises an eyebrow.

Midoriya snorts, startling Dabi. “No.”

“To be fair, nothing would’ve worked on someone like Toga in the first place,” Dabi shrugs as he glances away. “All her emotions are just,” he hesitates. ‘Fucked up’ wouldn’t be wrong, but more accurately they’re “mostly quirk driven,” he finishes both his sentence and thought. 

“Oh,” Midoriya inclines his head slightly. “Then. I mean. Then wouldn’t Toga’s emotions be more stable then if she’s also quirkless? I mean,” he stumbles over his thought, broken out from his confident curiosity, “you two obviously know her way better than me-”

“Unfortunately.” Shigaraki says.

“No <3.” Dabi says.

“But wouldn’t you two agree that if she was quirkless...I mean. From what I’ve seen, she seems to express love through her willingness to use her quirk on you? So without her quirk, she’d just. She would be able to express it normally, right?” 

And Dabi doesn’t like that observation. Change is drastic and cloudy, and when it comes to one of the few people who he interacts with in his life who are predictable enough to be comfortable, it feels almost like a threat to his lifestyle.

Then again, a lot of changes had happened these past couple days.

“Toga...is a very empathetic person,” Shigaraki says slowly. “Her quirk might be a method of expression for her emotions, but that doesn’t mean her emotions themselves will change with or without the quirk.”

“Oh, so she’ll still be crazy,” Dabi summarizes flatly. At this, Shigaraki shoots him with a look that Dabi can’t entirely understand.

“Not. Necessarily,” Shigaraki continues, his rhythm slowed and controlled by gears whirring in his head. Shigaraki’s tendency to overthink things always got on Dabi’s nerves. He turns to Toga. “Maybe something curious will turn out.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. Not like he gives a shit. 

“It’s fine," Midoriya chirrups. "Lots of people in my class have peculiar ways of showing their feelings, or just in general aren’t good with them. Of course, hurting innocent people due to them is another conversation,” and Dabi groans, because Midoriya is toeing the line and he doesn’t want another tense discussion. He sees Shigaraki’s frozen smile, defensive and brittle, and chooses to intervene.

“Like firecracker?” Dabi looks up from where he’s picking away the blood crusting one of the staples on his wrist. “Does he have no consideration for who cleans up after his messes?”

“To be fair, we’re talking about Kacchan here. And we’re also talking about you,” Midoriya points, “you're an actual janitor,” he replies flatly, proving that once again, he really does have more BDE and snark than Dabi gives him credit for. He seems to be the extremes when it comes to self-esteem and boldness: he either exhibits a contagious anxiousness that gets Dabi himself riled up, or professional confidence that also annoys Dabi.

In other words: he’s consistently irritating in a whole circle. 

“You? Wait, Dabi you-” And Shigaraki, that fucker, has that gleeful expression and Dabi’s going to cut his vocal chords the way e-girls do with their bangs: brutally.

“Not anymore,” Dabi says loudly, but it’s too late, Shigaraki looks positively aglow. 

“You’re a janitor ?”

“Yeah, I am, and you’re dead if you continue talking-”

“I swear to god I heard this exact phrase on Cartoon Network,” Midoriya murmurs.

“A janitor!” Shigaraki cackles. 

“What’s wrong with being a janitor? Huh? Their services are underrated and underpaid and too disrespected in this community-” Dabi spits. 

“Pretty sure I also heard that somewhere on the internet.” Midoriya gives a thumbs-up that no one asked for. 

“You're getting paid? ” Shigaraki continues, voice cracking from unstifled laughter. “You literally quit our nonprofit organization-”

“Domestic terrorist group,” Midoriya helpfully corrects.

“And got a job ?"

“I didn’t get a job. I’m not getting paid this is bullshit labor-"

"You really took Boomer TikTok's advice didn't you-"

"You need to stop talking to Toga. Listen. Her influence insults me. I am truly disappointed. Go gurgle your Listerine and piss out some Gatorade before screwing your head on straight-"

"What does that mean?" Midoriya stresses. 

“Shut UP.” A sudden familiar voice rattles from the closed door of Grandma’s office. Shigaraki immediately falters, though his grin remains unwavering. Dabi's going to grab their throats like they're cow udders. “ It’s three in the morning. ” And Dabi, not for the first time, disgruntledly raises his ‘not-hate’ meter up for Aizawa. 

Dabi hates that these past couple days, his opinion of Aizawa has been only steadily increasing. It’s probably because Aizawa finds everyone else annoying as well; it’s unnerving, but in spite of their major differences, they share a lot of similar views.

Such as hating everyone in their immediate proximities. 

“Sorry Aizawa-sensei!” Midoriya shouts.

“Shut up.” Dabi snaps, cringing at his sudden loudness.

“You talk too much,” Shigaraki informs Midoriya with a candid air.

“Go to sleep.” Aizawa groans back.

“ Yes Aizawa-sensei!”

Midoriya, when he first saw Dabi enter the room, swaggering on two unsteady feet and hazy eyes, literally triggered his fight or flight response that’s always been hypersensitive. A whole childhood with Kacchan essentially frayed his instincts and stress tolerance. 

Though, he really has less of a ‘flight’ reflex as now he’s entirely apathetic to Kacchan’s antics. But. Shigaraki and Dabi are incomparable to Kacchan when it comes to their most fundamental characteristics. 

For the first time in a while, Midoriya is able to recall his forgotten fear of dangerous people.

And earlier, when he was physically immobilized by his foot cast, it factored into the cold sensation of trepidation weighting his limbs. Because when Dabi started lashing out, the cinderblocks sitting on his joints only made him aware that he couldn’t run. And when Dabi broke, Midoriya’s stress levels similarly shattered. It frightened more than he’d like to admit. Because Dabi, older, harder, and meaner, never seemed like the type to show vulnerability. Not like Midoriya didn’t think he wouldn’t have a lot of burdens. He just didn’t think it was to the point where it overwhelmed his face, his composure. 

He recoiled, quiet, when Dabi lost it. Because Dabi’s breakdown felt both expected yet equally...unfathomable. 

And then Shigaraki rolled in. Shigaraki, who honestly unsettles Midoriya more than Dabi, because Dabi’s entire persona is built on fewer words, as he’s direct to the point without other means than strategy and power. Like Kacchan.

Shigaraki’s not as straight-forward. Shigaraki’s one of those people who acts a certain way, up until it’s no longer an act. It’s not even manipulation; Midoriya bets all those faces he lets others see are really a part of his personality. He's versatile and adaptable. Or maybe not. He doesn’t know.

Midoriya’s never ran into someone like Shigaraki before- can’t even imagine what Shigaraki’s ‘normally’ like if that was ever a case like him. People like him only exist in dramas or in childhood animes like One Piece, except in the form of 2D without any humane complexities. 

Then he became less scared of them.

More confused . Which he originally was , but now he’s just lost.

His fear died slightly when he saw them interact. While Midoriya is sure that many villains don’t have intimate friends or those they call family, the fact that Dabi’s such a cornerstone in probably a lot of the League’s projects makes it comically concerning that Dabi talks like he’s five seconds from decking his boss in the face. 

But if there’s one person’s behaviour that Midoriya really can’t comprehend the most, it’s his own. Because here he is, conversing with two men who he both saw very close to flinging their shit out the window (if they haven’t already, that is) with clearly traumatic Wattpad pasts. Talking to them. Normally. While avoiding everything that’s happened in the past three hours not for his sake, but for theirs. Also they’re killers. 

If there’s anyone that’s a fool, it’s definitely himself. 

But it’s not like they’re difficult to randomly bounce conversations off of. They’re not the easiest, but they’re also not like Kacchan who leaves him on ‘read at 3:18’ when Midoriya desperately tried to contact everyone he knew because the toilet was flooding and he couldn’t figure out how to unjam the stall door without having to pay reparations for property damage. 

At least Dabi’s cooperative. Sure, earlier he just appeared disinterested and actually disgruntled that Aizawa was willing to abandon leave him with Midoriya (or Shigaraki. Surprisingly or maybe unsurprisingly, it appears as though Dabi might prefer Midoriya’s company over Shigaraki’s, considering how he was willing to give him a box of tissues, but threatened to sedate Shigaraki even more if he mentions his side-job in UA).

Now, Dabi is eagerly talking about Todoroki and his inability to express emotions. Voluntarily talking. On his own. Without persuasion. About Todoroki’s social ineptness. 

Now, maybe Midoriya’s tripping, but he feels like that entire scenario on its own is inaccurate to their universe. 

Dabi literally had a mental breakdown earlier, and therefore has nothing on Todoroki. And it’s very strange how Dabi appears to have a complex specifically against Todoroki. Another Kacchan-esque thing . Having honed self-preservation instincts (even though he snaps his bones like pretzel sticks every other day), he does not bring any of that up. 

“Dabi,” Shigaraki mumbles, “you look like your entire nervous system is having a stroke every time you face emotional confrontation. You’re talking too much shit about some high-school angsty teenager when you are one. ”

“It’s true,” Midoriya quickly says, sweltering as he tries to redirect Dabi’s anger. Though, silver lining, if they do end up brawling, at least they’re doing it where they can receive medical care immediately. “Shigaraki, you shouldn't be talking, though,” Midoriya adds, internally wincing, hoping it’d extinguish enough of Dabi’s irritation so he doesn’t start throwing hands. Shigaraki definitely doesn’t look like he can handle a fight now. 

Then again, Dabi looks sick even though it’s been days since he’s been off whatever drug is currently trickling through Shigaraki’s system.

“If anything,” Midoriya continues, “your processing is very similar to some of my friends. Including Todoroki, who you were just calling an ‘abomination’ to societal customs.” He chirps informatively. He doesn’t know if he’s insulted on Todoroki’s behalf, because it’s not like Dabi’s incorrect when he said that Todoroki had problems expressing his emotions. “That’s like, not even getting into your societal custom that probably involves murder.”

“You also remind me of Bakugou.” Shigaraki adds abruptly.

Midoriya freezes.

To the side, Dabi freezes as well.

Aizawa hears the first clatter.

He glances at the school landline in Recovery Girl’s office, before forgoing the thought to dial up Recovery Girl over the possibility of new injuries.

He’ll handle this in the late morning.

Then he hears Midoriya's shrieks of rebuttal.

Or now. 

He sighs, and looks tiredly into the darkness of the room, before unzipping the top of his sleeping bag.

“Guys! Please!” And Midoriya's screaming. “ He’s kidding, he’s just kidding- ”

“ Why does everyone compare me to a twerp with unresolved anger issues like do I act like I’m from the suburban hicks where cults and guns thrive because I do NOT-”

“ He’s KIDDING.”

“ I apologize. For your absolute incompetency you inversed Lipton tea bag-”

“ Listen up, fucking bleached white rice ass-"

“ hE’S kiDdiNG!”

Aizawa rolls over on the floor, and bangs on the bottom of the locked door, and Midoriya’s panicked shouts falter. “What is happening?" Aizawa snarls, voice squirming through the crack at the bottom of the door.

Silence answers him. 

He sighs. Hopefully it’ll be maintained. 

Then, a very hesitant “nothing.” And that’s Dabi’s voice.

Aizawa rolls his eyes. “Dabi,” he snaps through the door, and he hears another large crash. “You’re in charge.”

This time, two more voices assault him.

“ I’m literally his boss-”

“ Aizawa-sensei please-”

“ That cunt doesn’t need his ego stroked even more- ”

“Quiet!” Aizawa demands crankily, but only Midoriya’s complaints trail off. Shigaraki’s continues.

Aizawa wants to return back to sleep- it’ll probably stave off his building migraine.

“Dabi’s the only one who can kind of stand upright without blacking out like he's iron deficient. He’s in charge. If you need anything, ask him. No fighting,” he remarks dryly.

“ I’ll make you proud,” Dabi snarks lacklusterly.

“ This is bullshit.” And hey, at least Shigaraki's enunciation indicates most of the drugs are almost out of his system.

“ Shut the fuck up, you think this is democracy, you unfinished sock Muppet?” 

" Dabi how do you not know Avatar but know what a Muppet is?"

“‘Arguing falls underneath ‘fighting’,” Aizawa creaks out those words, as he deems their lowered volumes as good enough. There's nothing he can do about the obvious murderous intent in their tones, but as long as they're quiet he's fine with it. This way, it excuses from liability as long as Midoriya doesn't end up damaged more than he already is.

“ You can’t just get a new boss, what the fuck, you didn’t even hand in resignation papers-”

“ We don’t even have documents! And it’s not as if you wouldn’t fire me anyways!”

“ Don’t tempt me. ”

“ I already fired myself-”

“That’s it,” Aizawa snaps, the veins in his eyes pulsating, and he has half the mind to enter the room himself, “I’m demoting you Dabi.” He ignores the sudden shrill snarl, “Midoriya, you’re in charge.”

“ Aizawa-sensei please no- ”

“I expect everything to be in your care,” Aizawa replies dryly, and zips the sleeping bag all the way up.

“Yeah, you guys are both pretty good at lying to yourselves.” Midoriya reaffirms apologetically. And now, Shigaraki’s cackling, which relieves Midoriya.

It’s terrifying, knowing that these two men can’t be that much older than him and yet turned out so twisted, are surprisingly not the worst company that Midoriya's had. 

He thinks about his crazy neighbour Dave.

Not the worst company he's had.

“I’m not fucking lying to myself,” and Dabi seemed so unmovable, so unstoppable. "I'm nothing like him."

Now he doesn’t seem as overwhelming.

His untouchable aura died down a little once Midoriya realized Dabi’s too cowardly to embrace his inner Kacchan.

Personally, Midoriya believes everyone has a little bit of Kacchan within them, unless your name is Jirou and you’ve transcended the moral compass alignment of Kacchan, Aoyama, Kirishima, Ojiro, and Tokoyami. 

“Both of you guys have permanent eyeliner, too,” Midoriya chirrups informatively.

“Both of you guys need to attend anger management,” Shigaraki inputs helpfully.

“I’m going to sleep. I don’t need to tolerate this abuse,” Dabi says dryly, before glaring at Midoriya. “Especially yours.”

“I don’t even want to be the leader -”

“Salty over not being boss?” Shigaraki clicks his tongue scornfully. 

“As if. That old man was trying to dump all his responsibilities onto me. No way I would’ve accepted it.” Dabi lours. “I just dislike that you’re the most incapable out of all of us to control anyone, and yet you’re in charge.”

“Wow so I’m even less capable than the unconscious girl?” Midoriya tries not to sound insulted.

Dabi shoots him a glance of confusion. “Do you think you’re not?”

To this, Midoriya doesn’t have a response other than violence. Everyone has a little bit of Kacchan in them. 

“Isn’t Aizawa supposed to be a really strict and firm teacher?” Shigaraki snickers.

“Mm,” Midoriya nods proudly. “And formidably lazy.” Shigaraki does not appear to understand exactly how admirable such a feat is.

“Sounds like a deadbeat,” Shigaraki grunts.

And Midoriya's ready to start swinging because Aizawa’s reputation doesn’t even delve deep into his insight and how he visits their homeroom’s lounge after classes to check up on them or how he prioritizes their survivability and independency over the regular hero courses-

And how he’s just overall a hardcore teacher that’s suitable for good heroes. 

But Dabi beats him to it first.

“He ain’t a deadbeat,” Dabi drawls. “Sure, he’s a lazy fuck. But he cares and doesn't let shit slide.” Midoriya blinks. Well, while he never thought Dabi was necessarily passive to unfairness, he didn’t think he would overlook his prejudice against heroes, either.

But Shigaraki appears more stunned than Midoriya is.

Midoriya truly doesn’t think Dabi is that bad. At least in terms of personality, he’s on equal grounds with many people. If he hadn’t killed anyone, Midoriya wouldn’t think he’s honestly too awful of a person in terms of morals or beliefs, even those applied to their society. It’s just his methods of implementing his morals that wreck his image for Midoriya. 

But Dabi feels more real than he had just a couple hours ago. And he can see why their school viewed him as (in the crudest term) salvageable.

It's just.

Dabi took Kacchan, and Shigaraki directed it. Their imprint on Kacchan’s life exists through nightmares, frozen glances, and a knot of emotions within his friend's gut, and Kacchan purposefully ices out others who could help untangle them. They’ve left a stain on Kacchan’s mental health, as well as many other students in his class who weren’t even directly kidnapped.

And neither of the villains seem particularly remorseful. Then again, they’ve killed people before, so why would they care about inflicting trauma?

Their actions, their lack of regret almost makes him feel guilty for how he feels bad for them.

But he still thinks they deserve pity. At least their childhood selves definitely did. From the little that Midoriya knows and witnessed, Shigaraki clearly has more dimensional feelings about what he’s done to his family than simple ‘want,’ as he claims. And if what he’s done happened when he was a child, it definitely shapes him vulnerable to All For One’s influence. Even without him killing his family, he doubts any child wouldn’t escape All For One’s grasp if the villain wanted them. 

And Dabi? Midoriya doesn’t know this man at all, but the way his image shattered so quickly and yet he still scrabbled to pick up the cutting pieces with a desperate need to compose himself, had...piqued Midoriya's interest.

Midoriya’s never been particularly curious of Dabi before this. 

Even when he kidnapped Kacchan, he was nothing more than something unfathomable to Midoriya- someone unfeeling and cruel and easy to dismiss with little guilt.

Now it’s hard.

Now, he finds every crook in Dabi’s expression muddled and disturbing. Midoriya doesn’t run away from his emotions. He knows that he feels scared specifically for Dabi because how could he not? Emotions are an uncontrollable thing, and mental health is as well: it’s something uneasy to recover, to organize and understand, and Midoriya doesn’t like it when something’s so convoluted it’s on the verge of incomprehension because that's terrifying. And that’s exactly how he describes Dabi. 

If Midoriya decides that no matter how much data he’s collected, information he’s compiled, or hours he invests into observation, that he simply won’t get something because it just isn’t fathomable, then he can overlook it. He won’t delude himself into wasting his efforts. 

But Dabi isn’t that anymore. He’s someone extraordinarily human, but there are too many unlocked variables and hidden puzzle pieces for Midoriya to capture the whole picture. But what matters is that Midoriya now knows there's a picture there, there’s a whole image and he wants to know.  

Midoriya can’t walk away now. Can’t see Dabi as someone who can’t be understood. He wonders how many people gave up on Dabi, because they can’t be bothered to try and understand what they’re seeing. 

It’s not like anyone’s obligated to truly see him, to try and figure him out, but it certainly must feel awful to not have a proper identity or anchor of yourself, and see other people agree with that sentiment. 

Midoriya can’t help but rudely stare at Dabi’s puzzled skin of mismatched pieces, and want to know what’s almost the inscrutable.

He swallows dryly.

And then there’s Shigaraki. Who ultimately disconcerts him more- makes him feel restless. But not in the way he feels raging sympathetic fear for Dabi, but because he doesn’t know what to make of Shigaraki. Because while Midoriya’s gotten a more complete picture of him due to knowing his past, the whole puzzle picture he’s seeing almost feels unsatisfying. Scary

There’s the trepidation of clicking in the last piece of Shigaraki’s puzzle, because once he’s done, what next? Even if Midoriya understands him, would he get better? Would that mean anything?

To Midoriya it does. Understanding someone is important to him, it invokes empathy for what they went through, who they once were.

But unlike Dabi, who seems to either just dip down or up, Shigarkai’s aimless. Midoriya can’t gauge if Shigaraki can assimilate into a healthy life the way he sees potential in Dabi. Not like they shouldn't try either way.

Shigaraki killed his family, and Midoriya wants to cry, because that’s insanely mortifying, disgusting, and  it cuts into his abdomen and settles in his bones stronger and more painful than One for All. And maybe he can’t look Shigaraki in the eyes without conflicting emotions, but he can certainly look at a child who just murdered their family with absolute pity. 

Shigaraki cannot be that much older than him. And it’s not like he ever had a childhood given that he was raised by a villain.

He glances over, eyes sore, and sees Shigaraki’s bickering, arguing with Dabi about some other nonsensical topic. 

They appear almost normal. Like just two acquaintances, comfortable with each other enough to fight and laugh with each other. 

And they have to at least try.  People should be allowed to change and given a chance to. 

His dry eyes flicker over to Dabi, who’s making a face at him that Kacchan usually makes whenever Midoriya’s mumbling. They make eye contact.

Then, to his surprise, Dabi’s the first to avert his gaze, now looking somewhat jittery, his eyes flitting to various spots of the ceiling. 

“You’re rambling.” Shigaraki informs.

Midoriya frowns, struggling for a second to make sense of his question as he files away his thoughts. “No he’s not?” Dabi’s just staring at the blank wall now.

“No, I meant you. You’re just. What are you saying? Speak clearly or don’t talk at all,” Shigaraki snorts.

Midoriya blinks. 

And the strain on his eyes suddenly lessens.

And snaps his jaw shut, embarrassment overriding his system but tamed by utter relief that they couldn’t make out what he was saying. They would've killed him, and Midoriya would've edged them on because Damn being caught in that situation? With that embarrassment? Because straight up, capital punishment. He would've just died with or without their executive decree. 

He tries to stop thinking (it doesn’t work). He attempts to rejoin whatever they’re talking about, but now they’re discussing a completely different event that Midoriya has no background information on.

Well, they’re arguing, as expected. 

“Oh yeah, Shigaraki,” Midoriya says, unsure if he should bring this up in front of Dabi considering their interesting love-hate relationship. “Um. I noticed that you had stickers on your cast-”

“They’re from Toga,” Shigaraki explains coldly. Sorta insulting, because Midoriya wouldn’t make fun of him. 

“Yeah, but. I have stickers in my notebook, they’re from my friend Uraraka,” and Midoriya pretends as if he doesn’t really have to introduce his friends because creepily enough, they probably already know all of his classmates, their home addresses and their Incognito Safari search history. “And since Recovery Girl gave you a new bandage, I was wondering if I could put stickers on them?”

“No?” Then, something peculiar crosses Shigaraki’s expression, one that sends chills down Midoriya’s spine. It’s passive, but calculative. “Yeah, okay.” And Midoriya realizes that this may have been a mistake, mostly, because he can’t walk.

However, he still shuffles through his book bag hooked on the spine of the metal bed frame, and pulls out wrinkling packets of stickers. He has thousands collected from Eri, Uraraka, and one sheet of Veggie Tales stickers from Kacchan, who claimed “Larry the Cucumber looked just fuckin’ like him”.

“Okay wait, um. Dabi, can you hel-”

“No.”

“Dabi, it’s rude to turn him down,” Shigaraki scorns, and to Midoriya’s surprise, Dabi, against all odds, with a theatric roll of his eyes, does stand up, and approaches Midoriya with an indifferent slouch that really resembles Monoma or Kacchan when they want to appear tough. 

Midoriya is unimpressed.

Dabi rips a random selection of packets out of his hands before turning to Shigaraki.

He then peels off the stencil of the stickers rather than the actual stickers themselves, and slaps it on Shigaraki’s face, before decorating his new cast with glittery All Might stickers that Momo brought home from a visit to the mall. “Look, they even have holes for your eyes and mouth,” Dabi says, his voice carrying a weight of possible amusement, gesturing towards the large, holey sticker stencil hanging limply from Shigaraki’s bristling visage. 

“I’m going to run a magnet over your face.”

“Bet?”

“Haha!” Midoriya claps his hands nervously, his eighth sense reserved specially for his inner organs shutting down in alarm of a possible fight happening (it’s been honed since Kacchan was introduced into society), begins to churn his guts like a homemade ice cream machine. “Dabi, you really need to stop harassing Shigaraki.”

Shigaraki looks confused as to whether or not he should be indignant that Midoriya is defending him, and honestly, Midoriya doesn’t blame him, but considering how Shigaraki doesn’t look outright offended like Dabi vaguely appears at the moment, he takes it as progress.

“It’s just that. You seem to. Provoke Shigaraki a lot. Like. In a really mean way.” Midoriya tries to explain when Dabi continues looking confused. Well, Midoriya remembers every phrase Dabi spat about Shigaraki. “And you seem to villanize him a lot, too.

“I’m a villain,” Shigaraki says, incredulity projecting through his tone and expression. Midoriya doesn't know how to feel about their tone of voice, talking to him like Japanese is not his first language. 

“He’s a villain,” Dabi echoes redundantly, a millisecond after Shigaraki.

“Yes, but. You seem to paint him out as this awful person.”

“Which I am."

“Which he is.” 

Dabi doesn’t even sound mocking anymore, honesty and a wavelength of “bitch-you-dumb” radiating off of him. “I mean.” Dabi hesitates. “Of course Shigaraki has his good moments and in a weird way I guess is an admirable person even if he’s not a good one-” a loud sputter from the person in question goes vastly unacknowledged by Dabi, who seems very good at utterly ignoring things he doesn’t like rather than dignifying them with any response, “but he’s still quite the awful, manipulative person?”

“I’m literally right here.” Shigaraki scowls, looking a lot more composed than Midoriya assumed he would've been if one of his intimate arguers backhandedly complimented him. “And he’s right on all counts.” Then, thoughtfully: “I wish he wasn’t.”

And Midoriya takes a second, wondering if Dabi’s right, that Shigaraki is too murky for Midoriya to simply think he could convert into a different person through a few flowery words and promises of change. But then he sees the split panic crossing Shigaraki’s face, only to be blurred by rage, that’s quickly controlled into indifference (it appears as though Shigaraki isn’t as drug-clean as he wanted them to think). And here’s the thing: Midoriya’s surrounded by too many emotionally constipated people to know that the anger is self-directed. And he recognizes insecurity. How could he not? He knows so many people with repressed vulnerabilities that he could create a spectrum of them with a large range, measuring from even the extremes, such as from Kacchan to Momo to Aizawa-sensei's Punishment Chair that's specifically reserved for Bakugou each time he interrupts his class by any action that involves a chair and someone's skull. 

Punishment Chair-kun used to be for when Kacchan made any violent distraction during class period, but then that just resulted in the Punishment Chair becoming Bakugou's permanent seating arrangement, making it lose its entire purpose to the point where Bakugou would just sit down in it from the very start of class.

“You’re literally so fixated on believing yourself to be inherently bad.” Dabi laughs, and there’s something heavy in his words, disgusted in his tone.

Midoriya's reminded that there's an actual important conversation happening in the background of his thoughts.

“Heroes, villains, whatever, they’re the ones who did that to you. The heroes never saved you, you know. Like what Kayama said, you keep convincing yourself you’re a bad person because you want to be in control-” and then something cold crosses Dabi’s expression, and Midoriya knows he isn’t saying this to comfort Shigaraki, but rather, he’s abusing Shigaraki to self-reflect, “but in reality, you never weren’t.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Shigaraki snarls, venemous spittle speckling his bedsheets with something fiery and done. And Midoriya silently agrees, though, he’s also simultaneously startled by his sudden outburst. 

He’s also having difficulty taking his response seriously, given that he’s still wearing the sticker stencil like it's a skincare face mask. 

“What do you want me to say? That you were born bad, born evil? I don’t get what you want from me because it sounds like you’re just bitching for the sake of doing it.”

“Dabi. Do you even know what you want?” Midoriya shuffles lower on his bed, his good thigh going numb from his position.

“I don’t know.” Dabi answers with unprecedented calmness. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I certainly don’t know what’s wrong with you,” he says that as he points to Shigaraki. And his tone is flat, and his words are selfish and directionless. 

Midoriya isn’t sure anymore, who’s more emotionally messed up: Shigaraki, Dabi, or himself for agreeing to this downgraded slumber party.

And he’s had a sleepover at Kacchan’s house back when they were six and Kacchan was beginning to act mean. They ended up staying up all night watching All Might reruns and decided to try and make boiled eggs for his mom when she woke up.

She did wake up.

To an irreparably charred stove, a firetruck, and two policemen each individually comforting two equally traumatized boys.

At least someone else was nursing the two traumatized boys, unlike the situation at the moment.

“Dabi, you-” Shigaraki sucks in a thin wheeze. “It’s like you only argue because you want to get under my skin. Because you just hate me or some childish bullshit. I don’t even know why, but you seem to want to make me constantly aware of it-”

And Dabi snarls over Shigaraki, who’s still ranting, and Midoriya’s now sweating. Okay. This is great . At least they’re quirkless. “As if you even want me here,” Dabi smiles wryly, words as sloppy as his grin, “c’mon. Don’t act like this hate was one-sided. You never liked me either in the first place, share the blame,” his eyes are bright under the shadow of his bangs, his cheeks high underneath the fluorescent lights. “You know, Shigaraki. I hate that front you put up. Acting like you give a shit. You know I’m quirkless, right? Just like you?” And his words are faint, almost echoey.

Midoriya grimaces. He was fine being quirkless, he didn’t even have to learn to accept himself because not once did he find it fair to use quirks to define one’s value.  If anything, it simply motivated him to prove that quirk-users shouldn’t believe they’re the only ones capable of performing heroics, or that being a good person can’t come from normal feats. He never felt bad about quirkless- if anything, he thinks people shouldn’t ignore that quirkless citizens always had a weight in their society, that they’re capable of change and impact just like everyone else and have to be held responsible for that weight, as well. They can't constantly rely on heroes, and can't depend on them as an excuse not to act. But he gets why it’s common for anyone to attribute their quirk to their image, to their self-worth.

And he can see Dabi’s frustrations over how he doesn’t have his quirk anymore.

If Kacchan lost his quirk-

If really anyone lost their quirk, it’s devastating. But for people like Dabi and Kacchan who obviously built their entire reputation, their success, and self-worth on it, losing it would be like losing a part of their identity. They’d have to abandon modern society and technology and go backpacking in the deserts of Vermont.

Or woods.

Midoriya's not really sure what's in Vermont. He just knows it exists. 

Like Ohio.

“So it's not like I would’ve had worth in the League anyways.” Dabi says coolly.

And Midoriya can smell a character development from a mile away- boarding with people like Todoroki and Kacchan and Kirishima and just everyone has made him hyper-aware of every little difference in their attitude or tone. It’s actually quite tiring to be so obsessive over their miniscule shifts in mentality.

That’s why he always has at least an hour a day to drop dead by Uraraka who gives him a pitying glance before kicking him out of her room when he starts discussing whether or not he should force Todoroki to watch Avatar to see if Zuko’s slow internal journey could catalyse their friend’s.

“Hey. Dabi.”

And Dabi’s doing that thing again where he blocks everything out. Midoriya has half the mind to throw the tissue box back at him, before deciding that it’ll result in Dabi aggressively breaking his other leg, or, passive aggressively unlatching the clasp of his leg sling while staring him directly in the eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about and where is this coming from this has nothing to do with your goddamn attitude.” Shigaraki snaps, ripping off his sticker mask. Finally. “I mean. We have Spinner . His quirk is Gecko. He just sticks to walls like some ripoff Spiderman. If UA can find a use for you as some crappy janitor even though you look thinner than a broomstick handle, I think we can find some use for you.”

Midoriya just looks at him, unsure what to make of that.

To the side, Dabi also looks conflicted as to whether or not he should be offended.

“Besides. You already know too much so we can’t really let go of you anyways,” Shigaraki snaps. And Midoriya wonders if that last part was necessary, but Dabi doesn’t appear aggravated. Instead, he falls quiet. And this time, rather than his previous bouts of silences when his melancholic muteness distanced him from reality, it feels like Dabi’s conscious of them. 

(He makes a mental note to write down Spinner’s apparent quirk. He’ll figure out what ‘gecko’ means later.)

Then, Shigaraki hardens. “I cannot believe you had so little faith in me. To kick people out because of their quirk? What the fuck? That doesn’t even make sense-”

Dabi at least has the gal to appear slightly understanding of where Shigaraki’s sudden rage spawned from.

“Like, here you are, tarnishing my name because of your insecurities-” 

“What was I supposed to think? You use people-” And Dabi’s back. Midoriya never liked Dabi’s abrupt quietness, anyways. It always felt too chilling, like one day Dabi would fall silent and just never open his mouth again. 

“No, no, shut up .” Shigaraki snaps, but he seems to be at a standstill, his expression contorting. And Midoriya understands Shigaraki’s situation: he either admits that he cares about other people, something that Midoriya doubts he’s emotionally prepared to even face, or, he doesn’t, and concludes that Dabi’s assumption of him was warranted. See, and this is why Midoriya chooses to not be edgy.

“And they’re not insecurities,” and Dabi has returned to being moody, his tone griping. 

It astonishes Midoriya how young these two are, with their teenage edgy spirit and scornfully immature relationship, even though they’re older than him. Not by a few years , though, his mind helpfully supplies. 

“Listen. I’m not so foolish to let go of an asset like you.” Shigaraki leers, clearly salty over Dabi’s low opinion of him. “Yeah, you’re annoying, and rude, and probably just socially unaware-”

“Wait-”

“No, no, let him talk,” Midoriya says flatly. Dabi needs to hear that a second time. 

“I am not socially unaw-”

“Yeah you are.” Midoriya shuts him down, indifferent to his incoherently strangled noises in response.

“And you have no sense of camaraderie. If anything, you use people just as much as me! An you had such a weird superiority complex that makes me want to backhand you! Like you think so low of yourself yet you still treat us as worse. You’re so disrespectful and condescending-”

And Dabi’s now entering all seven stages of grief simultaneously yet somehow out of order, and Midoriya wonders if he intruded on something; but if anything, Shigaraki, inconspicuously high, looks actually quite happy to have an audience of just one to witness him absolutely wreck Dabi.

And well, Midoriya is a willing participant to any strange development. 

Besides, it’s either this, or returning back to the common rooms where there are nineteen dangers to society and his physical and mental health, in comparison to just the two here.

“Also you’re so oblivious to things that it gets on my nerves because then your attitude gets way out of hands and it’s inconsiderate at times and you never replace the toilet roll after you’re done-”

“ You don’t put down the toilet seat after you're done-”

“Dabi!” Shigaraki snaps, and Midoriya shrinks, because there’s something raw in Shigaraki’s voice now, something tart and ugly and deeper than just him feeling offended (and Midoriya’s nervousness spikes). “You clearly have a thing against being called ‘born evil’ and yet you earlier just said that I was forced into being a killer? Do you think we’re evil or what?”

Midoriya genuinely cannot believe these two gave him crap for jumping topics earlier, when it sounds like they've just took a hard swerve off the highway and has deserted any pathway towards civilization like those ripoff Steve Irwin nature documentary stars who think drinking river water is masculine and the way to go. 

“I think.” Dabi sounds less defensive, more contemplative. “You’re not in the wrong. I don’t know. I don’t think society is right, or how we were treated was right.” His jaw works. “I just said that because I was pissed at you. Not because I think that you were born evil or whatever. Because for you, you were raised into being a killer and you act like you wanted it and it’s so- because you- you aren’t a bad person back then! You weren’t born bad the way I wa-” He breathes, clearly trying to formulate a response with a meaning that he cannot verbalize. “I’m annoyed because you always lie to yourself and act like you enjoy playing villain because you are one when you aren’t! You’re just some pathetically lost child and it’s so fucked because then you have the audacity to question others’ state of mind?” Dabi smothers a croaking laugh, and Midoriya flinches at the heavy flow of self-deprecation leaking out of Dabi.

“Um.” Midoriya remembers his unofficial position. “Uh. Please lower your voice before you wake up Aizawa-sensei-” not like Aizawa-sensei somehow doesn’t sleep through their class’ rowdiness.

“I’m a lost child? I have a direction and a goal meanwhile you’re out here with no identity and you never even indicated you ever had a plan past whatever you wanted when you first joined. I'm contributing to a revolution that you are using for your own gain. And yeah, like I give a shit what you do- nothing wrong with what you're doing. But I don't see why you're giving me shit when all I'm trying to do is fix the wrongs in society-"

“Yeah and I agree there are wrongs, but it’s the way that you don’t know anything outside of what’s fed to you but you act like you do-”

“And you don’t know anything either! How would you know shit-”

“You want to take down All Might but you don’t. You won’t .” Dabi’s snarl sounds hoarse and crueler with each shout. “You were raised by a villain thinking you can take down the top hero and you think you know every problem with the hero society; but you were never directly let down by a hero! Your motivation for ruining the society started because of one person who lives vicariously through you. Everything about you is fake , your personality, your identity, your feelings, your motivation . Your spirit is just the offspring of someone’s belief that you funnel all your anger and hate into! Like I hate the heroes, but I don’t like you nor All For One any better because you don’t know more than what you heard, and your sensei’s doing this for his own selfish reasons that have nothing to do with the social injustice caused by heroes!”

“Do you think I can’t make my own decisions?” And Shigaraki’s voice is cracking, clipped with outrage and chipped with weariness. “I can see with my own eyes, Dabi. I can see how the heroes ignore us, ignore the suffering of others given nothing at birth and end up spiralling, only for the heroes to blame their outcomes on their fault. And yes , Sensei raised me, but I can see the injustice on my own- I can create my own opinions on them! I can see that it’s unfair- and Sensei isn’t selfish- but even if he was, if he takes down All Might then it’d just benefit my goal, the one I created on my own! The one I created because of how fucked society is!”

Midoriya wishes they’d turn off the lights.

There’s something terrifying about the idea that the lights will remain strong throughout the night, will stay awake and see this show to the very end.

“As if you really give a shit. You’re just angry, and you want to take it out on society, you’re just doing this because you hate everything! You’re so- you’re just doing this because you want to! You want to have a place to pour all your rage and your hate and you want others to witness it overflow, not because you actually care-”

“And you’re any different? It always sounds like you wanted to do this out of revenge , not out of some moral goodness in your heart either-”

Then, the doorknob of Recovery Girl’s office jiggles, and Shigaraki finally takes a legitimate inhale rather than the wheezes his entire rant was barely surviving on. 

Aizawa-sensei peers through the crack, his eyebags still intact, alongside his sleeping bag. 

His crackled eyes slide slowly across the room, before he nods to himself, and silently slips back in.

They all watch as the doorknob locks. Probably checking to make sure we haven’t killed each other yet.

“-and you always. You. I don’t get you, it feels like you’re only bitching about things because you hate me-” And Shigaraki has returned to his venting session, with the person of topic watching with a greying sense of existence. At least now it’s just hushed screaming.

Midoriya side-eyes Dabi, whose gaze is matte. 

Midoriya feels as though Shigaraki is probably the most truthful pseudo-therapist he’s ever encountered, with the most honest constructive criticism for someone like Dabi.

Except Shigaraki’s constructive criticism has a 2:8 ratio of constructive to criticism.

“Okay, I-” Midoriya interjects, throat coughing up sand and apprehension peaking. “Shigaraki, you obviously don’t get along with Dabi, but remember you’re just venting, half of what you say is probably exaggerated by your own anger with Dabi-” maybe . Midoriya's a high schooler and he wants to help but he’s just a high schooler and he hasn’t ever dealt with anything similar and he- he feels confident in offering advice, but he surely isn't confident that what he says will deescalate the situation.

“Okay, you're right, you’re right,” Dabi snaps sharply over Shigaraki, completely steamrolling Midoriya. Fair enough, what he said probably wasn’t going to help anyways. “I always provoke you, and maybe a good portion of that is unceremonious. But you are also patronizing and so oblivious to your own position it’s s-”

“You are not allowed to say that,” Midoriya interjects abruptly.

“-ucking pretentious. You use others as pawns and whatever! I know I’m just a tool and I’m fine with that-” and Midoriya wants to interpret that as the opposite, but it’s the way that Dabi sounds genuine with it that agitates Midoriya more than he’d like to admit, “but you’re one as well! It bothers me so fucking much that you think you’re something, when you were raised by one influence your whole life. You think you hate heroes but why ? You- you act like you know everything when you’re so narrow minded in your own world constructed all by All For One and you are a tool just like us and you don’t see it! You don’t fucking see it but you have the goddamn audacity to act otherwis-”

“You guys are so alike.” Midoriya mumbles, assuming his words wouldn’t be heard over Dabi’s cracking voice and Shigaraki’s futile attempts to intervene.

It’s the sudden and contrasting silence that tells him otherwise. He looks over, and the two are staring at him. “I mean. You guys seem to hate each other because of the same things?” He laughs weakly, tone wavering at the delicate tension of this situation. “Like. Hating each other for seeing each other as tools, probably thinking it’s condescending because you guys think each other don’t see their positions as tools as well, thinking the hero world should be deconstructed yet you two still can’t agree on it at the same time because of personal reasons despite both having intense vengeful hate against heroes. Like. A lot of things.” He shrugs uncomfortably. “Oh! Hating each other because the two of you think the other doesn’t have a stable identity while knowing the other thinks the same thing about them.” He taps his metal bed frame. “And believing the other hates each other- not saying you guys don’t , but like.” He smiles lopsidedly, craning over on the mountain of pillows his body was propped upright on. “Thinking each other hates each other enough to kick them out. I mean. Given you twos’...uh. Intense personalities, it makes sense that you guys would clash with each other, especially if you guys don’t see your similarities.” And ultimately, they’re more different than similar, but a lot of their conflicts appear to spawn from their similarities.

“What the fuck?” Shigaraki snaps.

“Alike or not, doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s an asshole.” Dabi retaliates, proving to Midoriya that he’s taking this a lot better than he would’ve expected. 

“Well.” Midoriya smiles awkwardly. “Yeah. But he’s an asshole with a reason. The reason is the same way you’re a jerk to him, too.”

“At least I don’t have attachment issues so I don’t cut people off the moment they get too close and pretend like it’s normal.” Shigaraki mutters furiously.

“Oh my god.” Midoriya breathes into his palms because they were so close . They were quiet for the past couple seconds and- so close to peace-

“I don’t have attachment issues! I don’t need people close to my life and I don’t want it. You, on the other hand, are desperate for affection and believe you can find comfort in the company of others but can’t. Because someone like you could never love others-”

Midoriya drowns them out with his own groan into his hands, pressing his fingers into his eyeballs. Hard. 

“Recovery Girl your lights are still on are you he-” Comes a voice that’s definitely not Aizawa-sensei’s , slipping through the creaked crack of the front door. Shigaraki and Dabi instantly fall quiet, Dabi’s eyes wide and frail chest heaving, Shigaraki frozen halfway up on his bed, still looking like he's ready to start ripping out his needles and begin throwing hands. 

They stare at the intruder, who appears absolutely lost.

“Oh.” Midoriya blinks. “Hi, Todoroki.” He mumbles, as if not really believing what he’s seeing, and also somewhat directionless because he was utterly convinced that they’ve descended into a dimensional hell, where they were no longer in the mortal realm. 

Seeing another human being really just threw him for another cycle in the drying machine. 

“Is he joining? He’s joining, right?” Shigaraki mutters, his lack of concern over seeing Endeavor’s son confirms to Midoriya that he is still most definitely under the influence. He isn’t entirely sure if the fact that he’s still able to appear abstinent is worrisome, or impressive.

“Joining what? To hear you bitch about your complaints?” Dabi leers.

“You were doing it too,” Midoriya sighs, yanking at his hair, unaware of the way Todoroki looks at him, concerned. 

“Whatever.” Dabi snorts. “Shoo,” he turns to Todoroki, who to the uncultured eye, looks utterly unresponsive to Dabi. Midoriya on the other hand, is educated in the ways of the socially challenged since childhood, and recognizes how the small cringe in Todoroki’s nose bridge signifies that he’s ready to terminate Dabi on the spot with the nearby container of cotton swabs if he has to.

“Dabi, stop-” And Dabi must be extremely tired (fair enough), especially since he was just irreparably damaged by Shigaraki’s words of gospel (and they hated Jesus because he told them the truth), because he doesn’t even appear affronted by Midoriya’s carelessly informal mannerism. 

However, Todoroki Shouto hasn’t just been through such a rollercoaster of self-identity and disastrous emotional confrontation by two teachers certified in sadism and indefinite energy fueled by the entire Dunkin Donuts line. Yet even Todoroki senses the obvious cottony tension in the air, his eyes widening slightly.

Or maybe Todoroki Sees Nothing, other than Shigaraki gripping the metal stem stabilizing his life support, looking ready to just risk it all to hit Dabi at least once. 

“What are you here for?” Midoriya attempts to ask politely, even though he doesn’t even have it in him to make eye contact. 

“Um. I just saw that the lights were on. And. I waited until Present Mic went to the bathroom, and I wanted to check on you.” He explains slowly. And Midoriya bets Todoroki just wanted to check in out of concern.

But all he really did was walk in on the season finale of a reality TV show. 

Meanwhile, Shigaraki appears utterly unfazed by Todoroki, and is flat-out ignoring him even, clearly impatient to return to his destruction on Dabi’s self-esteem, hypocrisy, and questionable coping mechanisms and behaviours.

Midoriya wonders if he saw Toga yet.

Todoroki then nearly trips while standing. He noticed her. 

“Anyways, are we done yet?” Shigaraki says, clearly itching to return to their weird slumber party that Midoriya’s sure he’ll vehemently deny ever took place once he actually gets more than four hours of real sleep in his system (and honestly, Midoriya bets he’ll do the same because his mind is incapable of progressing the surrealness of the situation right now). Shigaraki’s broken hand is now tremoring.

“He has All Might stickers.” Todoroki points at Shigaraki’s cast, before narrowing suspiciously. “ Your All Might stickers,” his accusatory finger turns to Midoriya.

Knowing what he’s thinking, Midoriya frantically waves it off. “No, no! I offered!” And he almost jumps in to include that Shigaraki’s a ‘good guy’, even though deep down, he knows he has no right to say that. And even if he believed those words and wanted to say them (because Shigaraki looks like he needs at least one person to desperately say those words, like they’re gospel but with no God behind it), Midoriya knows better. It’s not his place. “Shigaraki wouldn’t just take them,” he settles with. “He’s not rude.” He asserts, almost testily. Well it’s not wrong, Shigaraki’s not rude to any of them except to Dabi. 

But Dabi’s rude to everyone. So. 

Shigaraki’s contemplative, puzzled look and paralysis of his unsupervised twitching makes Midoriya feel like he said the right things.

“Okay, is that all? Can I get back to what I was saying before I was interrupted?” Shigaraki snaps, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from Midoriya. “So, Touya here-”

And while Midoriya felt vague discomfort at Shigaraki clearly needling Dabi about a name that he doesn’t want to remember, Dabi’s look of mortified horror was unexpected, and it catalyzes whatever pressure of sympathy Midoriya has been building up for him.

Even Shigaraki hesitates, his voice crackling into silence, stunned by Dabi’s sudden countenance.

But Touya must be important, must be someone more ancient than even Dabi’s anger, someone that can’t be faced with spite, because Dabi suddenly appears collected out of nowhere. Dabi’s tension, visible through his shock and split-second fury, waters down into something unnoticeable to a person who hasn’t witnessed its birth.

“Um Todo-” Midoriya trails off from asking his friend to leave, as he actually looks over at him. Oh-

Todoroki’s expression isn’t just readable to people who know him- its quality of terror and doubt is visible to the entire audience.

Todoroki’s eyes flash down to Dabi, missing what had crossed his scarred viage just seconds ago, but still latching on, even as Dabi looks away calmly. 

“Touya?” And Todoroki’s voice sounds sharp, disbelieving, and almost angry . Not ‘angry’ in his indifferent coldness towards Kacchan earlier in the year, or ‘angry’ in the way that he appears stressed and disdainful whenever he battles with how he feels about his dad-

But angry . The type of anger that people feel when they feel wronged, or witnessed something cruelly unfair. The type of anger that Midoriya only feels when he sees people hurt. 

Midoriya doesn’t know what to do. Oh my god Aizawa-sensei why am I in chargeAizawa-senseiIloveyoubutIswearifyou’reoutheretryingtoplayGODthendon’t PLAY with me do NOT-

“Hm? Yeah, what’s wrong with Touya? Fuckin’ random name I picked out while hiding my identity before I got all scarred and shit,” Dabi grunts, but his eyes are flickering away from Todoroki, his face purposefully obscured from Todoroki’s pressuring view. And oh, maybe his original name is Natsuo. Maybe.

And Midoriya, for the first time, is lost on what Todoroki might do next.

And he will never know, because right then and there, Recovery Girl’s office door yawns open once again, and Aizawa-sensei peers in, looking frankly unhappy to see Todoroki. “How’d you get past Present Mic?” Aizawa-sensei asks, frowning.

But Todoroki doesn’t even answer, doesn’t even look at him. “ There’s no fucking way- ” and Todoroki never swears. At least not passionately. “You- don’t lie to me no, you’re Touya, I know you are I-” Todoroki hisses, his voice murky with feelings and now trepidation is beading along Midoriya’s nape in the form of sweat, as anxiety bakes his leg in its cast as his temperature rises from heat and worry. Midoriya doesn’t have time to digest and properly process-

“It.” And Todoroki’s lips twist into an open-mouthed scowl. “It’s you -?” And even his words sound doubtful, though his unwavering scorn says more to his beliefs than his questioning tone. 

“Todoroki, I need to talk to you.” His teacher dutifully slides out of his sleeping bag with practiced ease. While standing up, too. Impressive. 

But Todoroki just storms up to Dabi’s bedside, his unfathomable fixation drowning out Aizawa-sensei’s influence. “Touya, I-” And it seems as though even Todoroki doesn’t know what he’s going to say next, unsure what he wants to convey because there’s something lost in his voice, lost in the spiraling whirlpool of emotions on his typically blank expression. “Are you Touya?”

Dabi stares. 

Then: “who’s Touya?” 

Midoriya exhales, disappointed.

“Are you panicking or are you stupid?” Shigaraki says from the side, looking almost offended by what he’s hearing.

“Touya?” Midoriya murmurs. Todoroki’s apparent resolved that this is his Touya is more than enough confirmation for Midoriya. 

“Todoroki! I need to talk with you.” And finally, Todoroki rounds to Aizawa-sensei, but the countenance of unbridled frustration causes Midoriya to recoil slightly, because it’s the same type of disdain, same haughty irritation that he used to wear during their first year, when he was completely swept up by his father's influence.

“He has to be Touya! Because-” he whips a finger at Aizawa-sensei, eyes flashing. “ You , you knew about this!” And it’s not a question, it’s a firm accusation, one that Aizawa-sensei doesn’t deny. “You knew and you didn’t tell me!” And Midoriya claps eyes with Dabi, who willingly does so for the first time this night (morning?). His pupils are polished and black. “Does my father know?” Todoroki spits, the first real inquiration out of his fury. “Does everyone know except for fucking me?” And an uneven blush is patching his skin, smoke curling off one side of his back.

Aizawa-sensei’s look hasn’t changed this entire time, remaining serious and firm. “Todoroki, I will discuss this with you outside. You will not get answers here.”

And with that warning, Todoroki storms out of the room, with Aizawa-sensei following him, before shutting the door behind them, leaving all three of them lapsing into a first real silence of the night. Even during Dabi’s uncomfortable stitching and patching, at least Shigaraki was mumbling out of his mind, though the topics he discussed were invasively personal and rattling (Midoriya doesn’t think he’d be able to sleep, after hearing them). 

Now, they’re not even in a trance-like silence, but rather, a suffocatingly aware one. 

“Uh.” Shigaraki says.

“You can continue,” Dabi offers politely. It takes Midoriya a moment to realize he was referring to Shigaraki’s rant. Then, Dabi rolls his eyes away. Tone throaty and cracked, he adds nonchalantly, “and. I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

“That’s an awfully passive-aggressive apology.” Midoriya blurts without forethought. "Not even an apology, really."

“I know ,” and he sounds frustrated, as if grasping for words that aren’t there, “I just. I am sorry I made you feel that way though.” Dabi glances down at his hands. “Like. I’m not trying to say what I said wasn’t wrong, because it was , since you weren’t going to kick me out. And it’s annoying to be misinterpreted, so yeah, I see why you're angry and I’m sorry that my wrong assumptions caused that.” His jaw works, and Dabi coddles his chin into his palm.  “I am trying to say your anger is...expected? Warranted , it was warranted. And I’m apologizing for what caused it.” He doesn't look as if he knows what to say. “I was wrong.” 

And word-for-word, that was somewhat of a rough apology, but somehow, coming from Dabi, it’s honest, somewhat awkward, but candid.

Midoriya knows from his conversations with Dabi that Dabi just doesn’t say anything that he thinks is important. And it’s obvious through his tone he has a lot to say, but he’s holding back on them for some reason. Besides, Dabi’s probably never heard a real apology in his life, and Midoriya figures that as a villain, he never really had a reason to conjure one. Or at least one that’d mean much.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki's expression is contorted. If Midoriya was confident in reading others, he’d almost say that he looks like he doesn’t want his apology. 

“But I meant what I said about All For One. And about you, past that.” Dabi says remorselessly.

“Oh. One tentative step forward and two excited steps back,” Midoriya mumbles, flopping back onto his bed with a sigh.

“I meant everything I said about you, too.” Shigaraki replies hotly, almost amiably, if not for the bitterness on his tongue, the disgust thinning his tone. “You’re still an unreflective asshole.”

“I think you’re an unreflective childish asshole.”

“See, another similarity,” Midoriya breathes.

Then instantly regrets it. 

Midoriya flinches as Dabi suddenly jerks off his bed, walking over with ease, and Midoriya cringes as he reaches over in his direction-

-And yanks his bed curtain shut.

Midoriya blinks at the inner pink of his curtains.

“What did I even do? ” Midoriya shouts, snapped out of his stunned daze, mildly offended. 

“I just hate your face.” Dabi’s voice carries through the material.

“Yeah. It fills me with so much indescribable rage,” Shigaraki says, agreeing with Dabi for the first time in these past couple minutes.

“I-” Midoriya stares, and how does he even respond to that? “...I’m sorry?” He says with unsure earnestness.

He sighs, and glances up at the tiled ceiling, then at his hanging leg, that swivels slightly in its cast.

“See, even his apology was better than yours-”

“I said sorry too, and I meant it though I regret it-”

“Yeah, meant it less than how you meant everything else you said.”

Then, a very characteristically nonchalant: “yeah.”

“Fuck you.”

“Mm.” Dabi replies.

“I hate your apology. Because I can’t not see why you’d think that I’d kick you out, but it’s still fucking irritating that I know you’d see me that way-”

“If you don’t want it, then don’t accept it.”

“Dabi that's not how things work,” Midoriya speaks tonelessly through the curtain.

“That’s how they should!”

It's like hearing children learning how emotions function for the first time.

“I’m jealous,” a sudden voice speaks from the side, and it’s Shigaraki’s. 

“What the fuck.” Dabi says, sounding equally unsure where this is going, his previous anger lost in his sentence.

“When I said you used others, it’s not. I just wish people liked me the way they liked you,” he says earnestly, and Midoriya doesn’t know if this is the drugs talking, or Shigaraki’s just confident and knows the effect of what he’s saying. “And I do care about people.” He says defensively. “You’re so insulting by acting like I can’t choose who I want around me, that I have no direction of my own but it’s by my own admission of what I want to care about and that includes with people -”

“As if someone like you can build intimate relationships-”

“Why? Takes one to know one?”

Then the chains of Midoriya's pink curtain clank loudly, and he blinks sideways, finding himself facing Dabi’s slouched figure, with his large hand crushing the plastic fabric in his hands.

“...Hey.”

“You.” He points accusingly at Midoriya.

“Me.” Midoriya says, unsure as to where this is going.

“Do your weird insight reading analysis shit on him. From what I can tell, your reads are usually a hit-or-miss, in both the extremes. Go for it. Tell him he’s full of crap.”

He glances at Shigaraki, who looks like he’s going to start transcending the need of limbs to try and throttle Dabi’s throat.

Midoriya’s mind goes blank.

However, Midoriya’s a mutterer. Therefore he doesn’t need thoughts in his head to start spouting out bullshit that even he can’t keep up with. 

“Pretty sure you two are actually just overreaching into a territory neither of you two should cross, just because you want to piss the other off, not necessarily because you guys care enough about each other to have a problem with a certain behaviour of theirs until you start overthinking about it.” Midoriya pauses, “in summary, neither of you guys have the rights to go off on each other.”

“Hm.” Dabi finally replies lamely, sounding as if he doesn’t know what else to say. Then he turns to Midoriya, before adverting his eyes.

Midoriya’s been a teenager long enough to know exactly what he’s trying to do. Subconsciously seek help from another mutual in the same room while in an extremely awkward situation.

God he felt that.

“I care about people,” Shigaraki grumbles gloomily. Sounds like he’s sulking after realizing nothing he says can get through Dabi’s stubborn conception of him. 

“You care about people?” Dabi echoes, the doubt in his tone unintentionally mocking.

“I mean. Not like intimately. We’re not friends,” he says strictly, “just as company. A leader has to take care of his pieces, after all.” Midoriya gnaws the corner of his cheek. Not the best confession. “I know I use people as pieces to further a goal.” Shigaraki continues, as if desperate to explain himself, “but I can care about them as people at the same time. And it’s not like I don’t see them as people. They are. They’re individuals, and us as a group, our type of people is the reason why the goal exists in the first place, because we know there's unjust between us and the rest of society. It’s just people in the League volunteer to be disposable, so I use them to the fullest potential. But I don’t not see them as people. I care for them.” He says, like he’s desperate to prove a point, to prove Dabi wrong. Maybe to prove something about himself, as well.

“I don’t really care for you. You can take care of yourself, that’s why I don’t bother to care for you.” Shigaraki claims. And that doesn’t make sense, since it contradicts Shigaraki's stated reason for caring for others. If he cared about them because he wants to take care of his playthings, then logically, he should be more attentive to Dabi, who’s both a raging infection and an important player. 

Midoriya’s pretty sure the idea that Shigaraki cares for his people because he likes them makes more sense. It’d also explain why he doesn’t care much about someone he constantly fights with.

But Midoriya also doesn’t believe that Shigaraki doesn’t care about Dabi as much as he claims. 

“I would hate it if you cared for me.”

“I know. I would hate myself too.”

“Is this reconciliation through understanding because the heartwarming undertone doesn’t match your words,” Midoriya informs.

“Shut up.” Dabi says, tugging on the curtain threateningly. 

“You’re not a part of this.” Shigaraki says. Midoriya smartly does not bring up how earlier, Shigaraki seemed to enjoy telling Dabi off with someone around. 

“I also hate that you have a thing against All For One.” Shigaraki adds, tone more miffed.

“I think he's annoying and I don’t deny it,” Dabi replies dryly. 

“I-” and Shigaraki’s voice gains some steam.

“Nice! Uh,” Midoriya says loudly before their really uncomfortable compromise(?) dissolves from the underlying tension. While they should talk it out, perhaps not now when they are clearly still strained and proud; both Shigaraki and Dabi might’ve apologized, but neither said they believed they were completely in the wrong. With this rice cooker pressure, Midoriya does not want to be caught up in a blowout. 

“Guys,” he clears his throat when no one says anything, not even Dabi (and he really can’t trust any of them with communication), “we should sleep. It’s been a long day.”

But between him, Shigaraki, and Dabi, Midoriya knows that there’s an unspoken assumption that none of them are sleeping tonight.

Yet, Dabi still walks over next to the door, and flicks off the light, engulfing them in the darkness.

It was five minutes of quietness that’s absent of even shuffling or indication of anyone preparing to sleep, before Shigaraki’s voice cuts through the unspoken tension. “I’m bored.”

“What are you? A kid?”

“He’s probably still drugged,” Midoriya speaks into the darkness.

“Dabi, turn on the lights.” Shigaraki demands.

“Do it yourself.”

“I’m bedridden.”

Silence.

Then Midoriya hears shuffling, as well as a large clank followed by a string of curses.

Then, the lights turn back on. Dabi glares at all of them, eyes flittering underneath the shock of light. “Cowards, all of you.” 

And Midoriya highly suspects Dabi has chronic pain of some sort, but, “sorry Dabi we don’t match your pain tolerance that exceeds the mortal realm.”

“It’s not even that. It’s been less than three minutes and then he hits me with the ‘I’m bored’,” he nods at Shigaraki says, appearing majorly unimpressed. 

"Yeah. Because I was."

“Are you still high?” Dabi inquires, incredulous and perhaps exasperated, if not amused.

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Were.” Midoriya stammers, concerned. “Were you high for this long?” He questions Dabi. 

Dabi gives him a strange look. “I was high, how would I know?”

“Oh. That’s some weak shit. Just have an iron grip over our internal sun clock.” Shigaraki says impassively.

And Midoriya’s immune system nearly gives out by Shigaraki’s BDE even though literally nothing he said made sense, as he expects Dabi to go flying over the beds to deck the guy in the face.

But Dabi simply just flips him off, before flopping on his bed, clearly tired of slouching. They can vaguely hear Aizawa-sensei’s calm but rising voice, and Todoroki’s unusually hysterical one from outside, but it’s clear that Dabi wants no part in attempting to overhear.

Midoriya has categorized Dabi’s typical responses in respective order:

Mimic the process of natural selection through the use of his quirk. Arson is always the first and best resolution to any disagreeable situation. 

If option one doesn’t work (in other words: now and into the unseeable future), then the alternate response is to ignore it. Whatever the problem is, it’s dead to him through sheer willpower, carbs, and lack of reflection on the healthiness of his coping mechanisms. (Midoriya notes in the sidelines how this option based on context may qualify underneath ‘running away from your problems’, more often than not). Or: just stop existing. Sometimes, Dabi just stops. Like he enters a state of rigor mortis, and it’s frankly terrifying. It's different from Solution Number Two, because that’s Dabi actively refusing to acknowledge his own existence.

Solution Three is him genuinely astral projecting out of his own body in a disassociative manner without warning.

Clearly, Dabi has resorted to committing option two for basically everything that needs addressing.

Midoriya doesn’t know if that’s stupidly impressive, or cowardly foolish.

Option three is just worrying in its own right. 

“Do you guys want to play cards? We can use my pain killers as gambling chips. Used to do that back at the base all the time.” Shigaraki suggests.

“We don’t have cards,” Midoriya says distantly.

Shigaraki. Midoriya can’t get a steady insight on the boy, possibly because Shigaraki is simply too preserved, too protected from the outside world by himself and by others for that, but he’s concluded that there’s at least one (possibly two) confirmed response out of the unknown many that Shigaraki relies on when faced with any problem, especially a social one:

To adapt. Adapt to every person, every environment, every situation. (And it makes sense, after all. Shigaraki leads the League, with a brutal goal and clever pace. He constantly has to be in control, he has to be the unstoppable force to an immovable object, and the way for that to happen is to be flexible with an iron-grip).

Meanwhile Shigaraki's Instinctive Responsive No.2 is to inwardly scream before it becomes not just inside-voice, but outside-voice (very effective especially under drugs).

“No gambling.” Midoriya chides. “And you need those painkillers for later for your hand surgery.” He then thinks a bit harder. “Wait how do you have the painkillers-”

“I veto that.” Shigaraki rebukes Midoriya’s advice, at the same time Dabi says:

“Your three fingers kinda remind of a chicken foot. Like the black chickens? And chicken feet you can get at a dim sum place-”

And Midoriya gets to witness Option 2 of Shigaraki’s responses in person, along with a bonus scene of Shigaraki attempting to yank out all his life support cords to reach Dabi’s throat.

But, Midoriya’s already came to terms that he’s the only responsible Adult Being in the room (while being the only not adult awake right now). Therefore, before Shigaraki ends up tried on court for second degree murder, Midoriya pulls a Disney move of distracting the killer by throwing a nonsensical object at their back.

His whole career and future flashes before his eyes as he watches the way the empty tissue box from earlier pathetically rebounds off his figure.

The way that Shigaraki whirls around, murder on his mind, leaves Midoriya thinking that he should’ve just let natural selection take its course. If Dabi gets terminated, then so be it. After all, if God says it’s his time, who’s Midoriya to interfere?]

“Stop it before we pull the curtain again,” Shigaraki snarls.

“As if I want to have liability for witnessing a crime in the first place,” Midoriya replies flatly.

“Take it as a demo of what your career entails,” Dabi suggests amiably.

“If this was to prepare me for my future, I should be stopping the both of you,” Midoriya reasons. “Shigaraki-” and just using the name casually feels strange , foreign, “think about what Aizawa-sensei would do if was watching you strangle Dabi!”

“Probably let him.” Dabi answers helpfully.

“Doesn’t mean you should do it,” he retaliates meekly, but allows himself to breathe when Shigaraki settles back onto his thin covers, expression unreadable. “Oh crap,” he murmurs, “uh, his needle came out,” he points at the IV needle that jerked out of its spot in Shigaraki’s elbow. 

And he sees Shigaraki reach it, clearly ready to just jab it back in.

“You can’t just do that!” Midoriya freaks.

“Why not?” Shigaraki challenges.

“No,” is the best response he can come up with, because yeah why not ? Because now that he thinks about it, it’s either call out Aizawa-sensei, or ask Dabi to do it. Both guarantee someone’s death. He licks his lips. Something metallic wets his dry tongue. Ew. He misses the taste of the cherry lipbalm that Mina introduced him to. “I lied, go for it.” 

Shigaraki looks at him for a prolonged second.

Midoriya gives a reassuring thumbs-up.

Shigaraki, for some reason, does not appear remotely pleased by this response.

“You know where’s an easy artery to find?” Dabi snaps his fingers. He taps the jugular of his neck.

Midoriya, realizing that Shigaraki looks like he’s going to cure his boredom through using Dabi’s throat as target practice for his improvised syringe dart, says very loudly: “so um. Favourite ice cream flavours?”

Both of them frown at him. Dabi just crosses his arms judgmentally, and Midoriya glances to Shigaraki before quickly looking away, seeing the man attempt to ease the needle into back into his body.

“Hey. I’m just wondering,” Midoriya beams brightly, and somehow, he feels like Dabi’s judgmental atmosphere just intensifies at that.

“I’m bleeding.” Shigaraki announces.

Midoriya stares at the needle stuck in the crook of his elbow. “How?”  

“It’ll be fine, just bandaid it,” Dabi shrugs, finally returning to his own bed. The space between him and Shigaraki (and him and Midoriya) is still rather close, but at least they’re not within armspan length: in other words, not within strangulation distance.

“That’s not fine, what?” Midoriya gapes.

“I mean. It’s a sharp object going into your body, why wouldn’t it bleed?” Dabi frowns.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Midoriya ashens. “Doesn’t that mean you hit a vein?”

“Don’t you want to hit a vein? Dabi frowns.

“There’s blood everywhere,” Shigaraki narrates.

“Just bandage it!” Dabi groans.

“What if he doesn’t stop bleeding?” Midoriya squeaks.

“Blood clots!” Dabi sighs. “And it’s not like all of us haven’t had way worse injuries than a needle prick,” he deadpans, gesturing to his entire body, then to Midoriya’s leg, then to Shigaraki’s hand that looks like an inverted Muppet.

“I-” Midoriya sighs. “Yeah, I mean, yeah. You’re right.” He just panics easily. “It’ll probably be fine?” He stammers. Shigaraki just reuses the bandage that was previously stuck over the needle, unbothered by his own failing medical practice.

Midoriya exhales, and pretends like he does not see. “My favourite flavour is vanilla,” he answers.

“I’m not doing this. We’re not friends, or whatever bullshit,” Shigaraki seethes, kicking off his thin blanket to reveal his muddy pants.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t answer.” Dabi shrugs, and Midoriya has a feeling that Dabi’s mostly playing along simply to refute Shigaraki’s disapproval. 

“I don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“Ice cream flavour. I don’t know.” Shigaraki reiterates, stunning Midoriya that he bothered to even reply. “Hadn’t had ice cream since I was a kid.” 

Midoriya blinks, his mouth thinning. He’s really missing out, damn. “What kind did you eat as a kid, then?”

Shigaraki turns to him, his face scrunched. “Don’t remember. Not ice cream.”

This is going poorly. “What about your favourite food?” Midoriya inquires, undeterred.

“Rice?” Shigaraki announces after a couple seconds. 

They look at him. “It’s almost like. That’s the most common and popular carbohydrate used in every Japanese dish.” Dabi finally says.

“And that’s why I said it,” Shigaraki grunts, irritated.

And maybe Dabi is invested in Shigaraki more than Midoriya thought, or maybe he’s still reeling from guilt, because he quickly answers Midoriya, disrupting the dreading silence that was expected to follow Shigaraki’s admission. “Didn’t have ice cream much, either. Severely lactose intolerant.”

“Wait, you can’t have dairy?” Shigaraki snorts. Midoriya hasn’t seen Shigaraki much without his mask, and he can’t tell if Shigaraki’s usually this expressive, juxtaposing Dabi, or this is just him on drugs. “Wow. Always knew you were a liability.”

“I wasn’t the one who threw up eating microwaveable Pizza Rolls, thinking they were too spicy.” Dabi retorts. And even Midoriya, who’s too traumatized by the Bakugou Household’s penchant for spicy foods to even eat their white rice out of placebo effect, stares at Shigaraki in disbelief. Now that’s just insulting.

“At least I’m able to eat foods- your digestive tract is a literal impossible contradiction to the laws of science.” Shigaraki retaliates. “Really, not sure if you noticed, but Compress was starting to pile on extra servings for you and finding more high-caloric foods.” And Dabi is quiet with that unexpected confession. 

“All foods we have are high caloric. Fast food and instant shit is the cheapest and most filling thing we can get.” Dabi finally says, shuffling his socked feet on his mattress. But he's not looking at Shigaraki when he said that. 

And Shigaraki really isn’t as bad of a guy as he thinks himself to be. Midoriya wonders how someone can unashamedly say they did a good deed without believing they’re capable of intimately caring for people. 

Probably because Shigaraki’s convinced himself into thinking he’s doing it for objective betterment, not because he cares about Dabi’s health. And he bets Dabi follows Shigaraki’s blind way of thinking too. Really. Midoriya nearly wilts. Dabi, give Shigaraki some more credit. Give yourself more credit.

“You shouldn’t waste extra portions on me. Can’t fix this,” Dabi replies with a cheap grin, as if to dismantle any sentiments in Shigaraki’s confession.  

“Skinny legend, for sure,” Midoriya murmurs, using the already atmospheric surrealness to excuse how an Instagram comment section just possessed his vocabulary.

“But. Nice of y’all to try, though,” Dabi says offhandedly, a definite comment he wouldn’t have made mere hours ago. 

It’s like watching a Korean drama his mom loves. All characters having an inability to express themselves in a healthy manner, and that when mixed with their terrifyingly bad self-insight and intuition, they find themselves in overly excessive issues that could be resolved through communication.

Though, those characters have no excuses for their unexplainable dumb perspectives, given that they’re often described as neurotypical and extremely perfect, perceptive, and smart- just somehow conveniently dense in certain moments.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki has a handful and ⅗ of issues, and Dabi is one of them. And Dabi himself looks like if an urban sewer rat crawled out of the gutter and tried to adapt to modern society.

Midoriya doesn’t know if watching these two interact spikes his anxiety, or soothes it in a weird sense of reassurance that maybe they’re going to be okay.

He has an intense whiplash to the memory of Shigaraki attempting to asphyxiate Dabi just moments ago.  So maybe not okay, then.

“Um. So. Dogs or cats?” Midoriya clears his throat, hands full and head empty. 

“Oh. We had a dog once.” Shigaraki says offhandedly, and Midoriya falls silent, stunned at the continuous cooperation Shigaraki’s been exhibiting these past couple minutes. However, he’s also rather surprised that he’d mention anything relative to his past, especially considering how screwed over it was. 

Then again , he’s technically under the influence. Though, Midoriya’s pretty sure he’s mostly self-aware by this point, even if the state of his inhibition center remains questionable. 

“Cool, what breed?” Midoriya inquires curiously, happy that at least Shigaraki’s indulging in his questions for now while Aizawa-sensei and Todoroki duke it outside.

“Don’t know. Died when I was a baby.” He shrugs uncaringly.

“Oh.” Midoriya’s smile only remains on his face due to muscle memory. “Um. And you, Dabi?”

Dabi raises an eyebrow not unkindly. “Cat.” And Midoriya smiles at that, but his brow only arches higher. “Is there something wrong with my answer?” He questions, sounding more cautious than accusatory. 

“No, no!” Midoriya squeaks hurriedly. “It’s just that-” I didn’t expect you to answer, “I really like cats too! Did you have a cat?”

“No.”

“Would you want one?” 

And now Dabi looks utterly out of element, glowering at Midoriya out of suspicion and confusion. “Why?”

“Because I’m curious?”

“Dabi, not everything’s an attack,” Shigaraki snorts, and Midoriya stares at him. Is he stunned or disgusted, he doesn’t know. How dare he. The irony. The gall. The nerve. The audacity. 

And before Dabi can pounce at Shigaraki (again, and Midoriya would let that man because the arrogance) , Midoriya rushes to patch things over with an exceptionally loud tone to drown out Dabi’s murderous thoughts. “It’s just that I thought that you know! Cats! Cats are very good! Um. You ever seen Cats , the live-action broadway film?” He clears his throat.

This time, Shigaraki rears on him. “ Cats ? Is it about cats?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s live action?”

“Uh. Humanoid cats,” Midoriya elaborates.

Shigaraki stares.

“Yeah.” Midoriya laughs emptily, thinking to when he watched the illegally pirated film with Chinese and Japanese subtitles over a German dub on Uraraka’s virus-infected computer that resulted in Aoyama crying and Sero creating a Change.org petition through a foreign vpn to legally ban it from Japan. 

“Anyways!” He says hollowly, too lost in his own pain.  “It’d be really nice to have a cat, right?”

“Yeah.” Dabi narrows his eyes. “Right.” Though, he does seem to be in frank agreement (and who wouldn’t be when it comes to owning a cat?), which is good enough. 

The very uncomfortable and blanketing silence returns, easing in with the delicacy of Kacchan’s anger and burnt popcorn.

Knowing neither of the men would be willing to initiate the questioning because that’d indicate them as invested or willing to associate with each other or him, Midoriya happily takes on the role. 

Even though everything feels like some weird support group conducting an ice breaker with traumatized participants who are slowly regretting that they didn’t just take an Advil and deleted this meeting off their calendar app. 

“So,” and I definitely can’t ask favourite hero, “do you prefer salty or sweet foods? Or savory? I like savory.”

“Sweet.” Shigaraki answers passionately. “But too much sweet things taste gross after a while, so you have to pair it with something bitter like tea, which tastes the best when brewed by Kurogiri even if it’s just tea packets we stole from a nearby Seven-Eleven. But sweet things are always the best, especially in cakes even if I haven’t had one in forever and we can’t afford them and they’re way too much of a hassle to steal, but a year ago it was Toga’s birthday and we all chipped in to make a cake and it tasted really good and was probably the only good thing I can remember eating other than the strawberry cake that I think I ate when I was a kid but I can’t really figure out if I imagined the taste or even recalled it correctly. Might’ve not been strawberry, could’ve been raspberry.” He informs with a straight face.

Midoriya has to consciously tell himself to stop himself from staring. “Okay, but I agree, you can’t just eat all sweet things.” He stutters out, stumbling over his words out of thawing shock. “Like, the tea thing? I always have to drink water after eating candy, I can’t really drink tea, it’s too bitter for me unless it's fruity,” he confesses, slightly embarrassed over his last statement because Mitsuki-san used to tease him for it. “But making a cake? That’s really-” sweet , “cool of you! She must’ve been really happy.”

“It looked and tasted like shit.” Dabi supplies helpfully. The fact that Dabi sounds like he’s just saying things the way he sees it, not because he’s trying to sound insulting, is overwhelming Midoriya’s poor heart by how much it’s throwing him for a loop. 

“You were the one who made it with Compress.” Shigaraki scowls.

“Did you think either of us could bake?” Dabi remarks uncaringly. Then he turns to Midoriya, actively acknowledging him for the first time throughout the entire conversation. “Spinner got food poisoning from the frosting.”

“Okay, but the cake itself was good.” Shigaraki rebukes.

“It was so sweet, you can tell we disguised the lack of flavor with just sugar, and that’s why it tasted like pre-developed cavities.”

“What does that even mean- ”

Sensing a petty fight again through his previously mentioned eighth, man-made instinct, Midoriya clears his throat. “And you, Dabi? What type of foods do you like?”

“Spicy, maybe.” He answers with shocking speed and confidence. “I don’t know, because I haven’t had spicy food ever really, but sounds interesting.”

Because it sounds interesting?  

Midoriya doesn’t know why the two of them feel the need to answer in the strangest, most humanely complex and cryptic way possible.

“...Do you know what spicy things taste like?” Midoriya questions, confused.

“Of course, I’m not dumb to use it as my answer if I didn’t know,” Dabi states flatly, and Midoriya’s pity for Shigaraki grows. Because he doesn’t know which organ of his is going to take the fall, but something’s going to fail soon if Dabi continues being the way he is.

“Why is spicy food your favourite if you sound like you don’t remember what spiciness feels like?” Shigaraki inquires, clearly on the same page as Midoriya that something ain’t clicking. 

“I just know.” Dabi replies flippantly, with too much confidence for such an indescribably incomprehensible claim. “Like how I know I like salty things, too. I don’t really like sweet things. Doesn’t taste good,” and there’s an obvious ‘ and’ , evident through the fact that his mouth is already forming the next words to follow-up his statement, but then his jaw snaps shut.

Knowing that pressuring him would just cause irritation, Midoriya just moves on. “Okay, what about subjects? Like, what type of school subjects did you like-” he chokes on his next words. And Midoriya wishes Kacchan or even Iida was here to chop off his broken leg like he’s a cricket and start beating him with it, because the moment the question left his mouth, he realizes how stupid it sounded. Because asking these two? He doesn’t even know if either men went to school. 

Touya might’ve.

And Midoriya tells himself not to continue thinking about Touya because Touya isn’t even here while Dabi is- 

But he has little restraint against his mental Reddit rabbit hole.

Dabi. Touya.

Touya, being someone Todoroki knew. 

A family friend, perhaps? If Todoroki knew him when he was younger, he was probably a friend. Midoriya had the privilege of Todoroki vaguely skimming over his family history with a deadpanned expression, introducing his main relatives through the worst, dysfunctional memories he’s had with them. And so, from this knowledge, Midoriya knows Todoroki only has one older brother. Someone called Natsuo, presented through Todoroki’s old memory of when he was six and Natsuo threw up four partially digested chili dogs over his hair. 

He was also introduced to Midoriya through another story that could be summarized as ‘yeah my older brother wasn’t really my older brother when I was younger because his real siblings at the time is this family of raccoons in my backyard’. 

There was no ‘Touya’. Touya was probably a family friend, then. Or, more likely, just someone unimportant in Todoroki’s life, but someone he and his father were acquainted with.

“Stop mumbling.”

Midoriya flinches, and meets Dabi’s unamused gaze. “Huh?”

Dabi makes a face. “Don’t be like that. You were the one who asked that question.”

Midoriya takes a second to scroll through his recollections. “Oh, oh! Haha, sorry, was lost in my thoughts,” he smiles sheepishly, and Shigaraki just shrugs, while Dabi rolls his eyes. “Right. Favourite subject?” He repeats, already accepting the idiocy of his question.

“Nap time, that was the last time in my life I ever properly slept,” Shigaraki exposes with unnerving seriousness. “Also, considering how I was sort of pulled out of school in my kindergarten years-”

“Yeah, killing your family does that.” 

“It’s almost like you didn’t even apologize for doing exactly this earlier,” Midoriya scorns flatly. And he wants to inwardly scream because it’s not even Dabi’s lack of filter that’s making him out as extremely dickish, it’s just his inability to not make a jab whenever possible, especially at Shigaraki.

However, Shigaraki appears unphased by Dabi’s snark, either because he’s too dead inside to care, or because he’s Dabi and they’ve all come to the unspoken conclusion that he’s already a lost cause.

And then Midoriya suddenly remembers that the reason why Shigaraki gets so easily riled up by Dabi is because he is Dabi, and that’s why he could barely process the blur of an object snapped through the air at an incredible speed (impressive, considering how Shigaraki isn’t fully in the right mind to control his mouth, much less his arm). It’s only seconds later that Midoriya is able to digest with faint concern and shock, that Shigaraki just chucked his IV bag, that’s still poorly needled into his left elbow, at Dabi’s face.

Midoriya promptly decides that Dabi deserves it, and pretends like that didn’t happen. “And you, Dabi?” He asks calmly, King of ignoring problematically violent characters.

“Dunno.” He replies, unbothered.

“Were you just not good at any of the subjects?” Shigaraki deadpans, watching with a characteristic absence of worry at Dabi who’s now toying with his IV bag.

“Do you think anything would happen if I just squeezed this? Like a ketchup packet?” Dabi suddenly questions, playing with the translucent bag of fluids. “What if I drank it? He mutters, for once initiating the conversation, flubbing the packet in his hand. “I’m thirsty.”

“I mean. It’d taste like saline,” Midoriya answers. He then remembers how Dabi claimed he liked salt. “Wait. No .”

“Yes. It’s for hydration, isn’t it?” Dabi says, almost challengingly, and Midoriya, not for the first time, compares him to a disgruntled and unreasonably cranky cat. Not the dependent kittens- the old Warrior cats who understood that self-preservation and society surpassed the need for humans. 

“Do not drink it.” Midoriya coaxes nervously, knowing full well that Dabi’s purposefully unpredictable. If the world was simply a lab experiment of a higher realm, and Dabi is the constant and expected agent of chaos, then Midoriya must be the dependent variable: constantly tested. 

“So squeezing, instead,” Dabi concludes amiably.

“No.”

“Yes.” Shigaraki says.

Midoriya shoots Shigaraki a look of scorn (and Midoriya doesn’t know why he’s here, broken leg and all, bickering boldly with villains who apparently share the same feral recklessness as the rest of his classmates). “No. No we are not squeezing the packet, what the heck?”

“I mean. Okay. But consider. If I squeeze it while it’s still attached to Shigaraki, that means Shigaraki gets less dehydrated quicker. Hydrated. He gets de-dehydrated.” Dabi theorizes.

And Midoriya squints, unsure what to make of Dabi’s indifference to the weirdness of their interactions, the lightness of their conversation. He would even testily label Dabi’s insouciance towards the tension between them as friendliness.

Except he’s Dabi, and Midoriya doesn’t trust him, or his ‘friendliness’ (Midoriya pretends like Dabi and Shigaraki literally didn’t try to actively murk each other just mere seconds ago). 

Therefore, to make sense of this entire situation, Midoriya suspects Shigaraki’s not the only one who’s on something. 

“I bet I could fit this entire thing into my mouth.” Dabi jiggles the packet. 

Definitely not the only one on something. 

“Do not put that in your mouth! Instead hold it up, like, elevate it above Shigaraki’s height so that the fluids actually drips; gravity can’t work with you playing with it.” Midoriya directs. 

At this, Dabi hesitates with his fumbling, seeming to actually take that into consideration.

Then, Dabi decides to Not do That, and instead, the opposite, by throwing the bag directly on the floor. 

The three of them look at the bag with a pregnant pause in conversation. 

“Great. Dabi. You just killed me.” Shigaraki monotonously speaks first, gesturing at the sad packet on the tiled floor. “I just diehydrated.”

And Midoriya isn’t sure whether or not Shigaraki is even emotionally invested in life anymore, considering how he’s now playing up the theatrics of an IV bag. 

“Um. I’m going,” Dabi announces next, standing up and heading towards the door.

“Wait, that’s fucking unfair if we can’t physically leave why should you this is inequality-” Shigaraki snaps, and Dabi just claps eyes with him.

He flips him off.

And yanks open the door only to pause as a very loud: “no, Aizawa-sensei! THAT’S MY BROTHER -” rattles from outside.

Another very uncomfortably extended second of stunned silence befall them, giving them time to try and fail to process what the actual fuck is going on.

Dabi closes the door.

Midoriya slowly lifts his gaze from the listless bag and towards Dabi at the sound of Todoroki’s distressed shout.

And something’s not clicking. Because what?  

“Hey. Dabi.” Midoriya demands almost aggressively. “You ever threw up on Todoroki’s head when you were eight-years-old because you ate four corndogs-”

Dabi turns to him, eyes wide. “You know this story?”

And that just confirms it holy shit “you’re Natsuo?” Midoriya gasps out the conclusion of his rambling thoughts. 

Dabi’s stunned expression speaks for itself. 

Holy shit.

“I. Wai-” Dabi finally stammers out but Midoriya doesn’t need to hear a verbalized confirmation to know . 

“Are we going to address that?” Shigaraki boldly asks as Todoroki continues screaming.

“No.” Dabi says.

“Um. How do we not address that?” Midoriya claps his hands together, sucking air between locked teeth.

“I vote Dabi doesn’t get an opinion, because he’s directly correlated to the subject and therefore has a bias.” Shigaraki claims. 

Dabi wildly waves a hand. “This is not based on a vote. There is no voting. Secondly, if there was , you-” his motioning hand stills, pointing at Shigaraki with his middle finger, “wouldn’t qualify too because you have a bias against me,” he remarks cuttingly.

Midoriya on the other hand, is busy trying to make sense out of things that just don’t make sense. So he’s Natsuo. And Todoroki only has one older brother, and he called Touya his brother as well.

Yet it doesn’t make sense because Dabi’s dead name is Touya, but Todorki’s only ever mentioned a Natsuo . The name Touya never came up before in all of Todoroki’s wild stories that he tells Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida with a frightening absence of fear as they all grow steadily concerned over whether or not they should contact CPS. 

“Did you like. Adopt a new name while going through a phase?” Midoriya murmurs under his breath. 

“-ou can’t just pocket veto me; listen to what I have to say,” Shigaraki’s sharp remark draws Midoriya back into the present.

They’re fighting. As expected. Midoriya’s inexplicably tired. Once again, he feels intense admiration for Aizawa-sensei, who handles people like them daily, bugt multiplied by ten. 

“I veto that, and I have vetoing rights because I’m the only emotionally capable person in the room at the moment,” Midoriya warbles over them. “Also, Aizawa-sensei put me in charge-”

“You’re a minor, you can’t vote. Shut up,” Dabi remarks cuttingly. 

“Let him speak,” Shigaraki leers. “The new generation is going to be the one leading the world one day, after all.”

“We are from the same generation-”

“You guys aren’t that much older than me,” Midoriya states, wondering if his reflexive smile could somehow cancel out the childish whine in his tone

“You can't even drink, people who've never drank and said their opinions with zero inhibition don’t deserve to be heard,” Dabi proclaims tonelessly.

“Dabi, you could have a piña colada and it’d Clorox your entire gut bacteria,” Shigaraki scoffs.

“So um. About addressing what Todoroki said very loudly...do we talk about it or….” Midoriya inquires awkwardly.

“I say yes.” Shigaraki stomps on Dabi’s retaliation.

“Like I said, not a voting matter.” Dabi hisses.

“Like I said,” Shigaraki responds indifferently, though, there’s definitely something petty emphasizing his forced nonchalance. “You don’t get an opinion on it. I say we talk about it. So, Touya, a name, uh , sour to you, and considering how you have a personal vendetta against Endeavor-” 

“Is it Touya or Natsuo?” Midoriya asks, exasperated.

Shigaraki halts. “Who’s Natsuo and why are you bringing him up-”

And it’s almost a full circle, except for the names that don’t match.

The “ that’s my brother ” quote; the personal vendetta against Endeavor; who’s the father of the one who said brother; it really is a full circle and holy crap this is the climax of the K-Drama and it’s-

But then who’s Touya in all this? Or maybe Todoroki has two brothers? But he doesn’t . Probably. Maybe?

Or it’s just another name change situation.

Midoriya’s eyes bulge, strained from fatigue and the fact that this one night took ten years off of his life. 

“You know, you two seem a lot less...charged about learning that I’m Shouto’s brother.” Dabi muses out loud.

Shigaraki clicks his tongue, appearing insulted. “As if I could be surprised by this world anymore,” he yawns. “If anything, I’m surprised you’re not freaking out.”

“I already freaked out earlier. I’ll do this tomorrow.” Dabi reassures. 

“I think my brain crashed the moment you said that,” Midoriya smiles. “Just give me a moment. When I sleep and wake up with an actual functioning brain, I’ll probably lose it.” He guarantees comfortingly.

Lies. He’s already losing it. Because what . First off, Midoriya can’t wrap his head around how . How did Dabi come from a hero household? He knows it’s dysfunctional and Endeavor’s not the best father according to Todoroki, and he can see how Dabi (Touya? Natsuo???) is resentful of Endeavor and other heroes, but to the point where he’s a killer ? To where he overrides a human’s innate moral conscience? To the point where he can hurt others to the extent of death?

He doesn’t-

How?

And sure, he can see it happening to others . But to someone who came from the same family as Todoroki? Because Todoroki’s so-

Not . Like that. He’s definitely far from the average healthy person, but he’s mentally balanced like one. He’s preserved a normal person’s moral compass, and it’s stable ; the red arrow isn’t wildly swiveling around in circles like Dabi’s appears to be. 

While of course Todoroki has obvious social development issues, attachment problems, and probably a heavy load of internalized problems that Midoriya doesn’t have insight on, but he’s not lashing out on innocent people.

He’s not someone who’d treat lives as disposable.

He gnaws on his bottom lip. 

The metallic taste is back.

How did Dabi end up so extreme? Because while people respond to environments differently, Midoriya, who's never really had to think about this, of anomalies, of just possibilities, struggles to accept what’s being placed in his hands.

Even if he knows he won’t be able to understand the ‘how’ aspect of Dabi’s current character at the moment, he doesn’t think he’d be able to process other factors of his life, either. 

Such as why didn’t Touya’s (or Natsuo’s) disappearance make news? How did they hide from the media that they lost a whole child, a whole child? Midoriya’s sure that he would’ve at least heard about it- even when he was young he was obsessed with news on the heroes. Endeavor was always a hot topic, due to his high-ranking and almost reserved yet outspoken character. So how did the media not catch wind on the disappearance of a family member? Yes, Endeavor hid his abusive nature terrifyingly well from the cameras, shrouded his family in mystery, but they weren’t unknown. They were barely spoken about past Shouto, and no one bothered to look deeper past the prodigal son (and subconsciously, Midoriya files away the ridiculousness of the media for not covering Touya because he has such a strong quirk - he’s seen it with his own eyes). Which is why Midoriya only learned the names of Todoroki Shouto’s siblings directly from the boy himself. 

But even if Touya/Natsuo was in the shadow of his father and younger brother since he was a child, given those relations, if he disappeared, that would be a selling headline on its own. And logically, he had to have disappeared if he became Dabi, someone who’s unrecognizable to even his own family. And surely Endeavor couldn’t hide the disappearance of one of his children? Wouldn’t it have to be recorded legally that he went missing? And if he did somehow bypass that and it leaking, why didn’t Endeavor go after him? 

Sure, he sounds like an awful parent, but to not go after a missing child? While Midoriya refuses to involve himself in the Todoroki family feud unless asked, he can at least state with minor confidence that Endeavor clearly cares about reputation- there’s no way he wouldn’t let go of losing his son. 

“Great. You broke him.” He hears Shigaraki’s voice in the distant waters in the background. 

Midoriya’s quite conscious that Endeavor’s A+ parenting is as real as Aizawa-sensei’s will to live, but it makes less sense when he looks at Dabi’s quirk, and Shouto’s. Why didn’t Endeavor at the very least objectively value him? 

Dabi’s flames, hotter and brighter than a star collapsing on itself, was something terrifyingly awful yet hauntingly beautiful that he witnessed.

There’s no way Endeavor would’ve let go of Touya. Not with that quirk. Todoroki is an anomaly himself, a monster, but Dabi-

Blue flames appear when the fire hits almost double the temperature; appear when the heat hits three times the temperature of a normal red flame.

So why did Endeavor let him go? 

Midoriya’s mind is now racing, conjuring theories and conspiracies because the simplest answer is that Touya either never harnessed or showcased the possibilities of his quirk, or, he’s an extremely late bloomer, thus he didn’t capture Endeavor’s attention. But Fuyumi wasn’t in the attention of Endeavor due to her quirk, and he’s only met her once, but she seems normal .

Or at least outwardly so. 

Dabi isn't even granted with that. 

“-he’s doing it again, do you see it you’re seeing this right-” and Midoriya, tying up the ends of his thoughts into a packaged present for his future self to unravel the bow, rejoins reality only to see Shigaraki and Dabi observing him with varying degrees of amusement. “Oh. He stopped.” Shigaraki cackles.

It takes Midoriya a second. “Wait, me?” 

“Yeah, your mumbling thing. For the past three minutes you were having an entire tea party with yourself,” Shigaraki comments dryly, not unkindly.

His body temperature rising along with his embarrassment, Midoriya shies his face away from their general direction. “Y-eah I tend to do that.” He mutters, waiting for his fluster to die down. “I was. Thinking.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I know.” Dabi says, a wry grin taunt around the noose-like skin, dry and purple around his lips. “Felt flattered, but if I ever get another notion you’re talking about me, I won’t hesitate to pour instant cement down your airway.”

“Didn’t Toga do that with one of her mechanical dolls?”

“Dolls have mouths?” Midoriya wonders, fascinated because that’s either ingenius or the creation of satanic worship. Then again, puppets like Kermit exist, which are essentially the spawn point between peoples’ creativity and god’s one mistake.

“They shouldn’t,” Dabi whispers, and they both stare at him due to the unusual timidity in his tone; only to be deterred by the hollowness in his gaze, the sunkenness of his sockets pointing towards a traumatic memory conveying its realness through sleep paralysis demons and nightmares.

Hesitantly, Midoriya asks: “are you okay?”

“No.” Dabi fails to elaborate, and Midoriya doesn’t know what to do with his sudden honesty.

“Must be Toga,” Shigaraki shrugs. “Also, we have not decided whether or not we discuss this ‘Touya’. So. Touya.”

“You call me that again and I will jump off my bed and curbstomp your IV bag,” Dabi warns, and simultaneously, their eyes mechanically drag back to the said packet, limp and pathetic on the floor.

Shigaraki doesn’t appear remotely offended, and instead, almost amused, something cruel gleaning in his gaze at Dabi’s obvious sensitivity. “I can’t wait to see what you and your little brother’s relationship must be. Seems as though Daddy dumped you for something better, hm?”

And Dabi doesn’t even appear mildly irritated, when he answers with a shrugged “yeah”.

A strange yet expected development. Almost as if Dabi had years to accept it.

Midoriya figures Dabi is simply the acceptor, the product built out of resignation and everything he can desperately grab with no hesitation, because life taught him not to be picky. “Hey, Dabi?”

“No.”

“You ever read anything from Mary Shelley?”

“Who?”

“She wrote Frankenstein.”  

“What’s that?” Dabi frowns.

“American classic.” And well, Dabi doesn’t know Avatar . Midoriya shouldn't expect a native Japanese person to know much of western culture in the first place.  

“Literally any English book that’s old enough is a classic,” Dabi snorts. 

Midoriya believes that if Dabi really does somehow take out Endeavor (and he has a creeping suspicion that Dabi might vanish right after that: his body, existence, life, all gone, out of self-deprecation and carelessness for what happens after Endeavor’s doom), then really, he might as well be replicate of Frankenstein’s monster. Of the plot itself.

“Wasn’t she that lady who kept her husband’s heart wrapped in one of his poems in his desk?” Shigaraki slumps farther down his bed.

“You can’t just do that,” Dabi snorts, but Midoriya quickly speaks up.

“No, I’m actually pretty sure you could. It was allegedly, but from what I know, I think the heart was calcified before cremation.”

“That’s. That’s so unsanitary.”

“More than two-thirds of your body is a growth, Dabi.” Shigaraki retorts, unimpressed.

“And your skin looks like toilet tissue.” Dabi retaliates impassively. “One-ply.”

“I’m not the one who seems to have a hero for a father.” Shigaraki says. Then he pauses, as if considering something. “No wonder you were so sensitive about our argument earlier,” he smiles broadly.

Midoriya doesn’t know what to make of that grin.

Dabi doesn’t look as if he does, either.

“How did you even end up like this?” Shigaraki continues aggressively, sounding more curious than anything.

“Fuck off.” And Dabi’s eyes are brutally bright, face blank and passive, but he doesn’t look as he did before, when he appeared almost dreamy and drowning too deep in personal thoughts and whatever loud noise must be going off like static in his brain. Now, he looks anchored to this reality. As if purposefully making sure they all know he’s listening too, giving the impression he doesn’t care about what Todoroki’s having a seven-minute breakdown over.

“Sucks to be you, Dabi.” And there’s something brittle in Shigaraki’s tone.

“At least I had a family.”

“Yeah. And they don’t even want you.”

“You chose to kill yours.”

“Favorite season!” Midoriya says, his voice teetering onto hysterics before Dabi can fulfill his previous threat of shooting Shigaraki up with ounces of IV fluid all at once. “My favorite season is spring because I love it when everything blooms!” He continues, screeching over the two’s fighting.

“I hate spring.” Shigaraki replies, equally loud.

“Right. Can’t believe you gave me shit for my lactose intolerance when you’re allergic to pollen.” Dabi grumbles. “Can’t be me.”

“Listen, bubble guts,” Shigaraki begins. 

“Next question! Got any siblings?” And all of Midoriya’s five main senses shut down. His entire brain is slow today, glitchy and laggy from the overload of recent information, and it’s running on gas exhaust as he has already drained all his stored sleep from more than twelve hours ago. He thinks with placid understanding that his organs are pulverizing each other into mush because his brain has completely lost all control of his body, including his mouth and filter.

Goddammit.

Shigaraki and Dabi even look at him with varying degrees of pity, diluted by shock and judgement of ‘are-you-fucking-dumb’.

“Well. I had a sister.”    

Midoriya smiles meekly. “Thanks for sharing, Shigaraki.”

Midoriya decides to take his graces whenever, because at least Shigaraki is clearly finding entertainment in Midoriya’s squirming. 

Dabi just jerks a thumb to the door, the first willingness of acknowledgement towards the dramatic blow-up happening outside. He cracks it open.

“ MY BROTHER, AIZAWA-SENSEI, MY BROTHER- ”

Dabi uneventfully clicks the door back shut. 

“I’m impressed even now he still uses honorifics.” Shigaraki says with lenient admiration.

“I’m not.” 

“He’s your brother, be more proud.” Shigaraki needles.

“He isn’t. I disowned myself out of the family,” Dabi says, fixating a deadpanned gaze with equally dead eyes onto him. 

“Why?” Midoriya winces, because he’s doing it again, where he just says things of obvious controversy because he’s too jumpy, too curious to be considerate out of forethought.

Dabi’s eyes flit over his figure multiple times, as if observing or scanning for something. Then, he scoffs, looking sharply to the side, his jaw working. “Knew it. A freak.” Midoriya thinks he should feel bad that Dabi has viewed him negatively from the start, but then again, he’s Dabi. Not like his opinion of people would be the most reasonable, considering his penanchy to kill people on the basis that they’re ‘annoying’. “You’re gutsier than I thought you would be.”

“No. I think Kacchan just beat the guts out of me since we were kids,” Midoriya muses gravely.

Shigaraki’s now wearing an odd, crooked grin that unnerves Midoriya. Midoriya’s now attempting to crane his neck up from his position to meet his burrowing gaze. The fact that he’s basically unable to walk (not that he wouldn’t jump out the window with one leg, might as well, right), while stuck in this room with his senses ringing like a malfunctioning smoke alarm is starting to get to him, along with the weird feeling of being trapped in another realm separated from their own because it’s four in the morning and the lights are still on-

This is worse than his sleepover with Kacchan where there was an actual smoke alarm going off. 

“Don’t say things so seriously,” Shigaraki hums, tapping his nose. “Ruins the mood.”

“Yeah, Shouto can take a few pointers.” Dabi grumbles, flopping on his back, ignorant or oblivious towards the way they all immediately looked at him. Shigaraki looks stupefied, and Midoriya is too. He saw Dabi basically crumble over the identity as Touya, when he realized people knew about it.

Yet he appears almost collected over Todoroki Shouto discovering it.

Shigaraki’s quiet, and Midoriya’s vibrating, absolutely tilted. Midoriya can only imagine he probably looks like a chihuahua.

Kacchan never lets it go. Midoriya, since he was young, had developed a tendency to start quivering on the spot, with his eyes trembling in their sockets as his body hunches in on itself. Kacchan recently started showing him random screenshots of angry chihuahuas he archived over the years, claiming impassively how they all looked like him. 

They don’t even share numbers. He doesn’t have enough esteem that Kacchan wouldn’t reject a number swap, and he knows Kacchan would never ask him out of pride.

So really. The actual nerve he has to airdrop Midoriya, during the middle of class, without even looking at him, random uncropped screenshots or stock photos of a snarling chihuahua.

It’s probably the closest compliment he’ll ever get from Kacchan, though. Because hey, at least he’s thinking of him.

“What? You’re all staring.” Dabi spits.

“You just used ‘Shouto’.” And even Midoriya doesn't do that; while he doesn’t want to sound arrogant, he figures he’s probably Todoroki’s closest friend. If Dabi, an assumedly estranged sibling who’s on the path of villainy with pyromaniac tendencies and a tenderness for cats and carbs can still somehow find either the instinct or right to use Todoroki’s first name, then that definitely has to mean something.

“...No I didn’t.” And Dabi said that completely straight-faced, unfaltering.

Midoriya can’t believe this. The nerve.

“Yeah. You definitely did.” Midoriya slides his eyes over in judgement. 

“Denial is a disease.” Shigaraki murmurs solemnly, eyes flickering.

“You don’t have a right to say that,” Midoriya murmurs, and before he can get promptly murdered on the spot with an IV syringe, Dabi picks up the conversation. 

“I literally recruit all of the League members, and the ones that still exist get nothing out of me. I think I know how to be tight-lipped.”

Shigarkai’s now cackling. “Is that why all of our recruits are ashes? Huh? Because you accidentally told them something you weren’t supposed to so you just arson them? Except for your best friend-”

“I don’t do friends.” And denial isn’t the only disease: eighth-grade-edgelord-syndrome is prevalent and rampant amongst him as well. “I’m essentially his babysitter everytime I talk to him.” Dabi snaps. 

“I mean. That’s kinda what you are now.” Shigaraki grunts. “Aren’t you technically Bakugou’s personal maid? Like. A sentient vacuum? Who’s that bald guy?”

“Who?” Midoriya scrunches his nose. 

Shigaraki sinks back into his pillows, before jetknifing backup. “Mr. Clean, that’s the fucker. Like Mr. Clean except with hair so Dabi doesn’t have the aerodynamics-”

But, Dabi, who’s too invested in his rant, blocks Shigaraki’s words out with a single middle-finger. “Like what the shit. We don’t even trust each other and then this...this ripoff, Digimon-downgraded Pokemon comes up to me and tries to talk to me about his feelings? Did I fucking ask for your persuasive essay on the ethics of McDonald’s meat? Like? What the fuck-” And even now, there’s something akin to a wry grin from the hilarity of this strange man playing across Dabi’s wrinkled leer.

Midoriya’s very lost. “Are you two talking about the same thing?”

“No. I’m talking about Mr. Clean. He’s talking about his backstabbing friend as if he’s also not an equally backstabbing friend in return.” Shigaraki summarizes.

"That's expected, of course I'm going to be backstabbing and untrusting! But he acts like we're not and he jokes around with jokes I don't understand-"

"I think that's more of a you problem." Midoriya admits.

"I don’t even like him,” Dabi spits harshly, his saliva snapping against the edge of the metal bedpan sitting on the mobile table next to him. “And he clearly doesn’t like me and yet he thinks he’s being slick,” and his hand is moving wildly, like those British TikTok videos Kaminari forces him to watch at gunpoint with a Nerf rifle. “Don’t come to me asking for premium membership like this is Club Penguin when the only thing you have to offer is your TedTalk on why cashmere should be banned-”

“Who is this?” Midoriya inquires, wondering if he’s delusional. It’s like he’s talking to regular people, with their own vices and gossip and people they dislike and it’s-

It’s so strangely normal.

Sure, Todoroki’s fuming outside, Dabi’s in bandages, Shigaraki’s partially drugged, Toga’s knocked out, and those last three listed people are murderers-

But it’s like they’re all just regular people gossiping at the school cafe about their most recent coworker.

He doesn’t know if he should feel guilty by how normal and almost entertaining this company is. And yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a stroke in the near future by how many times his blood pressure peaked from the sheer stress they caused, but. 

This could be worse.

“I’m.” And Dabi’s conversing with his usual nonchalant drawl, but his irritation is prominent through the motions of his arms, “I don’t even know why he tells me these things, I think he does it because he thinks he can become my friend or something to try and change my ideals or whatnot, or maybe he’s doing this to fuck with me-”

“He’s definitely doing this to fuck with you,” Shigaraki says, his voice a shaky wheeze from trying to repress his amusement. “I bet he wants to kill you.”

“Isn’t that how most friendship works?” Midoriya frowns. Well, it really depends on the person since Midoriya’s own friendships are the exact opposite (excluding one of them), but given how he’s already convinced himself that Dabi and Kacchan are of the same breed, it’d make sense if they also interacted with others similarly. 

“I feel like,” Dabi stammers. “I feel like one of those people who’s put in charge of those extremely sad drunk people of the friend group. Why am I the designated nanny for all the recruits?”

“Oh, friend group?” Shigaraki says at the same time Midoriya mutters with amusement smothered by moral disapprovement:

“Not a good nanny if you’re just killing off your clients when they get too troublesome.” 

“And then he comes to me about his relationship problems with his rabbit coworker because she ‘bullies’ him about his fashion sense, which is valid by the way because while I don’t like her either, she is right. Like you look like a Ronald McDonald cosplay which works because you’re a major clown for thinking that you’re fooling anyone- ” 

And midway through Dabi’s vent that Midoriya suspects is just his tactic to diverge from the ‘Touya’ topic, Midoriya’s suddenly struck with a question. “Dabi, you have friends?” Midoriya asks frankly. He ignores Shigaraki’s surprised one-note bark of laughter. “I didn’t mean it in a mean way,” he proceeds in what he hopes to be a calm manner, despite sounding slightly flustered. “I was just curious because I wanted to know if you really had friends- Shigaraki stop it-” and Midoriya goes light-headed because he’s trying to command an unstable murderer and he's unintentionally insulting another one at the same time.

Dabi now laughing as well, his cackle wheezy and almost sickly, which while delights Midoriya because Dabi’s laughing even if not out of a good place, he sounds so fragile; like one extremely harsh cough will shatter his ribcage and blow out his lungs like an exhaust pipe. It’s terrifying in its own way. 

“I hate everything.” Dabi breathes, and his laughing is now taunt, sharp in comparison to its previous wet raspiness. Midoriya watches him with increasing apprehension, before he finally decides he needs a break and a Caprisun, so he turns to Shigaraki, who’s quiet, a dopey smile still carved into his face like it’s molded out of clay-dough. 

Dabi rolls away from them, back to them, hiding his expression away. His laughter hiccups into something wheezy, and it almost sounds sad. 

And his brother found out who he was. He acted nonchalant but Midoriya can’t believe that he’d truly be okay with it, when he was so against even strangers knowing about his identity. 

Midoriya feels a burning emotion. Like someone slathered vaseline against his sternum, before dumping petroleum into his clavicle and setting his entire chest on fire.

Aw, crap . Midoriya recognizes pity within seconds of encountering it- it’s one of his ‘strongest’ traits as others tell him. Here we go again, he thinks tiredly, as he feels an unstoppable urge to cry alongside Dabi’s fake-but-sorta-real crying. 

“I think. Being Dabi isn’t working out for you, wanna be called Touya?” Midoriya jumps on. Because while there’s no way Dabi can’t undo what he’s done, especially since he clearly hasn’t expressed the need to, change is better than whatever’s going on now . “Because. I think. Being called Touya would-”

It hasn’t occurred to Midoriya that nothing about Dabi functions in a healthy way. 

“And why are you judging how Dabi’s working out for me?” Dabi asks wryly, and there’s Dabi, he’s back, and colder than ever . “You think Touya worked out for me because Dabi does things you don’t like? That because you don’t agree with who I’m like as Dabi, somehow Touya’s better because at the very least I was inactive? See. Heroes would rather have others stay quiet if it means causing less trouble.” And Dabi’s clinging onto the stability in his tone by the metal of his teeth.

And Midoriya doesn’t know if this is Dabi either. Or maybe this is just what Dabi’s like underneath his image of nonchalance.

“I mean. Does being Dabi make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“You had a breakdown over every minor inconvenience so far.” Shigaraki comments, his voice still lilting, his words more insensitive and blocky from an inebriated control center. Midoriya isn't really sure what Shigaraki has as a scale for ‘inconveniences’, but it appears as though being exposed as a pro-hero’s seemingly-disowned son in front of your distant baby brother while being a highly wanted villain is pretty low on his range. 

Or maybe Shigaraki’s talking about this apparent recruit who’s force-feeding Dabi social situations and office drama, who knows.

“Give yourself more credit,” Dabi snarks, voice muffled as he’s still facing in the opposite direction. “You’re not a minor inconvenience. You’re a big inconvenience.”

Shigaraki appears rather pleased by that, and Midoriya has stopped trying to understand them by this point. 

“So. Daddy issues, huh?” Midoriya smiles wainly at Dabi.

“Why must you say it that way.” And Dabi sounds uncharacteristically tame. 

Then again, they’re all exhausted.

Dabi’s body creaks as he sits upright against, staring at the door leading outside. 

“Dabi, as much as you want to dress it as a political, ethical, geographical, whatever problem, it all boils down to a personal bad relationship with your dad, so, daddy issues.” Shigaraki says through a yawn, and he’s now dragging his blanket over him.

And as much as Midoriya’s having such a fun time, he’s also tired and he’s hoping Shigaraki knocks out so he has an excuse to as well. However, the idea of sleeping somewhat frightens him. Once Shigaraki wakes up, completely not out of his mind (due to drugs; whether or not he’s considered the most clearheaded even without them is up for debate), the weird abnormal acquaintanceship they formed out of coincidences and at least a pint of ripoff Xanax, will crumble. All three of them probably won’t be able to ever build this type of confidant relationship between each other again.

It’s almost sad.

And he eyes Dabi, curled on himself with his jutted chin resting on his knees, almost challengingly despite what reclusiveness his posture implies. Midoriya then looks at Shigaraki, too dead out of his mind to properly convey his feelings, to understand the implications and severity of everything he’s spilt about himself.

Midoriya feels bad for them.

“Dabi. I think. The reason why I’m desperate to call you Touya is because Touya deserves happiness. Dabi’s done too many things for me to do anything for him except to change him.”

And Dabi’s making that look again. “Yeah. A sick freak.” He repeats.

“Mm. Things like that sound ableist.” Midoriya counters patiently.

Dabi doesn’t appear to care about that, as he picks at the sweatpants that he tugged back on after Recovery Girl was finished. “Don’t be condescending. I don’t want your self-righteous changing or whatever. Besides,” he chokes on a mirthless laugh, and even if Dabi didn’t mean it in that way, he can’t believe Dabi’s the one who called him sick, when he looks so hauntingly ill that Midoriya can no longer look him in the face. “Touya and Dabi are the same people, it makes no sense to act like they’re not. Trust me.” And Midoriya yeah, fair enough, but Touya was just a child, he doesn’t deserve to be blamed for who he becomes. 

“I mean. Just because Touya became Dabi, they aren’t the same people. It sounds like you’re saying that Touya was just waiting to become as...I guess objectively and ethically controversial as Dabi is.” He attempts to avoid the word ‘evil’, and at the very least, Dabi appears weakly amused by it, as if aware of what he was trying to do. “But I don’t think that’s right.” He rewinds, and stumbles, “I mean, of course I don’t know for sure, I’m not you and you totally know more about yourself than I do, but. I just think, yes, you chose to be Dabi, and what you’ve done as Dabi is your fault since Dabi affected not just you, but others. But. It’s not. I mean I personally don’t think it’s your fault you became Dabi. I don’t think you can blame Touya, or yourself as Dabi, either. I mean. Todoroki...like, Shouto, he. He was nothing like you,” and maybe that last part came out too harsh, too defensive, because Dabi’s unfaltering smile now looks two-dimensional, “but he came off as aloof, cold. Unempathetic out of choice and personal ambition. Sort of like Endeavor, though for Todor- Shouto, from what I can tell, it sounded like he did it out of spite.” And wow, here he is, sitting here with a broken leg, shittalking about two Todorokis to a third Todoroki. “You probably lead a different upbringing that resulted in you turning to villainy, while Shouto chose to be a hero-”

“Because he had the abilities to be a hero. He knew he could become a pro to spit in Enji’s face.” And he almost sounds jealous, if not for something self-deprecating in his tone. Probably a mixture of both. Midoriya tries to avoid that. He doesn’t know how close he can get without damaging both of them. 

“But you knew how your dad affected Todoroki, right?” And Midoriya doesn’t know enough, but Dabi’s very existence is painting a picture of the family that’s really bothering him. Sure, Todoroki escaped scathed- he has a scar to prove it, but Dabi’s entire body is like a worn out rag, and he also has an entire unhinged mindset to come with. Seriously, what happened? How did they end up so different? “Touya wasn’t born evil. You can’t just be that way. You weren’t born as anything, whatever you were you just were, and whatever Endeavor said about you was just an opinion, and I think we all know his opinion is worth jack-crap.” Midoriya narrows his eyes, and Dabi looks as if he doesn’t know how to verbally respond.

Though, it looks like if Dabi still had his quirk, he’d set Midoriya on fire.

Midoriya hopes he’s doesn't sound cocky.

“Todoroki- uh, the Shouto one, didn’t come out okay at first, either. It’s proof that even someone that’s viewed as heroic and perfect by someone as picky as Endeavor-” someone picky enough to have not just three, but four other children until deciding to like only one, or maybe it’s three children in total since Midoriya's completely put the Natsuo/Touya thing on the back burner- “can’t come out not...with some questionably good character traits, even if they’re not bad people.”

And for a second he thinks he got through Dabi, touched something. 

Then he looks a bit harder. And he realizes Dabi’s smile isn’t out of acceptance or consideration, it’s nothing more than the same unintentionally patronizing grin that balances on pity and amusement. It’s a grin that one wears when watching a person struggle to tie their laces. 

“Touya was too much like Endeavor to be considered ‘good’. And in the end,” Dabi pauses. “Dabi’s worth something, and he’s capable.” His smile now appears tacky, almost like soft plastic melting at the end of a blowing hairdryer. “I already invested too much into building up Dabi from where Touya was.” Then, almost jokingly, he adds: “don’t discredit me.”

“Yeah, but you’re quirkless now, so,” Shigaraki snorts. And Midoriya nearly got whiplash from Dabi’s accidental, dramatically Tumbler-esque TedTalk, to Shigaraki , whose sarcastic nature hinges on offensive content and the bad side of TikTok. 

“And so are you,” Dabi retorts, though his jab falls short as Shigaraki doesn’t seem that choked up over his quirk in the first place. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because you have clear emotional issues.” Shigaraki replies, humming as he tries to fix the squashed tissue box from earlier. 

“Shigaraki, while I advocate for what you’re saying- and I really never thought I’d say that, like, ever, and I praise your abnormous boldness to be able to say that to his face even though it might be drug-induced,” Midoriya starts gently. 

“It’s not.” Shigaraki replies, straight-faced. "I would say this with my whole chest even if I didn't eat plastic serotonin for dinner."

“But I cannot believe you have enough courage to say that when your emotional problems are just as disastrous,” Midoriya finishes. "Also," he says hurriedly, "serotonin's effects aren't-"

“See, my emotional problems can be easily smoothed over.” Shigaraki taps the temple of his head, completely ignoring Midoriya.

“Weren’t you the one who said denial was a disease?” Midoriya smiles sweetly, before quickly looking away as Shigaraki looks prepared to break his second leg. He rounds to Dabi before Shigaraki can throw the tissue box back at him. “Dabi, smiling at him is really ironic considering how you do the exact same thing.” And it’s definitely fatigue and this artificial sense of security they’ve constructed out of all of their involuntarily exposed vulnerabilities that’s giving Midoriya too much undeserved courage. Because there is no way that he’d normally could ever say the words he said tonight outloud in the face of two villains with questionable temperaments and emotional responses without being flung into the sun. If anything, there’s no way he’d ever say these words in any normal scenario either. 

“Shigaraki, your problems are going to haunt you in your sleep in the form of nightmares.” Dabi says snippily. 

“Jokes on you, I don’t dream.”

Midoriya squints. “Are- are you bragging? Is this what you’re doing? Bragging???” He says against his hands clapped into a praying position pressed against his thinned lips. He’s now taking in the beige, boring ceiling, his neck sore from jerking to his right to look at all of them. 

“Bragging, who’s bragging?” And the shock of the new voice nearly revives Midoriya’s dying leg, as he looks over to see Aizawa-sensei’s presence, looking five times more run-over by at least a chariot and probably a red Volkswagen, his voice rougher than his eyes from his ten minute conversation with Todoroki (who’s nowhere to be seen, and Midoriya has to remind himself that Todoroki’s fine, because his teacher has come a long way from wanting to exterminate them with Raid, to actually having some semblance of attachment that owners do with their pet goldfish).

“Okay.” Aizawa-sensei finally says once no one replies, and begins to return to his room.

“Wait, what about Todoroki?” Midoriya asks, not only to quench his own curiosity, but also because he knows Dabi would be too stubborn to ask himself.

“Still alive.” Is the response, and his teacher doesn’t even turn to look at him, too focused on returning back to his room.

“Oh.” Shigaraki blinks. “Your Sensei is interesting."

“How did Todoroki respond?” Midoriya asks, concerned.

This time, Aizawa-sensei does round to him, his door already open with more than half his body through, indicating he’s never coming out again after now, “by screaming,” he deadpans.

And the door shuts behind him.

“Oh.” Midoriya blinks. He looks over at Dabi, only to jerk, flinching in on himself.

The man’s quiet, staring at the wall in front of them. 

“...Dabi?” He doesn’t reply, but he’s also not in his state of detachment, since he just rolls over on his bed, back facing Midoriya. 

His previous trepidation soothes at that. At least he’s responsive.

When Dabi’s unresponsive, when he’s just quiet , though Midoriya will never tell the man in question, it somewhat scares him. 

Midoriya tongues his wisdom tooth in the back, feeling nervous.

His leg feels itchy.

“Dabi?” He tries again.

This time, Dabi does stand up, but doesn’t even look at Midoriya. “Go to sleep,” he commands, without looking at either of them. 

He flicks off the light, and Midoriya’s unable to see his expression as the lights die when he turns towards him to walk back to his bed.

Chapter Text

Aizawa-sensei’s entire one-sided conversation with Todoroki was actually a blur. Probably because the majority of what Todoroki said was really repetitively redundant, echoes encouraged through panic and probably a mid-life crisis at the age of sixteen.

Understandable.

Aizawa guesses he would freak out if a dead relative from an unstable family came back as a pyromaniac with a rabid kill-streak and the willingness to off him and his already limited amount of friends. Then there's the fact that his brother tried to murk his dad in daylight in the middle of a street.

Because through Todoroki's shouting and layers of obvious discord over how to feel about Dabi- there’s an unwavering truth that he’s still my brother. It’s just like how Todoroki feels about his dad- sure his dad has the personality of expired Listerine, but he's still his dad. 

Somehow, Aizawa feels like his Dad™ issue is more troublesome. No one wants to think that their own dad that they still (willingly or unwillingly) love is cruel to the point where whether or not he’s evil could become a valid debate.

Basically, in conclusion, Aizawa would not want to be in Todoroki’s position right now.

Aizawa stares at the dark ceiling of Recovery Girl’s stuffy office, his sleeping bag feeling more like a damp sock than of his typical cavern of comfort. 

And Aizawa cannot close his eyes, because he can visualize Todoroki’s slick visage, almost holographic from cold sweat plastering his bangs against his pinkish forehead. If he closes his eyes, he knows he’ll see Todoroki’s trembling figure, unable to regulate his own body heat that had dangerously destabilised to the point where wisps of steam began to escape out of his ears, while frost crept up his right shoulder like the first winter.

He can't forget how Todoroki shoved him aside, claiming he wanted to be alone, and how Aizawa had let him. And the kid looked ready to cave in on himself, ready to allow his own emotions to overtake him in a second, breaking past his poorly constructed coping mechanisms in a vast tsunami that would wipe out the entire floor in a carpet of fire and ice. 

And Aizawa curses, kicking off his covers because he’s the teacher; even if Aizawa was mainly focused on calming Todoroki down so hell doesn’t breach the corridors as a Category 1 Climatological natural disaster at five in the morning, Todoroki was clearly not okay even after he decided not to conduct the second Ice Age in their own private school. Sure, Todoroki slapped away his help, but Aizawa's current throbbing headache tells him that he chose the wrong answer by not chasing after him. Aizawa had debated if he should've found Kayama or another teacher since Todoroki felt explicitly betrayed by only him for not telling him about Touya, but Todoroki told him he was calm (he clearly wasn’t). So at that time, rather than riling him up more, Aizawa had chosen to step back.

He shouldn’t have chosen that. 

He trips over his sleeping bag and trudges to the door between Recovery Girl’s weird, backdrop storage/office space, and her actual office. Slamming it open to surprising darkness, he ignores the three distinct voices dishing various complaints.

“ Dude .”

“Sensei, what’s up?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Echoes Dabi’s voice, curdled with something tart and mocking.

“You ever think our limbs sometimes fall asleep because they know our brains are unreliable in terms of sleeping patterns? Kind of like hot dogs?” Aizawa doesn’t know if this is Shigaraki’s real personality, or just one hopped up on drugs, and quite frankly, he doesn’t know which is worse.

“That’s literally not how it works-”

Aizawa ignores them, and heads out towards the front door, throwing it open, only to skitter to a stop. 

“Hi.” And Todoroki doesn’t appear fazed by the fact that he nearly got rammed in the sternum by a doorknob.

“Hi.” Aizawa greets slowly, suspicious, his grip still strong on the doorknob, wariness causing him to quickly observe Todoroki, though, the fact that he found the boy is already taking his panic down a notch.

Okay. 

He’s here.

The boy had calmed down. Or at least he’s not drenched in melted glaciers and sweat, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to light up like a torch if Aizawa says Touya’s name.

Not like he looks good in any means. If anything, boy looks like he was drenched in petroleum and shoved into a bonfire. Like he basically went through a sorority hazing.

Aizawa squints, partially due to the harsh lighting since as a public building, the corridor lights must always be on to follow legal codes, and also, because he’s definitely judging Todoroki.

“Were you just standing out here the entire time?”

“No.”

Aizawa narrows his eyes even more.

“Maybe.”

Aizawa turns to the side.

Yamada waves from where he’s eating a granola bar. He shrugs. “What? Look at him, he looks sick!” Fair. “And I thought hey, this is a nurse’s office.” 

He sighs. “Todoroki, would you like to come to the teacher’s lounge with me?” He shouldn't be left alone right now. Is it technically an improvement that Todoroki knocked a couple pegs down from personifying global warming on 2.0 speed to an insecurely dormant state of self-destruction? Well-

He looks back at Todoroki. At least he's not yelling anymore.

“I’m only here because I realised I needed some questions answered.” He remarks bitingly.

“Yeah, okay. I can try my best." Aizawa suggests lightly.

“I’m not here because I want to see Dabi or you.”

“Okay.” And sure, Todoroki might be apathetic in terms of facial expression, but that’s his only natural line of defense- past that, the kid felt no need or awareness to hone the ability to repress any other forms of emotional expression. That’s why Aizawa nearly trips, hearing Todoroki's voice that sounds like his vocal cords were shoved through a woodchipper. And just hearing how awful of a liar he is, does Aizawa feel like he saw something that he should pretend like he hasn’t seen. Wow . There was not a redeeming inch of salvation in the boy’s cracked voice.

“Am I allowed to go into the teacher’s lounge?”

“Do you really care about formalities?” Aizawa asks dryly. Todoroki pauses, then shakes his head. “Then come on, let's go."

“Why do you have so many bagels?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Todoroki, without permission, takes one of the bagels.

And if Dabi’s own blood was not enough confirmation, this tells him that yeah, they truly are related.

“Are you thirsty?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you dehydrated from crying so much?” He inquires sarcastically, though, without the actual intent to mock him.

Todoroki stares deftly back at him. “Then I’ll just dehydrate,” he remarks stubbornly.

Aizawa stares.

Yeah. Definitely siblings.

“You know how you asked what’ll happen to Dabi?” Or at least something along those lines. Earlier when Todoroki demanded many questions from him without the willingness or state of mind to listen, this concern cropped up many different times, sandwiched between accusations and distress.

“I don’t care about him,” Todoroki exclaims stiffly.

Aizawa doesn’t have the emotional capability within him to go along with that. Yeah , just like Dabi, a bold liar for a person who can’t lie. It's almost ironic, how deadpanned and obliviously insulting both of them are, yet, they're absolutely incapable of lying without looking constipated. 

“This entire conversation is because of him-”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

Aizawa's starting to suspect that the boy isn't even a bad liar, he just doesn't give a shit if what he says is blatantly wrong. Impressive, the nerve he has. “Anyways, to answer your question, we're trying to assimilate him into a healthier environment and try to better his mindset.” Todoroki appears conflicted. Same. Felt that. Is living through that. “You know, no matter how you feel about it, just know that it’s wrong if anyone judges your perspective on it.” He adds softly. “If you don’t want to feel sorry for Dabi, then that’s fine. If you do, then that’s fine too.”

Todoroki doesn’t say anything, just takes a vicious bite of his bagel, one with so much aggression that Aizawa is beginning to consider the consequences of Todoroki Shouto being within a five-mile radius of Dabi's existence. 

“I feel bad for Dabi.” Aizawa confides methodically, to try and make the situation more comfortable for the boy. Might as well open up with his own ‘controversial’ beliefs, even though by this point his opinion isn't even controversial anymore. By now, he's sure most of the staff has decided it’s too much brainpower to start caring, and has reverted back to ‘No Thoughts,’ ‘Head Empty’ stage and has solely accepted Dabi’s existence through their inability to register it. “While he has made his own choices, especially inexcusable ones, the way he turned out was predicted just by the environment he was raised within.”

And Todoroki’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed. Understandable, because Aizawa just gave a more eloquent and graceful version of: "your family sucks shit." A rather audacious and impudent claim from Aizawa, given that by Todoroki's standards, he doesn't know anything about his family. 

Not like Aizawa doesn't think he's right, though. If Aizawa was afraid of making people cry, then he would not have chosen his position as a teacher. 

Todoroki knots his lips into a tight scowl. “I. How did he turn out like this? None of my other siblings did.”

He has other siblings?

“You have other siblings?” He muses aloud, his large intestine feeling like it's been shredded by a gatling gun. 

And Aizawa has stared high-ranking villains in the eye without flinching; his nerves of steel combined with his inability to properly feel anything past internalized tiredness and the symptoms of at least one chronic health condition cultivated by years of dealing with hormonal teenagers has left him numb to any external stimuli. Yet upon hearing Todoroki's statement, god nearly takes Aizawa right then and there with a cardiac arrest. 

How many people like these two Todorokis he’s seen are running around freely in this society?

Aizawa sighs, walking over to the counter of the lounge to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Random question, but you guys are seeing a family therapist, right?” The way that Todoroki blinks at him tells him otherwise. “Do your siblings….? Are they doing well?” He restates the question, his tone taunt with a sudden injection of paralysing fear. 

Todoroki stares a bit longer. “I mean. Natsuo hasn’t killed anyone yet.”

He nearly pours scalding coffee over his hand. The bar is low: the bar is in hell. 

“How old are your siblings?”

“They’re all adults.” And Aizawa can’t explain why , but somehow, just hearing that shifted his standards for them even lower. 

"Are your siblings adjusting well into life?" It's fine- Aizawa, you're just overreacting. Maybe they do have their shit together.

Todoroki shrugs. "Natsuo was able to sit through one weekend family dinner with Dad last Saturday without attempting patricide or bringing wild animals to the table.”

Aizawa takes a moment to convince his brain that a chainwave of cellular suicide is not the way to go.

So. None of them has their shit together.

Great. So not only are there more Todorokis whose spawnpoint is an exclusively abusive household with questionable familial relationships barely holding them together, according to what he’s hearing, all of them sound equally unstable.

"Does. Does this Natsuo happen to have pyromaniac tendencies as well?" Aizawa doesn't think he can deal with even knowing that there's a second post third-season Avatar Azula. 

Todoroki shakes his head. "No," he replies casually. “Every time he sets dad’s bed on fire, it’s always due to some reason, not out of some impulsive feeling."

Aizawa, unsure how to respond to that, yet unwilling to leave Todoroki on read 6:05am, continues staring hard at the boy as if somehow, prolonged exposure to this deadpanned face will normalize the sensation of foreshadowed destruction ringing his mental alarms. 

“Okay, but we turned out fine,” Todoroki replies strictly, and Aizawa nearly chokes on his drink, out of a combination of amusement and horror.

“Is this including Natsuo?” Aizawa asks.

Todoroki frowns at this, as if he doesn’t quite understand Aizawa’s quiry. “Natsuo’s probably the most well-adjusted out of all of us.”

And not a lot fazes Aizawa anymore. In general, he’s just not a very responsive person even without a handful of mild trauma and responsibilities (the latter being worse than the first, solely because as a human being, he hates existing). 

Todoroki’s statement still felt like the blunt force trauma of four simultaneous wisdom tooth extracts.

“How did Dabi turn out. Like Dabi? I don’t get it.” Todoroki says, oblivious to the fact that the synopsis of 'where are they now' with his family members had murdered Aizawa on the spot.

Aizawa fixes him with a dead expression. This kid just straight up admitted his other adult brother is probably a lowkey arsonist, and he still doesn’t see the parallels between Touya and his siblings? “Okay, well, no I do," Todoroki coughs upon seeing Aizawa's face. "I can. In a way. It makes sense from what little I know about Dabi. About Dabi’s quirk, about Dabi’s hate for hero society, and I-” he pauses. “I’m not going to get labelled for treason, right?”

“Free country. Besides. What sort of high school experience doesn't a sudden ongoing phase of anarchy that never really leaves, and just tames down as you finally get an office job?” Aizawa confesses, unabashed.

“Like. I can see why Dabi hates the hero society.”

“Through your dad?”

“I mean. Well.” He stammers angrily. “Who else-”

“Then why is it hard to admit it?”

“Because. Then that means. Because.”

“Then that means you have to draw new conclusions about your dad, right?”

Todoroki wilts, but the sharpness behind his eyes doesn’t. “...No. I-” then, to Aizawa's surprise, he gives almost a harsh smile, as if he finds something particularly funny, "I always knew he was like this. Guess I just needed a reminder. I really forgot how he was, huh? Really thought things could change, can be different." Then, he hits Aizawa with an extremely unexpected yet expected confession: “I’m scared.”

Quickly recovering from the feeling of shock and mild guilt for underestimating Todoroki's self-awareness, Aizawa expands upon the boy’s admission: “what are you scared about? Is it about what you’ll find out?” Honestly, it sounds like there’s nothing more to find out about- it’s more like what Todoroki will do with the given information that frightens him.

"Can't be afraid of what I already know. I. I'm not going to lie, I was very surprised by the fact that Dabi was Touya- didn't think that was a possibility, but I mean. In retrospect, I don't think it wasn't a possibility."

"That's. Concerning."

Aizawa glances downwards as he sees curls of smoke, concerned that Todoroki's overheating again, when he realises it's only expanding from his hand.

He's toasting the bagel.

The boy is toasting the bagel with his hand. 

And Aizawa already knows the rest of his homeroom class uses Todoroki as a multipurpose, Easy Bake Oven with StandMixer attachments, but it's still quite a sight to see it in action (just like on TV!).

“I mean. I don’t know anything about Touya really. Dad said he died he’s supposed to be dead- ” his voice clips, and Aizawa sits down at a chair next to him. “And Natsuo always blamed Dad for his death and I thought it was because Dad was just a really bad dad and had ruined some of our lives and in a way still is-” once again, really, really pushing the confidentiality exceptions, “but. I don’t really know how to feel because I don't even know what I know or don't know."

“Understandable,” Aizawa says, “none of these things are going to be clear-cut. Also, please remember, your spite and desire for your dad’s affection can coexist, just not without conflict.” Then, out of concern, “is he doing anything at home that’s hurting you right now?”

“No!” Todoroki snaps protectively. “He’s. He’s improving, he’s changing and he’s. He’s getting better.” He doesn’t look very happy saying that, though.

“Do you think he is?”

“I mean he is, that’s just a fact,” Todoroki shrugs roughly.

“But do you care?”

“I mean of course . Just. It feels like. It feels like he’s trying-”

“When you say it like that, it just sounds like you’re only saying 'him changing' matters because you feel like you owe him some sort of credit for his efforts.” Like a shoddy participation trophy. And Todoroki’s mouth freezes mid-opening, eyes quivering. 

“No.” He snippishly replies.  Really, bad lying must be part of the family. “I mean. He’s my dad shouldn’t I give him some leniency?” And before Aizawa can automatically say ‘ uh, no ’ but with ten times more stress on the ‘no,’ Todoroki scoffs mirthlessly: “or maybe him being my dad is an even bigger reason as to why I shouldn’t be as easy. Because what type of dad does that to his own family?”

“A bad one.” Aizawa blurts mercilessly without real forethought.

Todoroki fixes him a look.

Aizawa shrugs, unapologetic. 

"You sound like you don't want to forgive him."

"I mean. I felt like I could've. Before I learned about Dabi." So literally like. Two hours ago. "My sister wanted me to," Todoroki mumbles. "Midoriya said that I was ready, too."

Aizawa inclines an eyebrow at that last claim. "Do you think you're ready?" And Midoriya's empathetic and from what he can tell, definitely more emotionally mature and responsible than many of his classmates. That doesn't mean he has the best suggestions, though.

Todoroki shrugs without looking him in the eye.

"Because if you feel like he doesn't deserve forgiveness, that's your call to make." Aizawa states. "Forgiving him because of others' opinions sidelines your feelings and invalidates your experiences with your dad, and ultimately, might lead to future emotional turmoil over this."

"Yeah, I get that. It's just. Maybe I really am ready and I need a push." He looks indifferent. Really, his effortless composure is astounding, given that he sounds like he got round-kicked in the throat. “Besides, for some reason, it felt fine that I didn't forgive him, back then. Because it felt like everything was stagnant, that Dad and I reached this understanding that I haven't forgiven him, and that he’ll be waiting . Like. But if he’s a bad person, then that means he’s unobtainable no matter what because I can never forgive him now."

Aizawa doesn't know if it'd be detrimental if he said that Endeavor sounds like a bad person just based on how he treated Shouto. He decides to set that aside. “Yeah.” He says with as much gentleness he could muster. He sounds like he boiled his throat with sugar. “That’s really something you have no control over.” 

Fuck Endeavor. But it’s not like he doesn't feel pity towards the kid's predicament.

“It’s scary,” Aizawa concludes from his words. “It's scary, knowing that your own father has done something like that, and it’s scarier, since you've been left in the dark about how it happened. It can’t be easy, having to decide what to do with your leftover affection for your dad.”

“First off, I don’t feel affection I just-” Todoroki snaps, bristling, before taming himself with a heavy exhale. “I don’t,” he repeats calmly. “I just always thought maybe one day I could feel affection without feeling...guilty.” And to a child who had probably never received healthy parental love, how could he not help but crave what he’s never had? “But now I learn he’s the precipitate of Touya’s change?” Todoroki scoffs scornfully, and he appears less upset, more resentful, voice thick and syrupy with mucus and emotion.

Aizawa swallows bile and sorrow (and disdain  ). Awful .

Then, Todoroki looks up, slowly lowering his bagel. His mood has shifted from determined to almost something distorted and corrupt, eyes staring at the table, bright underneath the interrogating light, bright while the rest of the world is asleep. “He did that to Touya. He did that to Touya, and he wanted me to forgive him even after what he’s done?”

And neither of them say it, but Aizawa can hear the accusatory ‘ shameless’ echo between them. Aizawa contemplates if it'd be professional of him to take one for the team and just shout what they're all thinking.

“He wanted me to forgive him but he doesn’t even have the guts to tell me what he’s done to Touya? Or even let me know that something happened in the first place?” Todoroki whispers, mouth drawn taunt, eyes locked onto the crumbs on the table. “He’s.” Rage and obvious disappointment harden his blank visage (and oh, Aizawa guesses secretly or maybe just unconsciously, the boy did have standards and expectations for his father. After all, why else would he look so let down by Endeavor's actions if he didn't?). “A coward.” And he sounds less angry than his clenched fingers would have one assume, rather, he sounds sad . As if he’s resigned on the fact that he really can’t find anything redeemable about his dad. "Or maybe he's not a coward, maybe he just doesn't care."

And while Aizawa doesn’t think Endeavor deserves the mercy of his son’s forgiveness, he feels unbearably sympathetic because Todoroki is obviously distressed.

His compassion doesn't last for long, though. It's quickly replaced with disgust. Revulsion, which is nothing more than an emotion that he can easily pocket away for another time. If Aizawa got angry at every tragic backstory he’s encountered, he wouldn't have gone down the life route he's taken. Aizawa is not jaded- he’s simply experienced. The intensity of emotions he feels every time he encounters such a devastating or seemingly hopeless case never lessens- rather, he’s just gotten better at managing his feelings and prioritizing other things first.

“He never told me, he. After all he’s done he still thinks it’s fine to ask something from me without even being honest ? Does he not value Touya that much to even own up to what he’s done? Even if he didn’t know he became Dabi, the fact that Touya turned into Dabi already speaks for itself that what he’s done can’t be something ‘just bad’.” Todoroki spits, voice impressively even, though his hand has shredded a good portion of his bagel, leaving crumbs against the table.

Aizawa takes a swig from his cup, and grimaces. He stayed up too long just drinking coffee- there’s plaque buildup on his teeth. He wants to brush his teeth. “See, even without any background knowledge on Touya or Dabi, I still don’t trust your dad.” Aizawa exclaims boldly. Even before Dabi, Aizawa always thought that Endeavor had some really questionable parenting skills, given that an emotionally stunted child with obvious internalised problems and a very confined burn on his face just showed up in his classroom this year. 

Todoroki’s spine locks at this, and his gaze, previously cloudy and slightly misty, hardens like plexiglass. "I mean everyone has family problems or questionable parents, not to Touya's extent-"

"Yeah but your family problems includes abuse." Aizawa says, smiling dully.

Todoroki rolls his eyes, as if that's just a minor setback.

Aizawa feels the creases of his seventeen-facial muscles that's barely holding up his smile, twitch out of soreness. He didn't know Todoroki would be just as difficult to deal with when it comes to self-denial.

And Aizawa guesses it must've shown on his face, his feelings of critical query, because he's reacting in a way that all students do when he judgmentally stares at them in the front of class. "He wasn’t a bad person!” Todoroki falters, “I mean. Now knowing Dabi, I'm starting to rethink that, but," he scowls bitterly. “It’s also like. I don’t know how much Dad influenced Dabi’s existence-”

“I’d say all of it.”

“I mean. Well, yeah,” he yields sourly. And Todoroki definitely isn’t a facially expressive boy, but he compensates with just his voice. It’s almost amusing, how he looks like there’s absolutely nothing going on in his head, but he sounds like he’s going to use Aizawa’s esophagus as a blowdart tube. “But how did Dad treat him so differently that he didn’t turn out like me or my siblings? We came from the same household, Dabi even has a twin and she didn’t turn out anything like him.”

“Well, she’s not Touya, and Touya did not have the same opportunities to step out of his dad’s influence the way you guys did. I mean, for one, his defective quirk." It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two to see that there was obviously some sort of weird dystopian, eugenics ideology happening behind the scenes.

Really, weird The Giver vibes that somehow match the wavelength of the banned r/Incel. 

“And secondly, Dabi's the first child- or one of them, since you said he has a twin. And I’m not trying to villainise your dad of anything-” haha, bet, “but your dad, if he was trying to raise a kid to be a successor, he sees- or saw,” he throws in the past-tense to try and alleviate the accusatory undertone of his hypothesis, “his kid as someone that had to earn their worth. Meaning if you think about Touya, he probably felt thrown away for not meeting his father’s expectations.”

And Todoroki's leg is bouncing even faster underneath the table. Aizawa hesitates, feeling somewhat bad for throwing so much onto him with such a passive tone. “I apologise if I sound pretentious for voicing an opinion as an outsider, but your dad-" is a bastard bitch, he sucks in a deep breath, "is just not a good person. Just being a bad parent can have a disastrous impact on the child. You can say there's a scale of how bad you are as a parent, but personally, I don't think that matters. I think if you are anywhere on that scale, you already have failed your child, because that is what qualifies you as a bad parent.” Aizawa states firmly but sympathetically. “Maybe your dad didn’t do a lot to Touya other than ruin his life and childhood,” Aizawa didn’t know his voice could sound even more sarcastic than it usually does, “but that doesn’t mean what he’s done doesn’t have a heavy punch.”

“I. Yeah. I know that. Trust." Todoroki pops a piece of his burnt bagel into his mouth, nodding firmly. "Like of course just looking at the facts laid out in front of me, I can tell that dad did something seriously shitty to Touya-” and Aizawa still hasn’t adapted to a swearing Todoroki, “but I still can’t find it in me to fully shun Dad.” Todoroki chokes on something. Maybe it’s on his rockhard bagel, maybe it’s on his emotions, maybe it's on his spit. Maybe all three. “I mean I've cut ties with my Dad before, but. If I cut him off because of Touya, it won't be for an indefinite period of time, but for forever .  Whatever he's done isn't redeemable- I know I can never look at him again without thinking about what he's done to Touya. But that's why I'm so...hesitant. It's so selfish of me, but I don't want that."

Aizawa twists his lips to mash out any conveyance of pity. He doesn’t think Todoroki would appreciate it if Aizawa started being too emotional. "Like I can't see him as a dad after knowing what he's done to just my other siblings and mom, but I really wanted to. I wanted him. I don't want a dad- I don't need a dad. But if I were to ever have one, I'd want him. I know it’s really tactless to think that after all the people he’s hurt but.” And suddenly, Todoroki’s voice averts from its default monotone. It was strained earlier, but now it has splintered into various pitches: “I feel gross.” And shame is the only thing gluing together the fragmented tones. 

It’s not surprising that a son with such a fractured and disillusioned relationship with his father would still crave some sort of intimacy with someone who was meant to love them from the start. Even if that craving would mean Todoroki would feel like he'd have to question the suffering of Touya. It’s understandable, and it’s sad.

Aizawa feels a headache that’s most definitely not from the coffee. 

And Aizawa isn’t really thinking right now, can barely process his own emotions on a good day, but Aizawa’s so close he’s-

So close- 

He doesn't breakdown. Aizawa’s never broken down past literally every other hour that he’s forced to share with any of the Bakugous’ presences.

However, every once in a while, Aizawa feels something as fiery as brimstone clog his gut, cranking whatever subconscious unease he had to a high abhorrence , and he wants-

He wants-

He wants to square up.

Aizawa’s going to start placing hands on Endeavor if Todoroki doesn’t do it first.

To Aizawa, this is not a breakdown, it's simply an appropriate response.

He exhales a steam of corrosive disdain through his gritted teeth, dispersing it from the tone of his voice before he speaks his next words: “don't feel bad at all. Honestly, you don’t even need a clear answer. You feel and want contradictory things that don’t align well together, and that’s fine. You don’t have to find a balance between them, especially since no one can judge your decision from your own position.”

And Todoroki looks away, face frozen and eyes pits. “But it’s not okay.” He says, and it’s unusually a whisper. Desperation seeps through the way he cracks his knuckles, the way his eyes flit to avoid making contact with Aizawa’s. “You don’t get it. I’m subconsciously overlooking Touya’s pain just so I can feel guiltless about liking my dad back,” he replies indignantly, seemingly regaining some footing in terms of false composure, glowering hard at his half-eaten bagel. And it’s worrying, how desperate the boy is to save face about subjects he shouldn’t have to feel embarrassed about. Todoroki really just said ‘I’m going to breakdown now, might as well sound confident while doing so.’ 

“Dabi does the same thing,” Aizawa muses nonchalantly, his thoughts running amok. “He casually mentions something highly alarming, and even though he claims his father deserves to rot-” Todoroki flinches, “he always tries to play off what his father’s done as something partially due to his fault. Though, I do wonder. You’re extremely focused on what Touya’s went through, but Todoroki, don’t you think you’re down-playing your dad’s impact on the rest of your family? The abuse on just you, as well?” Just so you can feel loved without culpability? In a way, Todoroki appears aware of his dad’s faults; is willing to condemn them. But not to the point where he'd start feeling like it's 'morally corrupt' to even want his dad’s love anymore. Honestly, how's it even morally corrupt to want your dad to love you? "Because it sounds like you’ve turned your back on your dad before.” Well, everyone knew this. It wasn’t that difficult; first year Shouto was pretty unapologetically edgy. “Why is it different now? Because it sounds like he’s done pretty awful things to the rest of your family before- why is Touya different? Different enough for you to think it’s the end for any mercy you could have for your dad?”

“I mean. Touya is Dabi. It's like. How could he turn his son into doing something so awful? Like I get that murder was really a choice and Dabi he- that's his own immorality, but still he still was raised by someone.” Todoroki returns to his typical deadpanned timbre, catching Aizawa off-guard by the suddenness of his recuperation. “It's just different."

“I don’t quite understand.” Aizawa says. He gets it gets it, but he doesn't think the difference matters in the end. He thinks even without Touya's testimony, Endeavor is already a ruined man. 

Todoroki fixes a look at him. “Of course you won’t. Boomer.”

“I-” Aizawa rescans that entire sentence, and still can't properly formulate a response. “What.”

“It’s the energy that’s different.”

Aizawa looks at him.

Todoroki does not elaborate.

“I'm not sure I understand.” He finally admits.

“I just know it's different. When I say 'the energy is different,' I mean that the energy is different." Aizawa squints, because that answers absolutely nothing. "I mean. Think of it this way, the way my siblings would react to Touya becoming Dabi versus them watching a VCR of how our dad shouted at our mom, like, the reactions would be very different." Todoroki attempts to elaborate.

"You have VCRs?"

"No, but we have old film of when we used to play together and you can hear my dad smac- shouting at my mom in the background."

"...Were you about to say sm-"

"No."

And really, Todoroki's proving that your lie could be abhorrently constructed and straight up a lie, but as long as you're confident enough, what are people going to do? Aizawa doesn't know how to tell him that somehow, him not even bothering to cover up his lying is blatantly more insulting than the lie itself.

“Like, I don’t even know how I’d first off tell them about Touya." Todoroki continues with little care. "Especially Natsuo. Natsuo hates Dad because of what happened to Touya,” and Todoroki’s tone knots at this, despite his stoic countenance. “I don’t want Natsuo to hate dad but he’s always been so adamant about Dad being permanently guilty."

"Do you think he's guilty?"

"Obviously."

He stares blearily at the table in front of him, creases under his eyes wrinkling as his eyes scrunch harder. “I wasn't that innocent though. Back then, I wasn't the nicest to Touya, either." He roughly picks at his thumb. "I blamed so many things on Touya.”

Aizawa frowns at that, unable to properly make sense of what he’s trying to say. “What do you mean?”

Todoroki freezes at this, eyes cloudy and unfiltered, muck and memories unfocusing his gaze. “You’re going to think I’m awful, just as bad as my dad.”

“Okay.” Aizawa leans back on his chair. “Listen. So no."

"Bet."

Aizawa has a hard and painful flashback to when he held his first serious conversation with Dabi, and in the midst of it, the manbaby challenged his doubts of his bagel-eating skills with the same word. "Be quiet," Aizawa instinctively states, medical shock shutting down his brain as he parallels Dabi and Todoroki Shouto once more. "Uh, no, you are not as bad as your dad. Even if you did something questionable, I seriously do not believe you can compare yourself, who’s still a teenager,” with a questionable upbringing , “to a full-grown adult who’s your parent and should’ve known better.” And he really was trying to be as subjective as possible while discussing Endeavor with Todoroki. "Your dad is a jackass, you are not." Oh. He really did try. 

“No but. If someone you thought was on your side , took the other person's side, the other person who had abused you for so long,” the last sentence comes out unsure and cautious, “then that has to hurt way more than the person who you already knew was against you in the first place.” Todoroki breaks eye contact with Aizawa midway through the sentence, his gaze flitting anxiously around him. "I was never there for Touya the year before he left.” And though his tone is ironed flat from conditioning, the stubborn waver in it is uncontrollable even for him. 

“He’s back now,” Aizawa replies. “Consider this as another chance to reconcile and heal.”  Then, he adds almost thoughtfully: “you’re taking responsibility over things that should’ve never been handed to a child, or to anyone, for that matter.”

However, his words seem to have no real effect within Todoroki’s thoughts, as he’s shaking his head, his bangs still scruffed and tacky against his forehead from the sweat from his previous breakdown. “Whether or not it was my responsibility, I still impacted Touya’s life just by how I responded.” And he’s frustrated, his tone lined with something concrete within his beliefs, hard and brittle. “I used to think that a lot of our household strife was due to Touya, because of how my mom was scared of him-" the mom? Wow okay, disappointed but not surprised, given that Touya seemed to have absolutely zero responsible role models just looking at how he turned out. "So I just thought. I don't know," his voice thins out from shame. “I just. I was just really cynical, and I think Touya caught on. He knew I didn’t want him around.”

“It’s not your fault.” Aizawa shakes his head. “You were a kid , and you still are one. Endeavor is a dad and an adult and should’ve been responsible on both counts. Once again, none of you guys were or should’ve been equipped to handle a collapsing family, and I think while Dabi was given an extraordinarily bad hand in life, you had your own struggles as well."

“But I was one of those bad cards in Touya's hand! I know his decline wasn’t like. Intentionally my fault or I was the sole reason for it. But what if I was also a variable as to why Touya became Dabi?” And Aizawa doesn’t think there’s anything he could say that’d rationally portray Todoroki as not playing into Touya’s downfall. 

“So?” Aizawa finally settles with. No point in lying. “I’d say you definitely were a factor just like everyone else in the family was. You guys all lived in the same building, and were all in contact with each other- it's not your fault you had influence on his development, because it's only natural you would. If you think in this way, then you have to acknowledge that Touya has influenced you just as much as you did to him- it’s not like you guys' relationship was one-sided. You also have to remember that your dad's impact on Touya would've been heavier than most of yours, given that he enforced the relationships between your whole family."

Todoroki shrugs. Aizawa doesn’t know if he’s convinced by Aizawa's words or not. "I actually think...our opinion of him mattered more to him than Dad’s did, so even if it shouldn't have been our responsibility, we did have a bigger influence on how Touya turned out in my head. Like, I think it hurt Touya way more that our mom was scared of him.” A++ parenting. Frankly, Aizawa's really surprised that Todoroki, the youngest generation of this family, made it to his teenage years. “And Fuyumi didn’t know what to do about Touya so she was always nervous but she was never scared . But she didn’t know how to approach him, and I think that made him isolate himself more. And as I grew older, I just. I never wanted to talk to him, since I was always somewhat suspicious of who've he became. He was kind of a stranger, after I couldn't see the Touya I once knew." Then, a little quieter: "I think he noticed that, and never tried to talk to me because of it."

Aizawa looks at Todoroki's hunched figure. "Were you scared of Touya?"

"No. I wasn't scared of my siblings. But. Touya always. I guess. I mean I haven't seen Touya in years, you know-"

"Uh." He actually doesn't know.

"Oh." Todoroki waves his hand nonchalantly. "I was separated from the rest of my siblings for a while due to my training, and so when I came back, Touya changed a lot."

"Wait you got separated-"

"I- yeah?" And Todoroki doesn't even give him a chance to breathe because he's already continuing. "Touya got quieter around me, he never hung out with me anymore, but I think Dad had a lot to do with that. And. Something I noticed was he stopped trying to defend mom from dad." And he sounds disconcerted saying that, and it must've bothered him more than he let on. Then again, that was a pretty twisted admission in the first place. "It made me uneasy, how silent he got unless if he was arguing with Dad or getting into a fight. He also swore a lot, too. Would always get into verbal and physical fights with him, and I just. I just hated it- I wanted to avoid it, I wanted to avoid anymore conflict because I already felt drained after training. And I felt like Touya was purposefully provoking Dad sometimes, and that just made me more annoyed, like he was causing more trouble for all of us than necessary." His lips screw into a remorseful and deprecating grin. "I mean, I started understanding his attitude as I grew up. It's pretty ironic, since me and Natsuo ended up following that same blueprint," he smiles wryly. "All three of us were pretty rebellious, and that never stopped. I. I wish I understood Touya earlier, though." The rest of his regrets are left unspoken.

Aizawa exhales, and literally everything he is learning about this family is going to damage his psyche. "Going to be real here, I'm still pretty hung up over the whole 'separation' thing in the first place." And he doesn't know if Todoroki is aware that that in itself is abuse. Then the 'defend mom from dad' thing wow, okay, and Aizawa isn't judging Todoroki at all, but he really wants to know what his sister told him to convince him that it was possible to ever forgive his dad in the first place. Like. What? "Okay. First off, don't blame yourself for how you treated Touya. All of you guys had your own problems, your own thoughts, your own mindset. The same way Touya couldn't reach you guys, the same way you couldn't with him. There's no fault or blame here." And he doesn't even know how to approach Endeavor's bullshit behaviour. "Second of all, I'm. I'm really sorry for how Touya turned out." And that's all he can really say to that. 

"I mean. I logically get that there's no one to blame past Dad," Todoroki picks at his bagel. "But that doesn't stop me from regretting how things could be different. Like Touya used to be...I don't know. I guess normal?"

"You think there was a chance for normalcy the moment you were born into that household?" Aizawa deadpans.

"Okay. Mentally healthy, then," Todoroki scowls.

Aizawa pauses. Then: "you think there was a chance for mental stability the moment you were born into that housho-"

"I really don't know what else to say, okay," Todoroki intervenes nastily, and Aizawa smirks. "I don't even know what would count as the bare minimum, take pity on my lack of knowledge." And he didn't know Todoroki could joke, and be aware of it.

"Okay. Then what did 'normal' Touya feel like?" Aizawa asks because as an extremely kind-hearted person, he'd decided he teased the boy enough.

Todoroki's glare lightens as his expression becomes more thoughtful. "He used to be pretty quiet. And either I don't remember this or I just wasn't born yet, but 'Yumi said that he was always non-confrontational, which surprised me. Like. All I remember was that when I was a kid, Touya would play with me, would defend me from dad." He scrunches his nose. "He would always try to make me laugh, even though he didn't do it much himself. But when we grew older and I was separated for a long time, Touya wanted nothing to do with us anymore, and all his fights with Dad centered less around how he treated us, and more just. Ragging on Dad's behaviour in general. He. He was never violent to us- but he never tried to talk to us, either." Then, more solemnly, "I always thought he hated us, but looking back at it, I guess he thought we hated him."

"I'm sorry that's how it turned out between you two," it's genuinely distressing. It's disheartening and upsetting to hear how two brothers wandered away from each other. And while Aizawa doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know if there really is anything he could say. He feels so inadequate as both a teacher and a listener, for not having an appropriate reply to all of Todoroki's melancholic confessions, even though he knows that it'd be impractical and arrogant to think that a few of his words could even lighten the years of suffering Todoroki has went through. 

"I think the worst feeling while growing up, was thinking that he didn't even hate me, he just stopped caring." Todoroki licks his lips. "In retrospect, I don't really blame him."

"You have a chance now, to change things."

"True. But wish things changed earlier- would've stopped a lot of our misery," Todoroki mumbles. Aizawa can't dispute that. "Like. Touya...he changed a lot. He would get annoyed with Dad's attitude, rather than scared. He got into more fights with Dad, and he stopped caring what Dad thought of him- he just hated him. I guess. That's another reason why Mom flinched whenever she was alone with Touya. I think that influenced a lot of how I saw him." And why was the mom scared of Touya? Either way, it's still pretty damaging if your own mom is frightened by you. "And I think. Even if you say it's my dad's work on Touya that made him into Dabi, we definitely exacerbated his development. Like. You don't get it," he suddenly snorts. "I was so disrespectful to him after he died." Todoroki wheezes, and if Aizawa didn't know better, he'd think that he almost sounds like he's laughing. "The first couple of months we thought he was dead, Dad actually felt like a grieving parent. Like even Natsuo, who thinks Dad doesn’t get the impact of what he’s done to Touya, recognised that Dad was remorseful but he didn't think Dad actually ever cared for Touya like a son, and I'm starting to question that, too. And at that point Mom was getting worse in the hospital and no one even told her that Touya was gone until months later, and by that point Natsuo was getting progressively angrier and Fuyumi was breaking down more and more- ”

Wow okay and Aizawa is ultimately horrified and honestly from a rather morbid perspective, is terribly impressed that this family lasted as long as it did together underneath one roof. Like seriously, what a feat.

"And it felt like everything was falling apart. I. You know. During that time, I couldn't even pray at Touya's altar because just looking at it, I couldn't help but think he was the cause for our family breakage even though he was really just a catalyst. Like. In retrospect, it was bound to happen, I was just in denial."

"You were going through an emotional time, with absolutely no guidance and everyone else wasn't coping well, either. Self-denial is a pretty common cope in itself." Aizawa shrugs.

Todoroki appears somewhat pleased by his response, but he still looks troubled. Well that's to be expected. "I was scared at that time, too. Because. Like. Dad said Touya was sent to the hospital because of 'reasons', but as a kid I didn't know why Touya or Mom was sent away, so I just thought they were gone because they were too disruptive." Aizawa grimaces at the way Todoroki's admission clips at the very end, like those words didn't want to come out yet still did. "So. when I was younger, I was constantly scared that Natsuo was going to disappear next, because of his growing anger."

What on God's green earth-

"Todoroki, this may be unprofessional of me-"

"Trust me, I'm pretending like this entire conversation never took place the next time I wake up." Oh. Me after every homeroom. 

"But your dad is a real-" shameless jerk "dickbag." 

Aizawa takes a second. Ah. He switched his mental thoughts and verbalised ones. Whatever. No censorship rights for Enji.

"Oh, for sure," Todoroki laughs mirthlessly, leg still jerking disjointedly beneath the round table. He suddenly releases an extremely heavy sigh, startling Aizawa. “The more I talk, the more my dad sounds like such an asshole and yet I’m here trying to what? Convince myself I can just ignore it? Like. He. I'm so mad at him oh my god like I really thought that I could like him, you know? That I cared about him and now I just." His eyes dart upwards, and he chews his lips, as if contemplating something.

"You already told me your dad was abusive. Like. What more can you hold back on?" Aizawa jokes tastelessly, but Todoroki appears to find his skeletal humour just as funny as he does, because he gives a bare smiles.

"If Dabi killed him, then. It. I think I'd certainly be upset- I mean, I guess I subconsciously care about him. But I think that'd just be karma, right? After all, I think death isn't even proportional to what he's done to just a single one of us. Not saying he deserves to die- but I just think him dying doesn't change anything, doesn't. I don't know. Feels empty."

Aizawa stares, shocked, and then he gives a slight but crooked grin. "That's pretty gruesome." Todoroki shrugs, looking almost smug, but simultaneously discomforted by his own words. "Hm." Aizawa's lips twitches. "Endeavor. He’s wasting your time,” he breathes carelessly, and he doesn’t know if he’s relieved or pissed off by Todoroki’s rambling thoughts. While he’s glad that the boy seemed to have reached a more definitive conclusion about Endeavor, this entire conversation didn’t drain Aizawa at all. It did the opposite.

For a rather unmotivated person, he suddenly wants to dislocate someone’s jaw. When Aizawa gets pissed, his outward reaction is never good. His intensely drastic reactions must be the backlash of having such a high threshold for bullshit.  

“I mean,” Aizawa begins to elaborate, because even though Todoroki appears to agree without hesitation, Aizawa still feels like it's only courteous that as an outsider, he has to at least explain himself for straight up calling this poor boy's dad a dick. He’s not the best at consolation, but he’s quite good at complaining constructively criticising. “Isn’t it unfair that you’re currently suffering under the actions of what he’s done? That you’re the one dealing with the emotional conflict he created?” Todoroki exhales a scalding scoff of agreement. "He causes so much damage and he leaves all of you guys with the debris- does he think that all that damage is reversible? Because even with compensation, that still happened. It's unfair you even have to emotionally respond to his actions." He turns to Todoroki. "What do you want to feel?”

Todoroki appears to think over this carefully. When he finally speaks, his tone is fragile in the way that makes each word sound meticulously thoughtful. “I want him to feel sorry. For everything. Want him to feel sorry for Touya but I don’t think that would solve anything. It won't change what he's done, who Dabi is and what he went through." He thins his lips. “I wish this would just all go away.” 

“Everything?”

He pauses. “I wish dad would go away. Because. I don’t think that’s fair to say I want Dabi to disappear because he was dragged into a home that he didn’t get to pick. I can’t make Dabi go away because that doesn’t change the fact that Dad still did something to Touya, I can’t just ignore that now.” Then, quieter, he echoes: “I wish dad would just go away.”

Aizawa, for a split second, considers making it happen.

Then he decides that the legal paperwork for murder is probably just as heavy as a domestic abuse case, and decides if he wants to drag Endeavor down, might as well take an equally troublesome route that won't land Aizawa in hell with him. 

See, Aizawa has no plans on going to hell. Sure, the way that he challenges god on a daily each time he bumps into Bakugou Katsuki in the hallways is pretty counterproductive in that sense, but oddly enough, he still has enough confidence in the concept of an apathetic or merciful god. Or gods. Maybe a counsel that'll loosely decide his cookie-cutter fate the same way Collegeboard does. Therefore, he still expects himself to end up on the lowest circle of heaven.

But.

Sometimes.

Sometimes he encounters people like Endeavor, and he knows the Lord is testing him. 

Todoroki's grimace is papery and strained, like it’ll flake if it stretches any wider. “Do my other siblings know about him?” Todoroki inquires when he doesn’t say anything else.

“No. Your father doesn’t, either.”

Todoroki’s response comes with a mid-inhale. “Will he know before them?”

“Hm. No. Touya is not underneath his care, and this case is bigger than Endeavor- even if Touya wasn’t a legal adult, he’d still be considered a wanted villain and therefore our decisions would revolve around what we believe to be the best course of action, which would most likely be not telling Endeavor anything.”

And for the first time in this minefield of a conversation, he seems to have said something actively right, as Todoroki’s wounded features lax slightly. “And. Also, you guys said his. His quirk is gone? Like I knew it was, but is it really just. Gone?”

“Yes, for an undetermined amount of time, maybe even forever.”

And while clear relief pools into his eyes as his lids shutter away from Aizawa, something uneasy falters the determined set of his mouth. “I guess that’s probably for the better.” Todoroki admits. “And. Gives him a betterreasontostaywithus, right?” And at the flush of his cheeks and shame taunting his tone, Aizawa just nods. 

“I suspect that without his quirk- same with Shigaraki and Toga, they'll be more willing to hear us out and accept our help." Todoroki nods at this, eyes still not meeting Aizawa's. "And I feel like a major reason why they faced so much tribulation is because of their quirks, usually due to a social issue. It's a sad but realistic truth. So in way, while getting rid of their quirks certainly won’t fix what they've already went through, it’ll stop the continuation of the maltreatment they’re receiving because of them."

At the last portion of Aizawa’s monotonous console, something disturbed contorts Todoroki’s features into a tight expression. “I get that, but like. In our family, our quirks are really important. Like. They’re basically our default worth-” And Aizawa has to quietly shut his eyes for a hot second, the neon pink behind his eyelids serving as a wall to rebound all of his curses. Really, the Todorokis just get worse and worse. It’s like watching the eighth seasons of a reality TV show, when everyone’s spiraling and at least someone’s dead or relapsing into alcoholism. “Like. I don’t even know how much that’d affect Touya because. Well, because you already know about Touya and his quirk,” and misery sews the boy’s lips together, but Aizawa doesn’t need an arsenal of Google Translate and common sense to simply connect the dots.

If Todoroki Shouto suffered in his household because of his perfect quirk- then what about Touya? Touya, who’s assumedly the eldest, the one who had to somehow match Endeavor's expectations because someone like the youngest hasn’t been born yet. How many years would that have been, of Endeavor burdening Touya with his plans, plans that revolved around his faulty quirk that could've easily killed him with just a single slip-up?

“Like. I don’t know. If I lost my quirks I’d be super, super devastated.” He murmurs. “And while me and Touya had very different situations, I can’t imagine him being okay without his quirk. Like. Sensei, you have to understand that our quirks are basically what defines us.”

“But you don't think that way, don't you?” Aizawa asks coolly.

He hesitates, his gaze finally sliding back over. “I mean. Not anymore.”   

“Before you thought that way, did you think that mindset would've changed?" Aizawa questions nonchalantly.

The boy knots his lips, something bitter puckering his mouth. He gives a stiff shake of his head.

“There you go. Right now, Touya is in a similar position. If you can change, so can he. And for someone who doesn't have a quirk, it'd be severely unhealthy if he doesn't change such a toxic belief."

“Okay. But. Consider. No matter how similar our lives were, he's still very different than me. He’s a murderer who'd backflip himself into the seventh circle of hell the moment Judgment Day comes.”

Aizawa trips over his breath at that. "How did you even think of that?"

"Bakugou."

"You two have been getting awfully close."

"Yeah. We're friends." Todoroki says as if that's the most obvious thing in the world.

Aizawa stops tapping his mug. "...Does Bakugou know you guys are friends?"

Todoroki appears almost surprised by that. "What makes you think we're not?" Great, so he didn't run this by Bakugou.

"Anyways," Aizawa clears his throat, ignoring Todoroki's questioning gaze. "Moving on. I wasn't trying to compare Dabi to you..."

“Yes. Me. Who was a haughty, power-hungry, narrow-minded elitist.”

And you call Bakugou your friend? There's no way Todoroki was insightful enough to describe himself in this manner. Aizawa’s left with his mouth forming soundless words. "You weren't really an elitist," are the only truthful words of consolation that he could even offer.

"Yeah, but I had the energy of one." Todoroki rebukes.

Aizawa shrugs. "Still can't compare elitist-energy to Dabi."

He nods sagely. "Ah yes. Can't compare me to Touya-turned-Dabi, who kidnapped Bakugou and killed dozens out of a personal, twisted self-righteous tunnel-vision of a goal.”

“You’re really on a roll.” Aizawa murmurs, thumbing the wrinkles imprinted in his forehead. “Frankly, yes. But I don’t think it’s necessarily self-righteous. I mean, it definitely is to some extent since he thinks his personal view on society and the hero-world serves to justify his actions, but he also seems to know that they shouldn’t. He has mentioned before how he knew he’s done bad things and nothing can excuse them. Sounds more like he’s willing to sacrifice others for the sake of what he thinks will be the greater good, but strangely, seems to know that his actions are wrong and unforgivable.”

“I don’t know if that makes it worse.”

“Certainly makes him more of a threat.” Todoroki’s head snaps down to burrow his wide eyes into Aizawa’s. 

Then, with a curious timbre: “what’s it like, working with Dabi?"

Aizawa thinks about Dabi refusing to eat his food like a petty cat even though he always looks like he's five seconds from collapsing. "Difficult." He says slowly, before suddenly having an unforgiving memory of Dabi attempting to steam dry his students' shirts only to set them on fire, and looks back at Todoroki. Something must show up in his gaze because the boy flinches. “Hell." Aizawa reforms his previous answer.

“Oh.”

“It’s like if your entire class was combined into one entity and they were forced to carry out simple tasks that involve life-skills."

“Oh,” he says, somehow sounding more understanding despite his tone of voice not changing once.

“I want to see him," Todoroki suddenly asks.

And Aizawa feels his teeth clack down painfully on his tongue in a sudden reflexive move to retract a curse, and he sucks in a harsh breath through gated teeth. In front of him, Todoroki looks slightly concerned, probably thinking Aizawa’s trying to mentally or emotionally prepare himself, and not because he basically K.O’d a muscle between his teeth. 

“Sure. What changed your mind?"

"I don't know." Todoroki shrugs, inclining his head. "You said he had no life-skills, and somehow, though this certainly makes me seem like a fool, I suddenly think that he can't be that big of a threat."

"He's killed people before."

"Yeah." Todoroki nods formidably.

They share a look.

"No I totally get it," Aizawa coughs out a snicker. "I can't take him seriously anymore." Todoroki exhales a one-note laugh. "But. I don’t know if Dabi is prepared to talk to you.”

“As if I am, either.”

“If you talk to him, don’t push him. He’s not in a very stable emotional state right now, and talking about Touya might tick him off.” Aizawa warns. “Be considerate. This topic is hard for you, but you don’t know how hard it will be for him.”

Todoroki makes a face, however, appears mollified by Aizawa’s compromise, and nods obediently. 

“Yeah. Okay." Then, looking at Aizawa from the corner of his eyes, he adds, "I. Thanks for listening to everything. I was angry at you earlier tonight-"

"With good reason." Aizawa inputs quickly.

"No. It wasn't fair that I was upset at you," Todoroki shakes his head. "It's nice to talk to someone about this." He mumbles.

"If you ever want to talk some more, I'll be here."

However, the boy doesn't appear reassured by this. "By the way. Everything I just said...will it be reported or anything?"

"It should be." Aizawa admits. "But." He slides his gaze to the side. "I'm only legally obligated to make a report if I suspect you're currently in danger of abuse or harm." He cracks his knuckles, and Todoroki gives a sly smile.

"Well, that was in the past, not in the present." 

Neither of them mention how the damage that's already been done never truly leaves.

"In that case, guess I don't have to write up a report." Aizawa says. "Thanks for telling me this," he adds out of courtesy.

Todoroki shrugs. "It was nice having a hype-man for shittalking my dad who's not Natsuo." Todoroki nods amiably, and Aizawa doesn't know what to say to that.

"Your vocabulary has really developed after living with your classmates for a year, huh?" Is the only fathomable response he can muster.

"They're teaching me a lot," Todoroki answers approvingly. Then, with more of a passive tone, "um. Also am I going to get in trouble for swearing?"

"That's what you're worried about?"

"No. Because you haven't expelled Bakugou yet," Todoroki replies confidently, and honestly, why does it feel like Aizawa's class is exclusively made up from a group of little shits? "But I felt like it'd be professionally courteous to ask."

"Trust me," Aizawa grunts in response, before standing up, knees cracking and reminding him that he’s going to get arthritis once he turns forty because of how stress is aging him and his body. "I didn't think you'd be a swearer."

"It was inevitable, living in the same building as Bakugou for seven days a week." Todoroki shrugs nonchalantly. "This was nice. Really. I know it's probably inconvenient to hold you up for so long- like almost an hour, especially in the morning-"

"No kid, don't worry. Even if you didn't, Yamada would've," Aizawa guarantees. "Besides, I like talking to you way more than talking to Yamada."

Todoroki looks at him. "I'm telling Present Mic that-"

And 'little shit' is an understatement. 

"Haha. Stop it before I actually expel you," Aizawa grins grimly, and Todoroki snaps his jaw shut. 

And Aizawa doesn’t know if it’d be smart of him to dismiss Todoroki, or ask him kindly if he’s ready to head back, because what if he’s not? Todoroki’s definitely not the type to necessarily take the hard route in terms of emotional confrontation. But what if Todoroki is too awkward to say that he wants to leave?

The same gut feeling he had just an hour ago returns.

He shouldn’t send him back. 

“You want to help me feed cats?”

“What?”

“It’s almost six, and you definitely should try and get as much sleep as possible, but since I’m awake right now, I’m going to go feed the cats that are always at the border of U.A. I should send you back as a responsible figurehead, but if you want to join me, I also won't stop you."

And Todoroki’s eye that's a pretty shade of blue that Aizawa has been seeing a lot these past couple days (really, he's seen three Todorokis in less than a week. That's already three too many-), appears almost luminous even in the yellow undertone of the lounge.

“Yeah. Okay.”

And Aizawa decides he can be content with the sudden gentleness that seals the splinter in the boy’s voice.

“Sensei, thank you for everything.” Todoroki mutters, watching from afar as Aizawa cracks open the canned food to set down on the pavement.

“Yeah. Don’t hesitate to come to me if you have to.” He gestures for Todoroki to come over as the familiar tabby slinks over at the smell of the food. 

“Thanks for the bagel, too.”

“You literally took that without asking.”

“Hm. Okay. Nothing in the student handbook has a procedure for this.”

“Whoa. Your face is shiny.”

Hm. Okay. So nothing in the student handbook has a procedure for this. Iida nervously shuffles closer.

On her shredded bedsheets that Iida is pretty sure weren’t supposed to have so many holes, is Toga Himiko, someone that Iida vivaciously remembers- in fact, she’s quite difficult to forget.

On the bed beside her, is a knocked-out Shigaraki, someone that Iida has heard stories of and distantly viewed, and across the room, is Dabi, on his side, his back to him and limbs entwined with his twisted blankets.

"C'mon, talk to me! Shiggy and Dabs are aslEEP. Even Izuku-chan! Your teach' told me it was because they were awake all night! Can you believe it?" She huffs, bounding on her bed. "Like, I'm your friend! Your sis, your bro, and you don't even wake me up to talk? They had a chat and bonding time without me!" She groans. However, her displeasure quickly melts away, as she gasps, her eyes fixating on his hands.

"Oh, that's rather unkind of them!"

"I know, right?" She steams through gnashed teeth. "You go fast, right?"

"Like as in my quirk?" Well, she probably already knows as his quirk has been broadcasted to the public through many means. "Yes!"

"Mm. Blue hair, too," she mumbles, though more to herself. "Listen up, Sonic." And he's never felt his soul waver as much as it did now by her sudden viscerally domineering tone, "Dabi's honestly kinda a jerk sometimes."

"I see that."

"Yeah! Like? What the heck he just DIPS and never tells us and he makes Boss worry so much! Like, Shiggy will never admit it, but Shiggy cares in his own way," Iida doubts it, but he feels like it'd be rather rude if he said so, "and Dabi just. Leaves, and comes back looking worse for wear, and usually smelling like death eugh you know?" He actually does not know. "Like? Am I mad? Am I glad? Maybe both!"

"Oh." And he knows stereotyping is harmful, but honestly he didn't have high expectations for Dabi, who Iida always secretly thought looked like a methead. "That must be diffic-"

“Whatcha got there?" She cuts him off with little regard, striking him as odd and ill-mannered, though she doesn't appear intentionally so. If anything, she just seems hyper at the moment. Then, to his surprise , she appears aware of her behaviour: "ah, sorry! I'm sorry Sonic-chan!"

"Oh, no, don't worry-" and the nickname 'Sonic-chan' has not only K.O'd at least a decade off his lifespan, but the whiplash of hearing it has given him internal organ damage.

"No, I just got curious about your bag, did you want to say something?"

"No, not particularly," he says resolutely. And on a normal basis, Iida would probably avoid this situation. After all, it’d be irresponsible to engage with one of the three villains (Iida swears there was only one just yesterday), as no sensei or school authority has granted permission to do such a thing.

Yet, he can’t simply leave. It'd be brutish for him to leave mid-conversation.

“Um. These?” Iida jerkily holds out his books. “These are books and homework that Midoriya has missed!” He explains. He woke up at six, ran into Bakugou (a familiar sight since he's also an early riser) scrambling eggs and tomatoes, who had saved a plate for Iida. By this point, months after Bakugou's first unexpected offer of food, Iida's grown familiar enough with his consistent gifting of breakfast, to even confidently include him in his daily routine. After thanking him for the food, he had then brushed his teeth before meeting up with Momo to discuss their daily plans. They then agreed that he should probably visit Midoriya around seven to see if he was awake. By this point, they’re too used to their friend staying incapacitated in the nurse’s office during class time, that they’ve developed a routine for collecting and transferring any of his missed work.

However, there's one- or two, rather large dents in his neatly constructed schedule. 1. Midoriya is actually not awake. 2. Toga Himiko is awake.

Iida sweats.

“Oh. Homework? Can I see? What’s your name? Whoa can I try on your glasses?”

Blinking at the obvious curiosity highlighting the girl’s eyes, Iida hesitates. However, she appears genuine enough, and there’s something more muted about her personality that he hadn’t expected. He’s heard watered-down versions of the girl from Midoriya himself, as well as reports and class gossip (not that he approves of spreading rumours, especially when one should be focused on themselves and their class!). She appears more satiated with the normalcy of life. Nothing along the lines of “blood-sucking, dog-drooling, Asian-glow skeeter.” Then again, those were Bakugou’s words, something Iida should’ve known to take with a grain of salt.

“Of course!” Well, if someone wants to learn, then Iida’s definitely not going to turn them down, villain or not. Knowledge in the fundamental subjects is important after all! Besides, Toga’s already showing more interest than a third of his class (Kaminari), which is very good! “This is on math- algebra two, to be exact, and this stuff is on history!” He presents. “And I’m Iida Tenya, and no, you can’t wear my glasses. I’m practically blind without them. Besides, wearing glasses that aren’t your prescription can damage your eyes! It’d be impudent of me to do something that I know would affect your vision.”

Toga’s feline gaze barely skims over the math, something unimpressed dulling her stare, which unnerves Iida in the sense that he finds himself wanting to impress her as he represents their school. But to his relief, she automatically latches onto the history worksheet, flipping through the stapled packet.

“Ooh, this font is cute!" She hums happily, pausing at all the printed pictures of their notes.

“Comic Sans?” He says incredulously.

“Yes!” Toga gurgles, her slit pupils vibrating in their sea of milky white, flickering over the page. “This is cool! This is what you do at school? I remember going to school and it was bo- ring ! Like the teachers were always mad about us using first names with each other and didn’t like us decorating our school uniforms like ugh."

"Well, uniforms are meant to suggest order and community, I can see why something with the intention of identifying you by group and not by individuality, shouldn't be decorated," he disagrees politely.

However, she’s currently rambling past that subject, pinballing between five different topics, and Iida finds himself dreadfully lost and insufficient in personality to be conversing with her. At this, his arm mechanically swings in mild nervousness. 

“And they got mad at me for licking Naomi’s scabby knee once! I didn’t even turn because it wasn’t even enough blood." She pouts. "I was just curious.” And now her voice has taken a griping edge, and Iida quickly turns to the other side of the room where Midoriya is completely knocked out, the only indication that it is him being the tuft of green hair and elevated leg swinging sadly in its cast.

“That sounds awful, really, but maybe it’s because that’s really dangerous- she could get an infection, you know!” He warns. "Also, be careful of germs!"

At this, Toga is surprisingly still, her quivering pupils clapping onto him, her relentless smile still crooked on her face. “Maybe. That’s very good of you, Iida-chan!” He doesn’t know why he’s surprised by the sudden, unfitting honorific. “But I just wanted to understand her more! She’s very nice, and she really likes dolphins, which I do too,” she begins, now rocking on her bed, the history worksheets forgotten on her bed as she clutches her toes, forming her body into almost a deformed rocking chair. “And at that time, she said she really liked helping and loving others, and how she wants to make the world better in that way, and I don’t know!!! I loved that I loved her and I loved everything she said!” And that startles Iida, because he always assumed there was something superficial about the girl’s fixation, as he always judged it off of Tsuyu’s look of discomfort whenever Toga is mentioned, and Uraraka’s bitter claim that she was delusional. 

Not saying that her fixation is healthy in any way, but it’s definitely not as superficial as he initially presumed. 

“And you, what about you? Are you fun?”

“Ah, I don’t know about fun,” Iida admits candidly. He knows that others joke that he’s an ‘oblivious stick-in-the-mud’ because he doesn't find amusement in tuning in to the channel of Bakugou and Todoroki's daily fistfight out in the school parking lot. “I’m not that interesting, but, I can help you with anything you need!” And he inwardly retracts that statement, but too late now. “Everything that’s within the realm of what's appropriate!" He quickly rephrases. “If you want, I can talk about the hero course, other studies and majors, and even the food quality of U.A., as well as mention my own theories about what could be later applied to the school to better it!” He reports, his wrist banging painfully against Toga’s bed frame with each chop.

Toga’s head tilts sharply, and he flinches slightly by the suddenness of that action. “Whoa! You’re pretty cool!”

And he has to take a second, embarrassment overwhelming his systems. There’s no procedure for this in the handbook!!

“You’re so passionate! That’s so cool, passionate people are the best- their bloods’ the reddest and they have so much courage so I can be bold with them too!”

“Thank you?” He finally says, too flustered to sound truly grateful.

“And you have ideas and plans? I don’t really like having plans or anything, but that sounds like something confident people would say!” She pauses. “Well, I’m pretty confident without plans," she confides cheekily, "but still!”

“I don't really have any concrete or complete plans for me to discuss.”

“Tell me the ones that aren't concrete or complete, then!"

And she’s upright, her spine wound rigid, tight from excitement, and her teeth glittering with plaque and youth. “Um. Most of my concerns surround the entrance exam. I believe the assessment of one’s quirk and skills aren’t entirely accurate, given that the exam are majorly physical, something that not everyones’ quirk might excel at, when their quirk may be amazing for hero work when utilised differently. And there’s the idea that not everyone knows how to properly use their quirk before enrolling in a hero school, when they could be amazing heroes underneath proper guidance,” Iida begins, somewhat awkward. He’s never shared these ideas with anybody else before.

“You want to change the hero course?” And Iida hesitates to expound, because he doesn’t want to imply too much of what he perceives to be the school’s weaknesses, because she’s Toga, and Toga is a villain, and it’d be truly irresponsible and foolish of him to be careless.

“Well, I mean. I am still young! I don’t really know all the variables that would affect the system, or how difficult it would be to change it,” he adds hurriedly, his hands as stiff as his tone. “But I would like the system to be more inclusive and creative about how they assess students and situations, as well as stop viewing heroism as a challenge since it sets an example for other schools that they must recruit and take credit in the improvement of the best heroes, rather than focus on the children who may not have had the advantage of learning or properly using their quirks before attending a hero school. But ah, don’t take my words into heart! Of course I’m just a student, and I don’t have as much experience as the school board would. I just think that it’s a viable and responsible goal for society to take!” He elaborates, his typically clipped and firm words stumbling over each other out of fear of being misinterpreted as naive.

Toga giggles, releasing the tips of her toes and splays out on her bed. 

He winces as her left thigh crushes Midoriya’s homework. Pretty irresponsible of him as a class representative and friend to let that happen.

“No, no! That’s so cool! That’s so hot-blooded, and you want to change for the happiness of everyone, and to make the world more comfortable to live in!” She chirrups, her mouth stretching, her eyes winking from the width of it. “You’d be a good hero. Stainy wouldn’t wanna kill you.” And he isn’t entirely sure if Toga’s flattering him intentionally, but it feels nice. Then, his heartbeat positively jackknifes at hearing the nickname, ‘Stainy’. But, Toga has already continued. “Like, I want to live in a world where I can just drink blood ya know-”

“Well, that’s not what I was really saying. In that sort of world, I’m sure they would’ve found accommodation for your quirk, but since drinking blood usually ends up hurting others, the act itself wouldn't be accepted.” And seeing her smile freeze, her gaze plastic, he quickly tries to mollify her unspoken displeasure. “While it’s to my understanding drinking blood equates to showing affection for you, most people don’t like that!”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know, surprising,” Iida says sympathetically, though his tone quickly returns to its typical, business-like earnestness. “But I don't think other people will love you back, or think you love them if they feel pain. People also don’t like being forced into doing something they don’t like,” he attempts to rationalize without boring the girl. He’s heard enough about her to know what she does when she gets bored with someone. She’s the type to take things into her own hands to make things interesting.

“I mean, yeah, but they just don't see themselves! They’re so pretty, and red is such a pretty colour-” And she’s pouting. Probably not good. Then again, this is a common expression Kaminari wears, so perhaps it's not that bad. He’s not really sure. Maybe it’s worse. 

“But it’s not fair to them if they don’t agree with it. It’s like how you don’t agree to people forcing you to fit their idea of happiness, right? Everyone can have their own opinion, but yours hurts others!”

“But I need their blood to become them! Copying is the sincerest form of flattery, after all.” 

Iida stares, unsure how to break the news to her that the common saying is really just a mocking excuse over being caught ripping someone off. “Okay. So no- ”

“But-”

“So no,” he repeats slowly. “Toga.” His iron straight arm raises slightly so his fingers can card his hair. “Okay, Toga.” He addresses, capturing her vibrant eyes in his. “Do you feel bloodlust?” He questions, pegging on the fact that if Dabi doesn’t have his quirk, hopefully, Toga doesn’t. Judging by the lack of visible restraints on her body, he figures it’s a safe bet. “Because. Dabi doesn’t have his quirk. He hasn’t for a while.” Well. Less than week, actually. “So I don’t know if you do too.” 

And he wonders if it’d be insulting to take a step back, because honestly, telling a highly wanted villain bad news, especially if that villain doesn’t have to rely on her quirk to rob him of all his molars, might be the most thoughtlessly rash thing he’s done in a while.

Which is saying a lot, since just the other day, he made the devastating mistake of forgetting to unplug everything from his outlets at the end of the day before going to bed.

Toga’s smile simply falters into a nasty sneer, that wobbles back into her signature grin, almost like she’s unsure how to feel.

“What did you do to Dabi?” She finally inquires, her strained voice whistling through the gaps of her clenched grin.

“Nothing. We found him like this. I’m guessing the same with you. I don’t know any details, sorry.”

And her eyes flicker across him in a threatening way, almost giving him the impression if she finds any displeasing detail she’ll gut him. “Okay.” She finally states, her eyes reverting back to its usual tunnel-vision that’s directly taped onto his face. He meets her gaze, though, he can’t help but feel slightly disconcerted by the absolute nonchalance in her expression and posture. “I believe you. Because you smell trustworthy.” She says simply, her tone flippant but cold. “I don’t feel bloodthirsty.” He takes a moment to realise she’s answering his previous question. “But cutting others is the only way I know how to show how much I like them.” She shrugs. “I like it,” she adds, narrowing her eyes, as if daring him to judge her methods.

He’s judging her methods.

“I-I can teach you other ways.”

“I don’t want to know other ways.” And her voice is suddenly tight, ran thin with an emotion that Iida barely identified. Her inability to reposition her smile gives it away- it’s fear. “I don’t need other ways.”

“Toga, it must be scary and difficult,” he says, gaining more confidence as he’s now aware of the root of her unwillingness. “And I know it’s not fair to suddenly ask you to change your ways of expressing your emotions after growing up with your quirk, but sometimes adapting is the best way to happiness, and to doing what you love.” 

“I don’t want your advice!” Iida recoils, not expecting sudden backlash. Or maybe he was being too insensitive, too brash. He swallows. “It’s not fair!” And Toga cannot be older than he is- if anything, she’s more likely to be younger.

Having to grow up with a quirk that’s as innately unconventional as hers, something she can’t necessarily control, to shape her attitude and mentality, he wonders if she even has an identity that hasn’t developed from her quirk. 

“I. It works! I’m not hurting others, I can take blood without it hurting!”

“But even if it doesn’t hurt, people might not want it, and people don’t like being forced to do things they don’t like.” Iida tries to placate calmly. "Some people may not like the fact that you're copying them, either."

She appears displeased by that. “I mean. I don’t feel the need to take peoples’ blood anymore.” And she’s quiet for a second. “But I still want to drink blood if given the chance. I still want to still become other people. What’s so wrong with wanting to do that?” She asks weakly, her flame of anger dying out as quickly as it came. "I. It's cute. I just find it cute."

Iida can think of many things wrong with that, and zero ways to convey them. 

“But if I can’t even do that, then how will I be able to be with others? I can’t understand others without it.” She snivels, and Iida glances at her cautiously, not really sure where this is going. “Why is it bad for me to become them?”

“It’s more like it’s bad that you take their blood when they might not agree to it. Also, some people like privacy, and most people don't like the idea that there's another person looking like them and pretending to be like them as well, just running amok. And..." he hesitates, "you can’t understand people because you suddenly look like them-"

“Yes I can! I watch them, I know how they act, I. I know them and am friends with them. I know how they act and feel and just being them completes my understanding!” She gnashes her teeth, and Iida recoils at the sound of grinding. "I'm perfect at it! You don't get it, Iida-chan, even that really pretty girl from the other school, I was her for so long and no one could tell! My acting is solid, how could I not understand them? If I understood them so well that people think I am them, then doesn't that mean I should know if they disliked what I'm doing?"

And that's.

Iida's actually quite impressed by her deduction of logic (he always likes a clear debate), even though he thinks she's conclusively wrong. 

“That’s not how it works,” he says firmly. “You can’t know people the way they know themselves. You also can’t force someone to be friends with you just because you see them as your friend. Relationships are only sustainable and healthy if they’re mutual. You can act like them on the surface, but because you are not them, you can never conclusively say that you understand them. Anyone can be a good actor, but logically, no on can be anyone they're not! Being yourself and being someone else are two concepts that cannot coexist on the same plane of reality!" He says practically. 

“But how can they not be friends with me? I am them! People usually like themselves, and I am basically them and maybe I am not all the way them, but I am mostly them-”

“You’re still yourself, your own person. You’re Toga.” Then, musing out loud, "you actually see friendship as linear- transactional, don't you? That objectively, the closer you are to them, the closer you are as friends. But relationships don't work like that."

“But I can become someone else!” And she looks not just sad, but frustrated. Like she’ll throw a genuine tantrum. “I. They can’t just not like me if I am them, we’re. They can’t just leave me alone!” And whatever point she was getting at earlier through practical explanations has unravelled, leaving Iida somewhat lost and somewhat anxious.

“You can’t be someone else. That’s what I’m saying. Besides, Toga, this sounds like you’re trying to be someone you’re not. They aren’t liking you then, if they don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m THEM,” she roars, and she sounds actually distraught now, as if Iida’s being the unreasonable one. 

“You can’t be, though.” Iida frowns. “Who do you think you are, Toga?”

She shrugs roughly, glaring at her bedframe. “Someone happy. I like friends. I like other people.” She answers simply. She narrows her eyes haughtily. "I like most people." She sniffs, glowering at him. “But I like being other people.” She whines. “What’s wrong with that?"

“Well. I think. You can take personality traits from other people that you like. But you still have your own personality since birth, too. You probably had a personality of your own since you were young. Like a teen.”

“But I’ve been other people since I was a teen!” She throws her hands up, clearly irritated by his incompetence.

Iida doesn’t think that sounds very healthy. 

“I need my quirk. How else can I live?” She groans theatrically, burrowing into her mattress, beginning to roll herself up in her blanket. 

When he doesn't answer, another moan escapes from the blankets.

“I mean. You’re. You’re making friends quite well without it.” He peers down from the hole of her blanket burrito. “I’m sorry you have to go through it, though." Her eyes remind him of the honey lozenge drops that Momo would always suckle on. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He attempts to sound more confident than he feels. He’s not really good with ‘socializing’ to an empathetic degree like Mina and Kirishima naturally are.

“We’re friends?” Then, her amber, cough syrup eyes and sickly thick smile, droopy from an entire lifetime of sedatives against reality, brighten. “Without me having to drink your blood? How will we really connect then?” And she sounds sly. Mocking, almost. Like she thinks he’s lying.

He feels instantly guilty. He is kind of lying, isn’t he? They aren’t friends, and he wasn't thinking about becoming her friend. But from what he can tell, wouldn't being her friend be the best way to disprove her belief that she needs her quirk to make friends, as well as potentially show her that it's better to make friends naturally? Maybe it's deceptive that he's only considering being her friend to solve something that he thinks is wrong, especially since in any other scenario he would've avoided becoming her friend. However, he can't really think of a better path to take at the moment.

“Then let’s be friends through learning more about each other." He decides earnestly, even though he feels somewhat guilty. It's not like he won't put in all his effort to maintain a friendly relationship with her, even if his intentions might be a bit underhanded. "Trying to completely understand each other isn’t possible, and even if we did, many people who understand each other don’t always get along. Some of the strongest relationships develop because of difficulties and miscommunication that you and others overcome. And I think the fun part of friendships are learning more about each other! If you become them, then you aren’t really being friends with them- because then where do you go? You’re not a part of the relationship, if it’s just two of the same people, right?”

And her response is positively glittering. She digs herself out of her wrap of blankets, her wide smile returning. Glad to know his paraphrased YouTube leadership videos are helping. "Sounds like a load of public-speaking crap." Or not. "If you have problems and overcome them, that's just tiring."

He pauses. "If you won't put in any effort, then do you really care about the other person?" She freezes. "Toga. People won't put effort into learning you, because there's nothing to learn, if you just copy like them. People won’t know who are you, and you can’t like something you know nothing about.” And now, her previous admiration is hard like resin, her dimples tight and creased. Iida prefers people like her, who are extremely emotionally expressive- it’s easier for him to read, then. “I’m not very good at understanding others,” he adds quickly. If anything, he tends to be more ignorant when it comes to others’ intimate feelings. “But the effort people put into learning more about each other, despite any problems, isn’t that pretty amazing? How people get together?”

“What’s there more to me?” She beams, though, she’s clearly still pouting. “I’m smiley, I’ve been like this since I was a child before my quirk developed, and I love people and cats and blood.” Toga yawns, exposing her canines. “I was always like this. If people want to know me so bad, then there you go!"

Iida stares. He’s not good with people, but just trying to organise everything she’s saying, he sees something rather particular. “Toga, have you ever tried being yourself after you developed your quirk?”

Toga blinks. “How am I not myself? I like myself! And I like other people- if I like them, then I want to be like them too, I can be many people at once!” She huffs. "I feel like you think that I don't see people as individuals." He freezes. That's. That's exactly what he thought. And it must show on his paralysed stature, because a sour scowl contorts her smile. "I like that other people are different. That everyone is different and new and react in their own way. I care about them. I worry about them, I can feel things, Iida-chan," and she sounds different, her voice set in stone and for a second, she sounds like a completely different person. 

Or maybe she was always like this.

Iida wonders if he's been hypocritically acting like he understood her character this whole time, when the reality is he's only talked to her for a total of five minutes. 

And he's failed her.

He swallows the blackhole opening up in his throat. How despicable of him.

"I know that they're real people, all with their own blood, with their own heart." Then, she stops squirming from her position, staring up at the ceiling, tilting her head. "Oh. I guess you kinda make sense," she muses.

"Pardon?"

"That I'm copying them, and since they're their own person, maybe they have different views on it than I do." She then giggles. "Oo, Iida-chan, you're actually quite smart, aren'tcha? You weren't kidding when you said you had pretty good ideas!" She's now singing a foreign tune. "Do you know the song 'Sweet Caroline'?"

"No?"

"Oh. It's so catchy! With the car honks!"

"I see." He doesn't."

"Anyways. Fine. I get it. What you said. But what I think is, what else can you do? I refuse to give up drinking blood in the end. I'm obsessed with being someone else." She chirps, gaze steady on Iida, and he feels distinctly unsettled. 

“Isn’t that unhealthy, to want to be like other people?” He finally musters a response.

“No.”

Iida blinks. And that sounds wrong, but he doesn't know how to refute it. This isn't a math problem with a clear proof against it. He’ll probably ask Momo extremely concerning rhetorical questions later with absolutely no context, to figure out how to approach this situation.

“Do you have more things?” Toga inquires curiously.

"Huh?" 

"Like in your bag," she says, not giving a second thought to what they were just talking about, and it takes him a moment to realise she has completely moved on. He frowns at this. He thought she appeared at least somewhat touched by his words. Maybe not enough.

Well, Iida is a worrier- maybe she's just not.

She’s very live-in-the-moment, he’s starting to realise. Her sadness hasn't even ebbed away, it simply just ricocheting out of sight as she’s distracted by something new. 

“Here.” He digs through his backpack, pulling out hero comics that he meant to give to Midoriya. She might get annoyed if he tries to continue such a sensitive subject. “I don’t know if you care much for heroes-” he pretends as if she doesn’t have a stare flatter than a panini press, “but I guess. Here’s some stuff for fun. And here are some old worksheets if you really do feel like doing any homework.”

“I wanna do homework!”

And Iida’s going to scold shame Kaminari later because this teenage villain with the attention span of a broken fire hydrant who seemingly lacks any interest in anything outside of the fantastical or the My Little Pony fandom, is more excited about basic math than he, a student, is.

“Thank you, Ten-chan!” 

Sputtering, Iida trips over a chord on the floor at that statement and nearly brings Shigaraki’s entire life support crashing down in one swoop.

“Did you hear? I heard Iida went into the infirmary, and straight up tried to take down Shigaraki!”

“No way.”

“There are more of them?"

"Sero. You dumbass. We already know of that- did you not check your email?"

"That email? The one sent at four in the morning? I. Bakugou, I barely check my Google Classroom for daily homework and you're asking me about optional emails?"

“Kaminari, I did not challenge anyone, this can be classified as slander underneath the law. So, stop telling everyone that I did-”

“Hey, hey you, I need to talk to you.”

And Dabi know he doesn’t really understand human customs, another one of their social rituals, however, he knows damn well that Shouto doesn’t either, so he side-eyes the boy who just burst into the hospital room, slamming the door so hard that it rebounded and smacked his brother in his unflinching face.

“That was aggressive. Ten-chan wouldn’t like that.” Toga murmurs.

For a second, Dabi’s glad that Shouto is here.

He woke up five minutes ago to Toga’s sobbing. Slow from shock and sleep, he didn't reflexively pretend to still be asleep the moment she turned around.

That was a mistake, since now she's shredded through his bedding in an attempt to embrace him with a hug, as if he doesn’t know that any hug is going to end up with a syringe in his kneecap. 

All Dabi can really say while in the middle of fighting off Toga with his flailing legs is, “Ten-chan?”

“Oh yeah! A friend!" Toga beams, thankfully distracted in the midst of her assault, though, Dabi doesn't know how to punt the brat off of where she's wound tightly around his legs. 

“You think everyone’s your friend,” he leers.

Toga pouts at that, bristling, “no!” She gripes defensively, her grip tightening. Shit. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. “Well, yes,” she automatically laughs. “But he’s different! He's the one to ask to become my friend!" Well, weird attracts weird, he supposes. "He came by a while ago, he’s so funny!"

“I need to talk to you,” Shouto repeats impatiently.

When no one says anything, Dabi awkwardly slides his eyes over in judgment.  “Me?” Dabi confirms doubtfully.  

Shouto nods stiffly, something resolute in his eyes. 

He can play along. As long as he’s Dabi, as long as he flushes any possibility of Touya recurring out of his brother’s mind, then they can go back to their comfortable relationship of 'person who kidnapped my friend’ and 'friend of the person I kidnapped’.

“No, I need to talk to Dabi firsssst! He disappeared for so long and I thought he was dead!” Toga hiccups, and Dabi, knowing for a fact that she’s going to start crying because she just always has to play that card, feels his survival instincts trigger fear and an adrenaline rush to escape the situation.

And then, very dryly, Shouto turns to Toga. “Me too.” 

Dabi’s neurological processing centers instantly shut down, because wow . The boldness of such a mediocre sixteen-year-old with the brain of a walnut. He's almost jealous.

“He’s been gone for six years. Forgive me, but I think I was first in line on having this talk with him.” Shouto begins, something guarded and possessive in his tone, and Dabi knows this boy is going to try and kick his ass. Internally, he wonders why did his body bother to wake up at all. 

But, rather than snarling, Toga’s lashes flutter upwards, fanning out as curiosity widens her eyes.  “You know what it’s like too? ” 

Dabi flinches, having a bad feeling. “Wait. Where is this goi-”

“Like, why can’t Dabi at least leave a voicemail or something like!” Toga explodes. “The nerve you have, acting like everything's normal!” She barks at him, and he automatically flops on the bed again, even more desperate than before to at least get one leg out of her tightly knotted limbs. "DABI you can't just LEAVE and stress everyone out! You know Shiggy thought you DIED!"

"As if he wouldn't have wanted that!"

"You have no manners!" She barks like the goddamn chihuahua she is.

“You nonconsensually drink peoples’ blood!” Dabi accuses, flabbergasted and dismayed because the audacity .

“I notify people before I do it!” 

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

She turns to Shouto, nails digging tightly into his borrowed sweatpants, and he cringes, some of the scrabbling getting caught amongst his seams, finding purchase in between his staples. “You know, he can go out and kill an entire village but he can’t at least use the phone of one of the houses he’s gonna burn? Like? Where’s the effort-”

And now, Shouto’s approaching their bed, his eyes shining like cut gemstones. Dabi does not like the sudden interest of life in Shouto’s eyes; because even as a kid, Shouto always looked five seconds away from arson and patricide. Must be a genetics thing. “I know right.” Shouto says, eyes flashing. “It’s almost like he decides to one day disappear from your life under the guise he’s dead-”

"Hey, even I didn't know that I was dead either." Dabi snaps, offended by this spread of misinformation.

“Yeah, but he’s not dead but he doesn’t bother to CLARIFY-” And Toga shifts herself upright, her legs still locked around Dabi's, and she twists her body over with the dexterity of a Twizzler, reaching over to grasp Shouto's hand. Shouto himself appears caught off guard, eyes widening at the realisation he's gotten himself involved in the unknown. "Like if you're dead then you're dead." She grumbles, forcefully prying open his fingers to interlock them with hers.

Dabi would find it more amusing if Shouto isn't slowly reciprocating her hold.

"But if you're not dead, then like? I dunno, leave a sticky! Let us know so we don't waste our time crying and our money on your funeral!" Toga erupts. "Like. Now when you actually die, I won't have any tears to spend on you, Dabi!" And she sounds less incensed, more desperate.

“ Exactly .” And Shouto’s now turning back to him, something dark in his eyes, and Dabi suddenly feels very cornered, as Toga’s also glowering at him from where she’s still clutching Shouto’s hands, her feline eyes narrowing.

“And he does this all the time-”

“Without warning, too-”

“Seriously doesn’t even make an effort .”

“And he always comes back looking like he got shoved through a wood chipper!” Toga scowls. “He comes back with skin looking like someone tried to clean off soot using two-ply. Like? Am I supposed to feel bad after all that emotional stress you put me through?"

“No consideration, really,” Shouto clicks his tongue. "Seriously, irresponsible behaviour. Throwing everyone into distress and chaos. Asshole behaviour."

"Stop swearing." Dabi snaps reflexively. And Dabi suddenly feels very indignant and somehow wronged in this entire ordeal, as now, Toga’s rattling Shouto’s hands between her entwined fingers, her eyes glimmering the way that they do whenever she’s found a new interest.

Disgusting, he notes, as he sees how Shouto is easily complementing her smacktalk with his own, his typically impassive face suddenly determined as if he now has a goal to strive towards, like he has to fill up an entire meter of backhanded talk towards Dabi to make up for lost time.

“Touya’s really just inconsiderate."

“Who’s Touya?” Toga scrunches her sharp nose.

“Oh. Dabi. His real name is Touya, he’s my brother,” and the way that Shouto says ‘brother’ feels funky, and he’s sure Shouto feels it, too. And Dabi can't believe Shouto just willingly revealed their connection. Because he always thought he wouldn't, as it'd serve as a double-edged sword.

Clearly, he's the one receiving more damage than Shouto, who appears utterly unbothered by exposing this secret. 

“He’s your brother?” And Toga’s head whips towards him so hard that her already mussed buns flop limply out of their bands. “You let your own little brother think you were dead for six years?”

“Why is that your biggest concern with this realisation?” Dabi hesitates. "I can't believe you just said that like it was nothing." And wait a fucking moment, Shouto just exposed him to a villain without hesitation. He doesn't even seem particularly distraught by this revelation.

Dabi doesn't know what's happening, but his legs are sweaty underneath Toga's added heat, she's holding hands with his little brother, and his little brother just brutally one-shot him without a single stutter.

“He never even said goodbye,” Shouto says remorsefully, acting like Dabi didn't just say anything.

Dabi squints, gesturing at him wildly. “Sorry that I was going through a phase,” he sneers sarcastically.

“And you never even bothered to send a letter at least? You know Mom still writes to you, right? She has a drawer of letters for you.”

He didn’t.

“Dabi, what the heck.” Toga states judgmentally. “You can’t just do that. What is wrong with you.” And now she’s stroking Shouto’s hand.

Nothing could’ve prepared Dabi for this sudden relationship and betrayal from Toga. He might’ve seen it coming with Shouto because he’s always been a little shit, but this? 

“You really do understand me,” and Shouto’s eyes are reflective like Toga’s, and Dabi’s done.

“Oh what? Are we shittalking Dabi?”

And now Shigaraki's up, too.

“I see you two have at least talked enough for you guys to be comfortable in the same room?”

Dabi looks over to Aizawa, who has entered the room, pushing a cart with trays in.

“No.” He gestures towards Shouto, who’s now seated on Toga’s bed, where Shigaraki’s leaning over from his, all of them furiously whispering, every once in a while throwing in a loud statement about how Dabi needs to get his shit together. “He just has a support group.”

“I see. No wonder Midnight asked me how come Todoroki’s been missing for so long, that he actually missed her class,” he says, his voice ironed out into a pure form of sarcasm. Shouto doesn’t even look remotely guilty. 

Of course Shouto remained ballsy.

He always was. However, there’s something different between the way Shouto would remain deftly and disrespectfully cold to his father, compared to the way that Shouto remains informal out of familiarity to Aizawa.

Shouto’s different from what Dabi expected.

He recalls watching his school tournament, sneering at the obvious haughtiness hardening his brother’s face, any trace of personality hammered out of his expression when his father forged his personal sense of perfection.

Honestly, a big reason why Dabi didn’t want to meet Shouto after that, to refuse to acknowledge him as shared blood, is simply because he thought he’d despise the kid’s attitude. His indifferent glower reminded him too much of his father’s overbearing pride, blinding arrogance. At least the image of Shouto’s dull gaze desensitized him to the idea of killing him one day. No point in saving someone like Endeavor. 

Dabi didn’t think much about how Shouto suffered underneath Endeavor, as well. No point in dwelling on the past, either.

Then, he learned Shouto was part of the rescue team for Bakugou, despite what their relationship depicted by the tournament suggested.

And earlier, he watched Shouto get whacked with a door while walking in.

And now, he’s forced to witness his little brother somehow overcome his inherent dislike towards the League who basically upturned his classmate’s life, simply because of his personal urge to complain about Dabi’s abandonment issues with others.

Dabi doesn’t know which is more annoying: his initial impression of Shouto, or the one he’s seeing right now. 

“Todoroki, you must return to your classes at one point.”

“Wait, can I join classes?” Toga asks cheerfully. "Ten-chan is in all your classes, right?"

“Yeah, sure,” Aizawa returns an equally disturbing smile, “if you’re willing to deal with all the paperwork that comes alongside with your existence.”

“Aizawa-sensei," Todoroki addresses. "I’m sorry," and Dabi instantly notes how he in fact, does Not sound Sorry™, "but I am currently on a path of self-discovery with my companions who have also felt personally victimized by Touya’s reckless responsibility of informing others of his whereabouts-”

“I’m not your companion.” Shigaraki deadpans. 

“My name’s Dabi,” he mutters dryly, as if a second repetition could do anything.

“Oh. I see. Should I invite Bakugou as well, then?” Aizawa suggests.

Shouto shuts up. 

“Hm. Since it appears you have yet to properly talk with Touya-” Aizawa observes. Dabi rolls his eyes. 

“It’s Dabi.”

Aizawa turns to him, unimpressed.

“It’s not a phase.” He adds hotly.

“So, Touya-” And now he's just doing this on purpose. Dabi mentally obliterates Aizawa’s head with his pillow. “Has business to attend to-”

“I do?”

“You do?” Everyone else in the room echoes. 

“And you, Other Todoroki, have school.” Aizawa finishes, ignoring all of them. “Either you talk now, or later in your free time.”

And Shouto hesitates. “Now.” Shouto doesn’t look at him when he says that.

Dabi rewinds his entire sentence. "Uh. No you're not. Don't you have classes?"

"I- how are classes more important than this? Than us?" Shouto challenges, and Dabi stares, because was Shouto always such a drama-queen?

"Wow. Killer line," Shigaraki says flatly from behind. "Profess your love next," he suggests.

"It's not like I can literally go anywhere. Just get your education." Dabi snaps.

"They're classes I can make up for-" Shouto rebukes stubbornly, but by this point, either out of annoyance or impatience, Aizawa interrupts him.

"You have a math test next period."

Dabi whips his head over at Shouto in astonishment, while Shouto himself is glaring at Aizawa, who just unapologetically looks away. "You have a math test? You were going to skip a test? What the fuck-"

"I want to have a real and serious talk with you-"

"No!" Dabi shuts him down, ignoring how Shouto recoils slightly at his disparaging tone. Whatever. "Do your math test! Make better use of your time- I'll still be here after your classes. You cannot skip tests!" Dabi points at him with a lazy glower, unwilling to raise his voice, but unwilling to let him off easy. First off, he'l literally do anything to stall the inevitable. Secondly, he cannot believe Shouto is skipping tests. He thought at least Fuyumi would raise him better.

Shouto's countenance is odd. Dabi stares at it suspiciously. "What?" He asks sharply.

Shouto pauses, mouth parting slightly, eyes sliding over, before back. "Nothing. Okay. I'll go, then."

At that, Aizawa motions towards the door. “Out, then. It’s lunchtime, and Uraraka has asked me if she needed to storm this room due to your long absence.” 

“Uraraka? You mean Ochako-chan?” Toga inhales loudly. Aizawa gracefully ignores her, as he waits for Shouto to leave. Shouto gives a shy, parting wave to Toga, before finally leaving. 

Dabi stares in absolute disgust at the way that Toga waves at his retreating back.

Then, Shigaraki makes a creaky noise of laughter, and Dabi frowns at the strange scene. Shigaraki, with his depraved smile and revolting face, is hunched over, one hand clutching his own jaw with a bruising grip. "Dabi. You're fucking hilarious. Really, you with your little brother-complex, what an uproar!"

Dabi shifts his eyes uneasily at that claim. "I don't have a brother-complex," he finally says, since he doesn't know what else to respond with.

Curled at the foot of his bed, Toga inhales sharply, cheeks flushed red as she hiccups down a noise. "Dabs, lemme just say, I've never felt so envious of someone before. I wanna steal young-Todo-roki's blood! I wanna be someone special to you, too!"

"He's not someone special," Dabi answers frankly.

However, Shigaraki's smothering a howl, "for someone with such a big-brother complex, you always acted more like the youngest brother."

And Dabi doesn't get it, but he decides he doesn't want to, and that the best remedy to dealing with dumbasses is ignoring them. 

“Midoriya has yet to wake up?” Aizawa frowns, closing the door, not at all caring that he's dismantling their conversation.

“He did, but then he saw Toga, and fainted.” Shigaraki informs. 

"Don't worry, I took good care of him!" Toga squeals proudly gesturing towards Midoriya, whose face is currently covered Sharpied hearts. 

Aizawa looks at Midoriya for a very long minute. Then: "well that was a visual uppercut."

"I know right?" Toga smiles.

"Mm." Aizawa nods. "There's a fine line between heaven and hell, and I think Toga you just destroyed it. No one stopped you?" And he really has the gall to sound disappointed, as if he expected anything from the crowd of people here. 

"Why would we?" Shigaraki says at the same time Dabi snorts: "and for what benefit?"

Aizawa appears to contemplate this, before shrugging. "Yeah. Okay." Aizawa walks to the trays, and Dabi guesses that's the end of it. “I’m not sure if your health allows you two to keep food down, but in the meantime, try and have some lunch." And they're all fingerfoods. Meaning no need for utensils. Then again, Toga plays with her food all the time- might as well subtract a fork or knife out of the equation. "Dabi, have your lunch and then you will finish your painting.”

Painting. Dabi can do that.

“ You paint?” Shigaraki and Toga inquires in unison.

“I wanna paint,” Toga suddenly says, her voice oddly hollow. “I haven’t painted in years. We only had crayons.” There’s something nervous in her tone, too. For all of Toga’s theatrics and animated demands- she’s been drilled by life and Mr. Compress to never ask strangers for things unless she's confident she can take the person head-on. 

“Toga, after you've fully recovered, you can help Dabi. He’s pretty good at painting cats.” And Dabi feels genuinely betrayed. Again. By the same person.

Dabi can't even tell if this is his fault, by this point. Like. Is he to blame for being stupid? He wasn't even aware that he held Aizawa to certain standards by this point.

Rather pointedly, he ignores Shigaraki’s gawking, and Toga’s wheezing that’s going to end up inducing an asthma attack. “Also, Shigaraki, we’ve ran a blood test for allergies as well, and learned you’re allergic to peaches and basically every other fruit in existence, which is quite the tragedy, so that’s why your tray doesn’t have a fruit cup like the others.” Aizawa explains.

“I’m allergic to fruit?” Shigaraki inquires at the same time Dabi says dubiously: "you're telling me that's how blood tests work?"

"Why?" Aizawa turns to him, raising an eyebrow. "You doubt it?"

And that doesn't sound right, but Dabi doesn't know enough about fucking science to dispute it. 

“Wait, but Shiggy’s eaten bananas and oranges before,” Toga muses.

Aizawa frowns at that, before saying, “maybe your symptoms just aren’t severe.” 

“But I love blueberries? Like what other fruit gives a tingling sensation to your tongue?” Shigaraki says slowly. They all stare at him. “Are you telling me I’m supposed to learn through a pseudo-kidnapping and nonconsensual blood test that blueberries aren’t supposed to feel like wet PopRocks on your tongue?” And now he just sounds exasperated.

“Wow.” Dabi begins dryly, as he grabs one of the trays and rips off its foiling. “Next, you’re going to tell us how you love the feeling of your throat closing up when you eat apples.”

“Are apples not supposed to do that?” And this is when Aizawa sighs at the sound of Shigaraki’s oddly pitched voice, and places a fourth tray onto Midoriya’s bedside table, before leaving without looking back.

“What did he do to you? Your cheek is all red!”

“I ran into a door.” Todoroki answers truthfully.

“As if I’d believe that,” and Uraraka appears even more scarlet than his own fading smack. He’s pretty sure it didn’t even bruise. “What happened? You didn’t come to either of your morning classes,” and the hardness in the swirls of her eyes soften into melted wax. “Sorry if I’m being pushy. You don’t have to tell me,” and Todoroki appreciates that. He hates opening up, feeling obliged in any relationship to provide anything.

The only time he’s ever done that was with Aizawa, to be honest. Somewhat with Midoriya, but in Todoroki's eyes, that was less of an intimate conversation, and rather more of an informative one.

"Five minutes before Present Mic's class," Iida notifies, even though nobody really needs them.

"Ugh, that test." Jirou groans as she slowly lowers herself next to Uraraka. "Oh, Todoroki, how'd you do?"

"I don't know." He answers truthfully. That was the slowest hour he's ever had to sit through. The last time minutes had felt so slow and seconds felt so all-consuming was back when he lived at home. Now, he just can't wait to finish all his afternoon classes to see Dabi.

“What? What’s happening?” Kaminari asks from where he appears rather nonchalant given that all of them witnessed him cry throughout Ectoplasm's test less than a minute ago.

“I ran into a door,” he says honestly.

“Sure you did,” he murmurs, conforming his weirdly malleable bones into the little space between Todoroki and the one-man sofa. Like a rather determined cat versus a box meant for an iPhone, Kaminari tucks his cold toes into the crevices of the mattress and then underneath Todoroki’s thighs.

Todoroki pretends as if it doesn’t feel like there are frozen grapes searing into his legs, because by this point he already realised there’s absolutely no fighting his rather persistent classmates.  

“Don’t hog,” Mina suddenly appears, flicking Kaminari in the head. Ah. Another one. He’s been hoarded too many times for the exploitation of his quirk for him to not recognise the pattern. It's like unpaid labour. He deserves a raise.

He deserves a salary, actually.

He doesn’t even flinch anymore, when he sees a hand approach him slowly.

His mind doesn’t even process Mina’s entire body weight splaying across both of them. “It’s freaking freezing,” Mina grumbles, and Todoroki is at least sixty percent sure that his sternum is currently in pieces like Lego bricks, but-

It’s warm. Of course he’s always been comfortably cool or hot- but not warm. Underneath Mina’s body rested against his lap, his skin is sticky, amplified by his quirk. What happens if he has to pee?

And Kaminari’s feet are colder than ice underneath his legs. 

They want to be near him.

The constant, dull itch, throb, sweat, reminds him that hey, these are other people right now.

“Where were you earlier? You missed class Midnight's class,” Mina chirps. "Midnight-sensei was actually so pissed. I think she was already cranky, though. Probably didn't get enough sleep again." Makes sense, given everything. That and also because a sleep-deprived Kayama-sensei just meant she was still Kayama-sensei, just with even less self-restraint. Rather concerning, given she's already a particularly impulsively violent individual. "Were you at the infirmary again? Geez. Listen, I love Midoriya too, but what convo would you even have that'd cause you to miss class?"

“I was...sharing interests.” Todoroki replies hesitantly, having a war flashback to Toga making him pinkie-promise with her to be the first person he gets drunk around. He doesn't particularly know how they got to that point, but at that time, it sounded like a pretty good idea that if he turned out to be an upset-drunk, at least if he ranted to her about Touya, she'd understand. 

And he thinks back to Shigaraki, who he wants to prep his face with a good clock to the cheekbone. Todoroki may not get along with Bakugou, but what Shigaraki’s done to him was cruel. Bakugou deserves a lot of things, one including anger management sessions and the realisation that the world does not revolve around him, but he didn’t deserve what Shigaraki gifted to him. His present left him clattering at night and watching Wall-E with someone like Todoroki at three in the morning. So not only does Shigaraki's unwarranted gift disturb Bakugou’s sleep schedule, it ruined Todoroki’s.

But. They did have a pretty good chat.

Apparently, Touya is inherently unreliable as a human being, and that pisses people off so much, that it can bring even the most opposing people together. 

And Todoroki didn't know Touya that well. Or at least the Touya that Fuyumi sometimes sporadically recalls while she’s scooping rice, or when she’s scrolling through YouTube for badly subbed Kpop, or when she washes the dishes and she flinches as the water jets out steaming hot. That Touya died as Todoroki grew older. This was the Touya that Natsuo mentions in passing, but the regret in his tone is thick with something else than the placid wistfulness in ‘Yumi’s voice. Bitterness.

Todoroki never asked Natsuo what that was about.

Sometimes Todoroki wonders if Natsuo wants him to, though. It seems like he wants at least someone to ask him how he’s doing.

Todoroki never had the nerve.

But he thinks he knows a bit of that Touya, even if he had significantly less time than his older siblings had with him. 

Before he was separated for training, before his entire family fell apart with Touya drifting farther and farther away than the rest of them had with each other, that Touya was Shouto's older brother. 

He remembers that Touya. Remembers it as precisely as he remembers each character and syllable in the quotes Indiana Jones would spit out before he winked at a lady or crashed through three floors. Touya would have a wicked grin every time Indiana Jones knocked out an enemy of heavy build, every time he spat at his old man, told him his name wasn't 'Henry' it was Indiana. 

When Touya laughed, it wasn't Natsuo's boisterous cackle that's as infectious as his personality, nor was it Fuyumi's soft giggle smothered beneath a hand, a chortle that made him feel like it was safe to laugh, too.

Touya's laugh was the first laugh Todoroki can remember hearing as a child. It sounded normal- nothing distinctive, nothing concrete. Then, when Touya became more Dabi than Touya, it sounded like metal and rebellion, it sounded exactly like Touya's smile, and Todoroki hated it.

He wishes he laughed with him more.

Dabi, back when he clawed at Bakugou’s nape, had adorned the same grin, cracked lips rippling back to reveal canines decayed with time and experience.

Touya. Touya chose those decisions but he never chose his household.

Todoroki guesses he can't blame him.

“Todoroki?”

Well. Dabi probably doesn’t want me anyways.

Standing up swiftly, feeling the cold callouses of Kaminari’s feet retract, Mina’s weight flop off of his lap, he blinks. “Sorry, continue your conversation, I have to go,” he murmurs, nodding at Uraraka who looks as if she was in the middle of saying something.

"You're not going to miss Present Mic's class, aren't you?" Uraraka asks nervously. 

"Shouto," Momo begins softly, "don't fall behind on work."

Todoroki scowls. "I. It's important."

"I love how he came back only for the test." Kaminari cackles.

Everyone else is occupied with their own things, but the small group he was interacting with had fixated their focus on him. Jirou glances up from her phone, and she appears to be the only one without a judgmental or worried gaze.

If anything-

She seems almost thoughtful.

"Go for it." Jirou suddenly says, interfering with their conversation from where she's slouched against the wall, legs crossed with Bakugou's and head against Tokoyami's shoulder. "Todoroki, I'll cover."

"Fucking why?" Bakugou leers. "Nah. If he's going to skip class, then let the teacher beat his ass. Listen up, Apple Core," Todoroki doesn't know if he's disappointed or mildly insulted that he actually turned to him upon the call, "Jesus. Midnight was fucking pissed. Miss her class again and I'm going to slather you in peanut butter and crack you like brittle."

"I'll tell them you're in the nurse's office." She continues casually, ignoring Bakugou's shouting, and Todoroki finds it ironic because that really is where he's going to go. 

Todoroki sighs in relief. "Thanks, Jirou."

"Mhm," she's already focusing back on her phone.

"Mother fucker." Bakugou's hackles rise.

"Todoroki!" Uraraka gasps. "Um. Stay safe!"

"Um. Don't skip tomorrow at least!" Momo's warns, but by this point, Todoroki's already out the door.

“We need to talk.” 

“I swear you said those same words earlier.” Dabi looks up blearily from the comic, already resigned to the fact that his reading sucks, and that the words are hard to concentrate on. At least Shigaraki appears to be enjoying them, while Toga’s using the black and white panels as colouring pages.

“Don’t you have class? Don’t skip out on your education-”

“As if you have that right- you skipped out on high school and on my childhood.”

To the side, he hears Shigaraki cough wildly as if that could blur out his obvious laughter, while Toga’s crayon audibly snaps. 

He stares at Shouto Todoroki’s glassy expression, shadowed with remorselessness and determination, and realises that Shouto really did inherit the family genes: stupid perseverance with the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.

“Talk, then,” Dabi scowls, flipping open the comic again to preserve his image of nonchalance, and so that he doesn’t have to make eye contact with the boy. 

And Dabi will dislocate his knuckles, crack them into odd fragments and grind them into dust if it cements his resolve- if it removes weakness and the tremble of his joints and ache of his jaw because he doesn’t think he can handle judgment from Shouto.

Judgment from someone as favoured and perfect as Shouto.

It pisses him off. He wants to kill him.

It'd certainly be easier to do so. Maybe it's too easy, but when Dabi needs to get rid of the colours for a shortwhile, the howling of the timelapsed wind, he'll find the first wandering scumbag and reduce them to ashes. He doesn't think too much on it, on the fact that after each target, the voices seem to get louder with each return.

“Touya-”

“I’m not Touya, and I honestly think it’s better if you disconnect who Touya was from me." He's tired of both Dabi and Touya. He doesn't think he wants to be called either of them. He liked Dabi because Dabi disconnected him from Touya's responsibilities, from his failures-

Now Dabi's corrupted, too.

Pity.

But at least Touya didn’t blame others for his faults.

God, he hates Shouto, and the kid didn't even do anything.

“If you’re here to take a piss at my morality and for what I’ve done-” Dabi begins, grateful for the stability in his tone, the safe and familiar apathy that irons out any fear, any weakness in his voice. “I don’t need to hear it from you.” And Dabi has no pride- he’s really got nothing to lose.

But he doesn’t think he can handle people who truly knew what Pro-Hero Endeavor was like, discredit his feelings about him. Touya was not born strong, and neither was Dabi.

“I'm not doing that." He glances to the side. "Though, I do think. You did do a lot of bad things. You can't deny that," he adds, a bit more pointedly.

“I know I did bad things- I’m not pretending anything.” He’s annoyed, even though Shouto's concerns are fair. “Listen, I ain't stopping you from spitting on my grave. But I don’t need your pretentious perspective on what I should’ve done with my life.” 

"Oh." Shouto blinks. "I don't think I will. Spit on your grave, I mean."

Dabi stares at him.

Behind Shouto, as a blurry background figure, Shigaraki squints in obvious judgment while Toga horks out a noise of laughter.

"I mean. I could but like," Shouto's eyes flit away from a sudden deflation of confidence, and Dabi rolls his eyes. "I mean. Even if you did something wrong, there's a reason for your actions, too," he grumbles. Dabi takes a second to digest his words.

"What the hell is this development." Shigaraki states, confounded. 

"Are you trying to defend me?" Dabi blurts, shocked. Holy shit. This is too good. He wants to cackle- how could he not, when Shouto's being so stupid? Then again, he guesses it's the fool's job to make the court laugh-

"No." Shouto's eyes wrinkles alongside his frown. "I'm just stating obvious facts. It's just that. Aren't you a tragic figure in the story, too?"

Dabi doesn't know where this is going.

He takes a gamble. "Why do I get the feeling you're trying to get me to admit I'm more humane than I appear to be? Or at least I regret what I've done simply because I acknowledged I'm a shitty person?" Shouto flinches. Bingo. Dabi's not a very deep person, but Shouto's also not a very unpredictable kid, either. The moment he sees Shouto's grimace twitch even farther down, Dabi's lips curve in the opposite direction. Seriously. Too good. "Why? You're trying to fix me in a better light so you can what? Excuse my behaviour? Feel better about calling me 'brother'?"

Shouto's gauzy gaze slides away from him. Then, with a casual tilt of his head: "I can't believe you tell me to not fucking swear."

He wasn't lying when he called Shouto ballsy- the boy's reactivity to emotional stimuli is as sensitive as a 119 operator with a 28-hour shift.

To the side, Shigaraki sputters out a bark of amusement. Dabi doesn't blame him. Shigaraki might hate Dabi, and they're suffocatingly tense around each other, but it's obvious that Shigaraki finds Shouto an absolute riot. Well, Shouto's been nothing been surprising today.

"Dabs, you're actually such a bad role model." Toga scowls scornfully. "Be a better brother."

"He killed his family!" Dabi gestures accusingly at Shigaraki, who grows stony. And any other day Dabi would've ignored it.

Now, he wonders if Shigaraki does have a point about Dabi's insensitivity.

"Yeah. And you let your own baby bro think you died for six years. What's your point?" Toga sniffs.

"See," Dabi works his jaw, refocusing on this conversation, ignoring the unexplainably hot feeling bubbling in his gut after he saw Shigaraki's expression. He doesn't know what to make of this feeling, or the source of it. "How could I not swear when he's-" He turns to Shouto. He gestures with a free hand, "like. The nerve of this kid, and you want me to not feel flabbergasted?" He turns to Shouto, smirking. "Besides. I can tell you're daring enough to say some bold shit. What narrative are you pushing here? Definitely one for your own emotional benefit."

And he sees the way Shouto’s ironed countenance creases, anger wrinkling his lips into a tight leer, but there’s also something more, something childish and desperate and Dabi nearly sees Touya, astrayed and fighting a losing battle and he nearly laughs because good! Good. Shouto fucking deserves it; because Dabi is irredeemable and just seeing Touya reflected back at him, proves to Dabi that there’s no salvation in this situation and Shouto must unconsciously know that’s true if he’s making that face-

That fucking face-

Hopelessness, fear, doubt-

“It’s not your fault,” Dabi involuntarily and abruptly states. Somehow, seeing Shouto attempting to not cry because he’s a baby, almost makes him pity him. Almost.

And he’s staring at Spiderman, whose bubbled words are too difficult for Dabi to read, the pictures too bright and distracting but at least Dabi can understand what he’s seeing.

“I’m not saying it’s my fault!” Shouto finally spits, patronising and defensive. And he's losing his cool. Finally.

“Yeah. I know that."

And Shouto looks upset, no longer angry, as if he doesn’t know how to respond and Dabi doesn’t know what he’s thinking because he’s a stranger and he doubts Shouto knows himself what he’s feeling-

“I’m just saying that how I turned out, isn’t any of your fault.” Dabi leers. "You don't have to try and push a storyline that my bad actions are due to something as lame as family trauma. At the most, blame it on Endeavor. But don't tie me to that asshole's shadow, I make my own decisions." And will Dabi ever be his own person? Now that's a fun idea. "Thought out of everyone, you'd understand that the most," he throws in that last sentence as a jab.

"Oh right, you're his SON I can't believe it like of course it makes sense you two are so PRETTY like you guys have the brightest Crayola Cornflower blue eyes-" Toga blathers. "Like yeah you guys are brothers but geez I forgot that you guys shared the same daddy like that just whoop slipped out my mind-!"

"Did you just call my dad pretty?" Shouto grimaces at the same time Dabi chokes: "do NOT call my dad pretty."

“Somehow Dabi, I think you're lying. Sounds like you only say this shit because you don't want him to feel bad.” Shigaraki suddenly intervenes, and Dabi whips around, glowering, though Bossman looks as if he's actually mulling over this possibility.

Then, he gives a shit-eating grin, and Dabi knows that Shigaraki's doing this to be an asshat.

Fucker.

“Are you?” Shouto asks, sounding like he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

"Listen, he's an awful liar." Shigaraki scowls. "It's chronic, how you guys have the emotional competency of a fax printer."

A pause of silence. "I think he's insulting us," Shouto finally observes out loud.

Shigaraki rolls his eyes.

Shouto rounds to Dabi once more, and Dabi quickly averts his eyes to the tattered comic he stole from Toga. He wonders where someone like her got them from. "Are you lying?" And he's demanding, pushy, and forceful.

Dabi wants to fight him.  

“Why would I lie? Let me tell you, I don't give a shit about you, and I certainly don't understand the concept of family and will never treat you like one." Shouto doesn't flinch, but the way his jaw works doesn't escape Dabi's cloudy gaze. Good. He was overestimating his own importance in Dabi's life, anyways. "It's just unlike Endeavor, I don't like loose ends. Just know, that when I said I don't think it's your fault, I meant it because that's just facts.” He doesn't particularly pity nor care about Shouto, but quite honestly, Dabi doesn't see why he shouldn't clear up false assumptions about his character.  

"Why wouldn't you say it was Dad, though? When it was?" Shouto asks, tone strained. "Because it was his fault."

"Didn't I say not to push a narrative?" He laughs, throat convulsing around his words. "I never said he wasn't a motherfucker, I'm just fucking tired of people trying to tell me that my decisions weren't my own. Listen, Sh- Todoroki, don't tell me you want me to blame my bodycount on your old man, huh?"

Shouto doesn't appear distraught by that, instead, he seems thoughtful. Gross. 

This conversation is boring- it's not going in a direction he can foresee. "Why did you kill those people?"

“I don’t know.” Dabi replies tonelessly.

“‘I don’t know’ isn’t good enough- those were peoples' lives! You can’t just say that-”

He doesn’t know how to explain himself. If he does, his reasons just sounds like excuses. Perhaps they really are nothing but that. But if he accepts responsibility, he sounds like a psychopath. 'I don't know' just sounds like the safest bet.

“What else do you want me to say? I can’t force myself to feel another reason, to have an answer,” and no answer Dabi gives will be good enough for either of them. “If it’s any consolation-” and he tastes regret curdling on his tongue, and he knows that what he says next won’t sound good: “I go crazy thinking about the people I kill." He doesn't know why he said that, especially since he doesn't owe Shouto a response. He feels a steamy, kettle-like anger over the fact that Shouto even demanded one in the first place, when Dabi doesn't need to explain himself to someone like him.

Shigaraki and Toga are probably having a field day in the back.

Dabi hates everyone.

"I. What do you mean?" Shouto asks courageously. "Like. I really don't understand. Do you mean you feel bad? Or it...makes you feel good?"

Dabi doesn’t know if he even feels bad- he just knows that each body carried their own will and unspoken goodbyes that exist only in the form of a secret between the host and Dabi himself. Does he feel bad? He doesn't really know, doesn't really care- (and that fucking hero- that muscular one, a hypocrite, talking about families, about empathy when heroes do nothing but split them but Dabi can't stop thinking about h-) but they still last alongside with him.

Now, he just sees their ghosts swirling around the lampshades and eating through the carpet like mites, their resentment and unfulfilled wishes clacking Dabi’s joints, telling him he has to kill Endeavor or else all those people died for nothing. He despises them, even though he’s the reason why they’re like this. He resents the ghosts anchoring him to the pathetic mortal coil, handcuffing him to life because now he can’t die because then all those people who already passed from pitiful and unwarranted deaths will truly be for nothing.

He detests them. Curses them, as if he wasn't their reaper. The more he thinks about them, the more his hands shake and the more colours he hears-

He goes crazy, thinking about them. 

“If you go crazy about them then why’d you do it?” Shouto asks when Dabi doesn't answer, voice gentler.

“I just felt like it.” Dabi yawns, clinging onto the fact that Shigaraki and Toga are still in the room . He doesn’t hear Toga’s scribbling- hasn’t heard it in a while. Even Shigaraki’s snide commentary has faded away as they gotten deeper into this conversation.

“Why do you even care to lie to me? Why would you even do that?” And he sounds angry. Angry about what? That Dabi isn’t taking this conversation seriously? Isn’t taking him seriously? Is lying to Shouto?

“Why? You want me to say something profound? Why should I, and why do you think you’re special enough for me to give you a straight answer?” Dabi sneers.

He looks up, closing his comic. 

The textured ceiling almost reminds him of their old furnace. And he sees vines break through the patterns, cracking the ceiling until it falls apart and reveals galaxies behind its dusty stones, reminding him how insignificant the world is (and he’s watching the vines twist and pulse into gnarly tendons, muscle of burnt sinew, forming into the shape of a face. Dabi closes his eyes, and he nearly steps into the unhinged jaw of a nameless victim that will never be avenged, burnt and scalp blackened, and waits for their teeth, their only proof of identity, to mash him into paste like he did with their eyeballs-).

“Touya?”

“I’m not Touya,” he bites, eyes shooting open. Then, more calmly: “I don’t have an answer,” he says hollowly. “And I think you know that any answer I do have won’t ever satisfy or validate anything,” he snorts. “Just go down the easy route. Maybe I’m just crazy.”

Every weakness in his life was always from Rei, for Rei, and is Rei. Touya was too much like Rei, from body to constitution. The same way she couldn’t handle what Enji gave her, the same way he couldn’t handle Enji’s quirk with her body. Sometimes, as Dabi, he wonders which parent he hates more (he always stops himself from dwelling on his answer to that. If he did, he think the guilt would eat him alive. He already has too much on his plate- mommy issues aren't going to be prioritised when Rei never did the same for him).

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I mean. Normal people don’t really kill others, but. I don’t know. You don’t seem crazy at all. Touya wasn’t, either.” Shouto mumbles.

“Why don’t you just ask your mom?” Dabi blurts, unsure what he’s trying to convey, unsure where he’s directing this conversation. All he knows is that he doesn't find this funny anymore. What's the point of talking to Shouto if it's not even going to be funny?

"I mean. Mom never killed anyone-”

“She killed me-” he begins bitterly, and anger suddenly lights up his bloodstream like a tube of gasoline. And that was an unfair statement and he knows it. “Sure she was a victim of Enji, and her life spiralled into shit because of him, and maybe her craziness was only triggered by him, but why the fuck did she have to drag me down with her too?” He grins, words clipped by his clacking teeth, and he feels the keloids of his lips bite into their staples as his smile involuntarily stretches wider (and he watches Shouto take an unconscious step back, and god does that simultaneously trigger the worst and best feeling ever-). “Rei she.” He doesn’t where this is going and he should shut up and think before he speaks for once (and Touya always had that problem: it tilted Endeavor more than his quirk did). “She was always worse than Dad in her own way. And don’t try and defend her, because you don’t get it. You always had her, even when she fucked up and pulled that shit on your face-” he wheezes, his words stuttering into a cough at the way Shouto’s face contorts into something unreadable and dark, “she actually loved you.”

And he sounds jealous ( is jealous), he sounds petty , he sounds cruel and selfish and he knows and he can’t find it in himself to care -

“And I’m being a bastard, I am, for getting pissed, so I don't want you to fucking call me out on it because trust me, I know.” He just wanted his mom to take his side for once. And he knows he’s asking for too much, Touya had always asked for too much, “but even after you fucking came along and Dad realised he didn’t have to stick with a failure, why couldn’t Rei look at me?” And he’s not expecting an answer, because he's well aware he doesn’t deserve validation for these feelings because Touya Todoroki was always a fucked up child. 

Shouto looks devastated and it shows through the glossiness of his eyes and Dabi hates himself and he finds Shouto revolting for making him feel this way-

“That’s. That’s rough. And unfair.” Shouto finally replies, voice gravelly when Dabi flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling once more. Dabi digests his stammered response, before choking on a howl of laughter. “I mean it!” He snaps. And that sounds true enough- he sounds almost contemplative and sad. He’s pitying Dabi, and it's absolutely hilarious and Dabi thinks if he stops laughing he'll start steaming, so he doesn't stop.

He laughs so hard, he wants to puke.

“Nah, nah. This is what? Old news? I’m just clinging onto the past,” a hoarse cough shreds his vocal cords, and he feels weirdly alleviated after his sudden flare of anger. "Shit. Kid-"

"It's Shouto."

"I just unloaded too much onto you. For fuck's sake," he swallows down another amused wheeze, "don't answer any of that shit. All that, that was from the past."

“I mean. It does matter though!” 

"Why are you angry?" Dabi asks in disbelief, voice cracking with entertainment because this is a major shitshow and he's done it now! Admit he's just some sore loser with a mommy complex in front of his difficult boss, clingy-ass coworker, and his emotionally unprepared baby brother. And he doesn't even know which of the three is the worst to deal with at the moment!

"Because. Because that's really, what you went through is awful."

“Says who?” Dabi asks jokingly, trying to force himself to just shut up .

“Because you said so yourself, they ruined a life! That mom killed you!"

Dabi licks his lips, heart pounding as he tries to take a step back from the situation. “And what's your point? It’s not like I wasn’t dysfunctional from the start."

“You literally just-" Shouto exhales roughly, "you can't just say that after admitting to all the shitty things our parents have done to you! And that's not even how it works! No one’s dysfunctional from the start and even if you were, it's their responsibility as parents to like. Help you.” Shouto finishes that statement so lamely, his courage dissolving with his lack of abilities, that a horribly raucous sound rips from the bottom of his lungs again, and even he has to take a moment to realise that was a degraded note of laughter.

“You think Rei could help me? She couldn’t even help herself.” He scoffs scornfully. And he wonders how he sounds, swinging from offense against Rei and then instantly defending her. "Listen. I'm not denying the fact that I'm resentful of her. But in the end, how I feel doesn't change the fact that she was dealing some shit in the end, too."

“But it's not fair that her issues became your issues, too. Her going through stuff doesn't change the fact that your life spiraled because of her-"

"I didn't spiral. I'm at the peak," Dabi gives a crooked smile, and Shouto appears even more frustrated by that, evident through the tightness of his mouth, and seriously- he can see why Shigaraki likes him. He's so easily frustrated, but he can't do anything against people like them, people who can't find it in themselves to care about really anything anymore. Or maybe that's just him. Who knows.

“Nah. But you can't blame her for anything, right?" He almost hums, and he doesn't know what's up with him. Doesn't know why suddenly, this dreadful conversation feels almost fun. Is it because Shouto's obviously uncomfortable now, that he's distressed over someone like Dabi and it makes him feel so powerful that he clearly doesn't give a shit? Like a big 'fuck you' to Shouto? Is it because Dabi finally fully exposed how he really thinks, let everyone know that he's just some scumbag who likes to blame his mom for his issues and feels oddly relieved from the guilt of harboring those thoughts? Who knows! "But I still blame her, especially on the inside. What can you do about it?" He gives a creaky grin with wrinkled eyes to Shouto, whose blank visage is utterly unreadable despite the obvious tension in his shoulders.

He knows he likes pushing responsibility off of himself. He likes to accuse others. He knows he did that with Shouto for a while, but Shouto was like. Ten or something before Touya left. Touya just wanted to accuse something for losing his mother’s love, for losing his father’s pride.

Touya just couldn’t handle that he himself was the source of all his failures.

"Listen. It was mutual, anyways." He adds when Shouto appears even more distressed by that statement. "The relationship? The whatever that me and Rei had, it was transactional. Rei stopped giving a shit about me, and I did too." And back then, every time the household jumped with shouts and sobs, Touya was the first (can only be first if he was the only contender) to crouch over Rei, foolishly believing she'd do the same back, as she once did when he was young.

When he grew up, the most he did was kick at his bedroom door at the same volume of Enji's shouts, and screamed at them to shut the fuck up because people were sleeping.

“I can feel bad for Mom and accuse her of not being the best parent. Even if her parenting was affected by Dad, that doesn't change the fact that you didn't have a good mom," Shouto states stiffly.

Dabi shrugs roughly. “Whatever.” 

“It’s not whatever!"

“That’s not for you to decide.” And it feels like their roles have somehow reversed. It's almost like once Dabi plummeted from the peak of his ire, he instantly cooled down. As long as Shigaraki and Toga never talks about this again, then honestly, he wouldn't call this conversation a failure. However, Shouto’s now the one gesturing sharply to compensate for the lack of grace in his words, looking anxious and just as ticked off as Dabi was seconds ago.

“Why didn’t Mom help you? There’s no justification for her to not- you’re her kid! Even if she was afraid of Dad, she could've helped you after, could've. Could've I don't know. Consoled you.” And Shouto was always a mommy's boy. Dabi’s pretty sure that’s why as Touya grew older and recognized this even more, he couldn’t help but distance himself from the kid. 

Dabi shrugs. “My anger, personality, temper, appearance- too close to Enji's, I guess.” At that time, Touya despised himself, as by that point even he could see the parallels between him and the person he hated the most, as well.

“That’s stupid.”

“Oh?" Dabi questions, amused by this turn of events.

“Mom! Mom was being stupid. Not you.” And Dabi recoils, and he feels odd. He shits on Rei for the most part, but hearing it coming from an outsider, a third-party to his own relationship with his parents, makes him feel disturbed. Makes him feel oddly marginalised on Rei’s behalf, who can't defend herself right now. For a moment, his weird laughing-gas high feels faint and shallow, and the realisation of it makes him feel empty. “Were you alone?” Shouto asks, grip on his bed bar tight.

“I had ‘Yumi.” At the time he was still training, Fuyumi could barely help- she wanted to apply bandages, wanted to help, but those weren’t techniques she knew how to do until she was allowed to visit the public library on her own. At that time, Natsuo was also too young and simply cowered away from his father, and if anything, wanted his father’s approval, too.

They were all suffering then.

“That’s. Fuyumi shouldn’t be your mom, she was a kid, too!”

“Yeah, but you don’t see Fuyumi killing people, don’t you?” Dabi remarks testily. He doesn’t know where this is going. The mood has drastically shifted from earlier from broiling anger to a cloudy sense of positivity, and now to- to-

To whatever this is.

“I mean. I don’t think you should be killing people, sure, but. If you kill Dad,” he pauses, “Not saying I want him dead. But. I think isn’t that just. Consequences of his own actions?”

Dabi stares.

“You don’t mean that.”

Shouto shrugs roughly. “I don’t know. I mean. Natsuo always said that Dad killed you.” And he’s staring at the railing of Dabi’s bed, he’s not even looking at Dabi by this point. “A life for a life, right?” He whispers. "Besides. I like you more than Dad."

Dabi ignores that last statement. That was meant for Touya, not for him. Besides, being liked over Enji Todoroki is really not high-praise.

But Natsuo said that? And Dabi doesn’t know if the broil in his gut is from unease or a weird sense of sentiment. Geez. He hasn't thought about Natsuo in a while. He's kind of forgotten Natsuo existed. Almost hysterically, he hears a giggle of 'oops' in the back of his brain, but judging by the way Shouto stares at him, maybe it slipped out loud, too. He hates that. He hates that Natsuo's clinging onto an image of Touya that doesn't exist anymore. 

Makes him feel sick, and almost annoyed. God, Touya just wanted to disappear, and his family can't even give him that?

“That’s not a very good moral ground," Dabi finally says, after feeling confident enough that his next words won't be accompanied with whatever braindead clown is dicking away in the recesses of his mind. 

“I’m not saying it’s just or right, I’m just saying it's accountability.” 

“That’s pretty morbid of you.”

“You kill people,” Shouto deadpans, looking back up at Dabi.

Dabi mulls over that. And then shrugs. Fair enough.

“Though, I do think. Death might be. A bit much.” Shouto admits, easing up on his previous stubbornness. There we go. Disappointing. He's so flimsy. Boring. Dabi wants things to be funny again.

For a second, Dabi wonders if nobody else finds this funny, that it's just his own laughter echoing in the cavity of his ribcage. Maybe it is just him. Better that than nothing, right? Now he feels lonely.

Time to switch up the conversation. It's just that someone's being particularly stubborn about it.

“Even though I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to kill him," Shouto grunts. 

“He wanted to kill me as a kid.” Dabi snorts.

“His trainings do feel like that.”

“His anger always felt like that.” Then, as a side-comment, "his burns hurt like a bitch," he snorts light-heartedly, eyes frozen at the ceiling light flickering warmly above him. To Touya, those were the worst of his punishments. 

“...burns?”

“Yeah. When he got really angry. Which was always,” he rephrases redundantly. And he turns to Shouto. “I don’t think he did that to you outside of training, though. Actually knew you had to be preserved. You were always too good for him to burn,” and he really did try to keep the snideness out of his tone, he really did. He gives a cutting grin, as if to let him know he's joking.

Yet, the leer in his tone clearly shone through, or maybe his smile was just morbid, because Shouto flinched, horror jerking his features into something macabre and Dabi almost wants to feel satisfied, wants to viciously hurt Shouto because fuck him, fuck everything, really-

But the insatiable hole churning his stomach, smashing everything into dust and ashes continues grinding on, not at all satisfied by Shouto’s look. The hollowness continues to engulf everything, and Dabi can’t even bring himself to feel mildly disappointed.

He knew it. Only offing Enji would ever break the systematic emptiness eating everything (and Dabi can’t even find it in him to feel concerned, disturbed about the eldritch and irredeemable possibility that maybe it wouldn’t- that maybe this tumour will truly never go away-).

He sighs. Getting mad at other people never helps, but he constantly does it, thinking it’ll do something. Stupid.

“Dad burned you?”

“Did you forget?” And he wasn’t that young when Endeavor did it. He continued it even after Shouto turned double-digits. “Or are you just dumb?" He says, almost good-naturedly. "Have you never seen my arms?" Maybe Shouto never got burned- Dad actually tried his best to outwardly preserve him, even if the kid was breaking down on the inside. Now that he thinks about it, he can't see Dad burning anyone other than him, solely because he grew up to be the most problematic.

"What?" And Shouto sounds less of Shouto, and more like Shou, and Dabi feels almost nauseated at the childish tone he adopts- the weakness and snivelling of it churns his guts, makes him want to thread his mouth shut. “Dad told me that was you not being able to control his quirk.”

He crows, sputtering, spittle clogging his airway. “I mean. Fuck yeah. God. He knew I was a hopeless case from birth. You,” he snaps his fingers at Shouto, who winces, any composure he had previously, forged by fiery anger and righteous bullshit, is now tarnished by the unreadable unknowns of this situation. “You got lucky.” And he knows he sounds accusatory. But he's not! He's just accepted his position in life. It took him sixteen years, but then he finally realised that Touya Todoroki was a failure at birth (and ha! He should’ve just failed at birth).

“But Enji wasn't wrong. Lotta my burns were from myself. Glad you came along, stopped using it for a while.” And he’s not lying, despite the envy and spite colouring his tone.

And who gives a shit that Toga and Shigaraki are here. Well. I kind of do. It's humiliating. But Shigaraki claimed he wouldn't kick him out. Not like that matters anymore after everything that happened. By this point, Dabi only cares about his image. His character might be miles underground, but his quirk was still reputable. And now he's just confessing outright that it was faulty?

“At least you took my place in hours of training," he finishes his sentence, as if refocusing his attention onto this disastrous conversation could distract him from the burning presence of Shigaraki. "Thanks for coming along. You really were the saviour of this household." he smirks at Shouto. At first he hated that he was benched from training. Hated that he lost the only opportunity he had to gain favour from his dad. But in retrospect, he probably wouldn't have lasted that much longer if he kept up down that path.

Not like that's necessarily a bad way to go out, though.

“You still had bandages after I started training with Dad, though,” Shouto says, tone low.

“Yeah. And by that point, those burns weren’t from me. I was a fucking shitty kid, though. Wouldn’t shut the fuck up.”

“So he burned you?” Shouto says. And there's nothing satisfying about Shouto's voice. It's less shocked, less distraught, and more-

He sounds angry.

Touya didn't do well with people who are angry. Meanwhile, Dabi always enabled others' revulsion. So Dabi doesn't know why, Shouto's darkening timbre sets him on edge.

“Are you just...not following?" Dabi inquires, confused. "It worked as a kid, guess he thought it’d still work when I got older,” Dabi shrugs ruthlessly. He cranes his neck at Shouto, and instantly regrets it. “What the fuck? Why do you look so worked up-”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m learning my Dad burned his own children-”   

“Shit I mean your mom did that too-”

“Not on purpose! You can’t compare her dumping hot water in the midst of psychosis to someone purposefully burning you! You. You can't!”

"Uh." Shigaraki says from the background. 

"So? Dad hit you, didn't he?" Dabi scoffs. "Smacked you around?" And this time, the giggle filters out of the bottom his throat, and Shouto's eyes flicker over him, as if unsure how to respond to that noise. "I know he did."

"I mean. He shouted a lot, and yeah, sometimes he did, but it was never. Hard." Shouto admits fearlessly, eyes hardened. "Like even before learning about him burning you, I already knew he was. Not a good person."

"Abusive?"

Shouto doesn't say it himself, but he just shrugs. "He was an awful and neglectful Dad, and he casted Mom aside for his own ambitions. Like I don't have a high opinion of him in the first place. But you can't compare a smack to a burn-"

"Were you here? Were you here when he used to hit mom?" And he's not even looking at Shouto anymore, instead, he's flickering through the comic book pages without really looking at them, humming along with the strumming note circling his ears. "I don't remember much. Don't care to, either. But you were gone for a while? Right?" He cranes his neck up, and Shouto looks different. 

He looks young.

For a weird, empty second that Dabi doesn't really understand, he wants to stroke his face.

Then the feeling passes, and Dabi feels better.

"Were you here? I can't remember. I actually don't think I remember you at all." He admits truthfully. Well, no, he does. He had to, since he stored so many random facts about Shouto that they clutter his already decaying brain, and he wishes he could willfully dispose of them to make better use of his limited and dwindling space. But he can't remember the memories or events that taught him certain things about Shouto. Like that he liked movies. And hated carrots. Something about a Western movie series that he really liked.

"I mean. I suspected but. Sometimes I'd hear him shouting at mom at night-"

"Yeah. He stopped hitting, turned to yelling when Enji acted like our household could get its shit together. Really, it's great that you came along," Dabi says earnestly, now turning the entire book horizontally, as Spiderman is drawn upside on the building and he wants to see it in detail. He looks up when Shouto doesn't respond. He looks like he's going to cry.

Oops, maybe he teased him too much.

“Don’t freak out, it's been a long time,” and though it felt like every day for Dabi, Dabi who abandoned everything from Touya’s lifespan except for Endeavor, Endeavor who swallowed his ambitions whole and is the only redeemable factor in his pathetic life- Dabi doesn’t even see it as Dad’s personal attack anymore.

Enji is simply a child-abuser. But he’s not Dabi’s abuser. He can’t even recall his previous fear for Endeavor (and for a moment, he feels as if someone dumped cold water on him. That he can’t even force himself to recollect what Touya must’ve felt underneath his Father’s hands, Touya’s personal sense of consistent death and neverending unease with each step he took in the household. Because if he can’t even hold onto that- then where’s the depth in Dabi’s existence? Or maybe Dabi really doesn’t need to be complicated: a goal is a goal, even if it’s paperthin).

“No I-”

“Don’t be conflicted. It’s not like that can be changed now,” Dabi shrugs. “Besides, I’m a killer. And I guess I’ve recently came to terms that Touya always was kind of a shitty kid." He actually feels vaguely proud of that achievement. "Not saying anyone deserved to be born in our household. Just saying, don't get too riled up about these characters." 

And Shouto looks less reassured, and more willing to sock him in the face. “Do you even see Touya as a person, anymore? Because nobody deserves to be burned especially by their own father. Nobody deserves abuse. You. I'm."

“I-” Dabi’s confused, and he doesn’t know why. Everything’s too difficult. “Chill. Listen, I’m not saying burning a kid is acceptable, I’m just saying that don’t get too worked up over someone like Touya or Dabi.”

“Touya is a person, he is my brother and you are my brother even if you deny it-”

Dabi stares.

Is he denying it? He’s certainly accepted he’s biologically related to Shouto.

“I’m not denying anything?” Dabi begins uncertainly.

“It’s like. You want to kill m- our dad for Touya but you don’t even value Touya yourself-”

“Well,” Dabi shrugs. “Hey, I am Touya. There you go. Happy? If I’m Touya, who are you to get pissed at my self-perception of myself-” he freezes. “Are you crying?”  

“No!”

Dabi stares.

Shouto deftly glares back, as if his eyeballs aren’t liquid jelly.

"You're crying." Dabi says factually, his voice numb because oh fuck. 

"I'm not!" 

"Oh my god," Dabi murmurs to himself, quickly averting his eyes. He doesn't know what to do with crying people. He hates it when people cry. It's irritating, messy, and noisy. Rei used to cry every night. "Do you need a moment?" He exhales a noise of obvious irritation.

"No." He repeats, less defensive, more annoyed.

"If you need a moment, just ask-"

"I don't need a moment."

Dabi, wholly unimpressed, turns onto his side, yanking his blanket over himself. "I need a moment, then," he says truthfully.

"We're not done talking!"

"I am."

"You guys are totally siblings," Shigaraki says from the side, sounding extremely amused, and Dabi hates literally everyone here. "Also, knew it. Textbook example of Daddy Issues. I pinned it from the start."

"Fuck off," Dabi lours.

"Enji. Endeavor is your dad." Shigaraki continues talking. And he sounds gleeful- and is it because he got dirt on him? Dabi shoves off the blankets, glowering at Shigaraki. Then, quieter: "what a fucking scumbag."

Dabi releases a bark of laughter that he wasn't expecting, and Shigaraki probably wasn't given the way he looks at him with an emotion that he doesn't particularly recognise.

Then, he does, because Shigaraki makes that same expression every time Toga eats another wax candle- concern.

For him?

As if. And if it is for him, then fuck off, because he doesn't want it. 

"Can't believe you gave All For One crap when your dad literally burned you-" Shigaraki mumbles. And it's not like any of them are really desensitized to uh, questionable parenting, it's more like people like Dabi and Shigaraki don't feel the need to treat a topic seriously if the other party has no will to do so. Is it respect or avoidance? Dabi doesn't know, but he certainly appreciates it. "Dabi, you're such an asshole."

Dabi has never felt like he's been on such friendly terms with Shigaraki than right now. 

He looks at Shouto. Now if only he would catch that drift. "Stop crying!” Dabi snarks, irritated as he hears a hard sniff.

“I’m not crying!”

“You are! Why are you crying?”

"Are you in pain?" Toga asks curiously, speaking up for the first time in a while. She looks different, though. Dabi narrows his eyes at the way her smile appears forced, the way her eyes are glassy and trembling. This is her when she has a blood withdrawal. "If you want, I can give you Band-Aids!" Her hands are gripping a handful of them so tightly that she probably crushed the packaging, but her hands are trembling. He frowns at that.

Flustered from being caught off guard by Toga's sudden inclusion, Shouto speaks to her in an almost normal manner: "no, no I'm not in pain- I- thank you? I'm good." Then, he turns to Dabi, expression blistering: "and I’m not sad , I’m-” Todoroki chops the edge of the bedframe, rattling the entire bed. Dabi falls quiet. Edgy. “I’m just mad. I’m so mad that you went through that-”

“Ah shut up. I don’t care if you were mad, and I’m sure Touya wouldn’t either.” Probably. He doesn’t really know how Touya would feel anymore.

“I care! Everyone cares! Burning your kid is evil. Just in general, how Dad treated you was evil. You. And it's not fair that you don't even get I don't know. Pity, or revenge, or like. Dad's so despicable-"

Dabi glances at Shouto's darkened visage.

He's unable to contain a sputtering giggle. He's so worked up. It's almost hilarious. "What?" Dabi snorts. "Get over yourself. What are you going to do-"

"You're my brother! Of course I'm going to fight on your behalf how could I not-"

"Kid." Dabi says, seriously this time, annoyed out of his previous mindset of 'haha, funny'. "You're outmatched." Shouto leans forward on the bed, and his eyes are steely, and for a second- 

Dabi recognises that expression. He feels like he saw the same bright blue eyes of hardened determination and anger before in the mirror, years ago.

Dabi might not care about Shouto, and certainly has no will to be a good brother now- but-

"Hey, kid, whatever you're fucking thinking about," Dabi says seriously. "Don't do it. It's not worth it."

"But you are worth it!" Shouto snaps, tone reprimanding and harsh, and Dabi doesn't like it when people talk like that. "You." He glares at Dabi, and Dabi doesn't know what to make of it. He glowers back deftly. "I. I hate Dad."

"Whoa buddy, don't say shit you don't mean." Dabi mumbles.

"I can hate Dad and feel weird about him at the same time." Shouto retorts, and Dabi relates. 

"I agree. I think I'm going to stab Endeavor," Toga hums, her voice cold but light, and Dabi's never heard her sound this way. He's heard her angry, heard her disastrously upset, but this emotion feels unidentifiable to him. She's not raging nor is she annoyingly listing out every single reason why she thinks she dislikes Endeavor, so is she angry or not? "He's so," her voice pitches, and he watches as she punches her pillow, and Dabi and Shigaraki make eye contact, both stiffening. Yeah, fuck Bossman too, but he's the only one who knows how Toga can get. 

"I'm going to stab him first." Shouto snaps, eyes flashing as he glowers at Toga as if challenging her.

“Hey. Younger Todoroki.” Shigaraki intervenes. Curious by his sudden intervention, Dabi glances over. And Shigaraki still has that unreadable expression. “Just shut up. You think saying the obvious does anything?” He says, hollowly, and Dabi stares at him. “Drop it.”

“He’s my brother! How could I drop it?”

Dabi doesn’t know how he feels about the conviction in Shouto’s tone. ‘My brother’ in a factual sense, or ‘my brother’ in a sentimental sense?

Both sounds equally plausible, and equally sickening.

Shigaraki however, doesn’t appear bent on twisting this situation, and if anything, appears disgruntled by this entire ordeal. “Just get mad in your own time. If Dabi doesn’t want to match your pace, then he doesn’t have to. Besides, if Dabi says it's not a big deal, then treat it as such."

Shouto stiffens at that, before whipping to Dabi. “I mean. You do think that’s evil, right?”

“Sure,” Dabi shrugs nonchalantly.

Shouto thins his lips. “But Dad deserves to know how evil it was, deserves. I don't know, realisation of how awful he was? He doesn't deserve to live so freely and happily after how he ruined you! Or Mom! Or any of us." Dabi and Shigaraki make surprising eye contact with it. Shigaraki rolls his eyes, and Dabi's just as over this as well. "I'm just. I'm sorry." Shouto says, voice weaker than before.

“Sorry for what?” Dabi chuckles. “What the fuck does your apology do to me, and why do you owe an apology?”

“I’m sorry that you went through all that alone-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Dabi blurts coldly, quickly shutting it down, his previous stance of indifference flipping into anxiousness. “Shut up.”

And to his surprise, Shouto does, fixing him with an indecipherable countenance, one that Dabi doesn't have the energy to try and comprehend.

Unsure how to end this conversation and get him to git , a knock resounds on the door. Without invitation, the door opens. 

And Dabi’s never been glad to see any hero enter through the doorway, yet, the moment he sees the familiar slouch and signature expression of death, he nearly thanks the god watching over them. Because oh, for sure god is laughing their fucking ass off and has no semblance of mercy for Dabi's pride, but at least they have a good screenwriter with amazing theatrics.

“Oh. Are you guys busy?” Aizawa inquires dryly.

“No.” Dabi says quickly.

“Are you sure? I’m just here because Dabi, if you’re free do you want to work on the common room? But...if you’re busy-”

“No, I’m totally free,” Dabi clears his throat, words hooked together out of shameful desperation. 

Shouto frowns. “No we’re not-”

“Yes we are!” Dabi chokes.

“I mean. I don’t care if you’re not,” Aizawa states mercilessly.

“No. Take me with you,” Dabi tosses aside his comic carelessly and kicks off his blankets.

"And what? Leave me here with your mess?" Shigaraki scowls, gesturing to Shouto.

Dabi rolls his eyes. And Shigaraki, Mr. Handyman is back. "What are you going to do? Pull a Jesus and just walk over after having your body fucked up like you swallowed a bottle of laxatives?" Aizawa scrunches his eyes in disgust at that. "'Zawa, tell him he can't fucking come."

Aizawa looks like he wants to kill him.

He turns to Shigaraki. "For now, you and Toga should remain in bed for today, due to malnutrition and to recover from the drugs in your system."

"I'm fine," Toga blinks, her leg shoved through one of the suspicious holes in her bedsheet. "Like I don't feel bad or anything. Just hungry."

"I had my hand blown a part once and you're telling me to stay in bed because I have withdrawal symptoms?" Shigaraki deadpans.

"I literally do not want to hear it from you." Aizawa says dryly. "Your hand is currently stitched and bandaged like a club. At least wait for that to heal." 

"This feels our previous school field trip when we went to that museum and Present Mic sensei got arrested," Shouto comments.

"I don't have time for this," Aizawa finally says, but pauses as he takes a good look at Shouto. A fleeting look of distress rewires his face. "Are you cryi-"

"No!"

Glad to see Aizawa's equally lost when it comes to crying people. 

Shouto's teacher just raises his brows in obvious disbelief, but doesn't say another word as he heads back to the door. "Dabi, if you're free, try and finish up the common room by today. The students are emotionally unstable from staying in a single cramped room with the inability to blow off steam without accidentally stabbing someone."

"What the fu-"

"Are you coming, or not?"

Dabi takes another look at Shouto, and leaps out of bed. "Yeah, fuckin'- just wait up." He saunters past Shouto, and as he looks up, the tiles look back to normal.

"What is this."

"Sibling bonding," Aizawa answers swiftly.

Shouto glares at him from across the room.

"Don't you have class?" Dabi flops his wrist as he points at Shouto with his paintbrush. "You have class."

"Not for the whole day. He's done with his schedule." Aizawa sighs, and Dabi, taking a better look at Aizawa, decides that he doesn't want to be here either. Aizawa's made it pretty clear that he hates babysitting him, so to nanny a second Todoroki? What is it? Mento Eelness? A midlife crisis? Aizawa pauses. "Or maybe he skipped all of them." He says, almost suspiciously.

"I thought you said the other teacher was going to watch over me," Dabi clears his throat.

Aizawa shrugs through a yawn, already settling on the lounge couch with his laptop. "Oh yeah. But that's only during the morning and early afternoon, when I have class to teach. Past that, I guess I'm here."

"Wow, sound more excited, won't you."

Aizawa looks up, unimpressed. "Give me a reason to feel excited, then."

Dabi contemplates sun-drying the man's lungs like raisins. 

"Also, we decided to change teachers. Yamada, Present Mic, won't watch after you. Instead, Hound Dog will, since he has a more flexible schedule and doesn't have set classes in the morning."

Dabi has no idea who that is, but he finds himself growing displeased with the constant shift of teachers. At least with the banana teacher he knows what he's like. "Right. And he's here because..." he gestures at Shouto, who's now staring at the paintings on the wall.

Aizawa looks him dead in the eye. "I'd like to know, too."

Dabi, unsure if he feels sentimental pity for the man, glances over at Shouto again, who's peering particularly close at one of the cats.

It takes Dabi a second to realise it's the picture of the cat he painted in his mom's room.

He swallows, and when Shouto looks up at him, he quickly glances away.

"I don't want him touching shit. He'll ruin the paintings," he smarts.

Shouto bristles. "I won't."

"Our styles will be different, obviously," Dabi scowls.

Shouto rolls his eyes. "It'll be a statement."

"'Zawa," Dabi rounds to the man, only to stare. Aizawa looks at him in the eye, utterly unashamed, as he begins to stuff ear plugs into his ears. 

"Good luck," the man states without hesitation, as he pulls files out of his backpack.

Realising he's been abandoned once again, and that he should stop relying on Aizawa when the man can barely manage his own existence much less Dabi's, he turns to Shouto roughly, "listen, I am not working with you, and don't expect me to talk to you."

Shouto goes rigid. “As if I’d ever talk to you. Trust me, I won’t be the one talking to you either -”

"I'm just saying, for Halloween, we could totally go as Cain and Abel." Dabi shrugs, as Shouto roughly slaps the can with the paintbrush.

"You don't even need a costume for Halloween," Shouto deadpans.

Dabi shrugs at that, and reaches over to the red paint to grab the can.

He lifts it by the lid, and cusses loudly as the entire bottom detaches from the lid.

Both Todorokis watch as a glob of paint splatters across the carpet, the can rolling lazily in its own puddle.

"Holy fuck," Dabi breathes at the same time Shouto's entire arm goes up in flames.

Dabi flinches as Shouto reaches up to readjust his mask. "What?" He snaps as Shouto takes a step back, seemingly pleased by this. 

"I shifted your mask even farther up to try and cover a bit of your burns. Because your glasses are. Well. They're RayBans they don't cover anything." Shouto explains. "You're already conspicuous enough with your..."

"Listen. I didn't want to dress like Michael Myers, either."

"Who?"

"I- nevermind."

Shouto sighs, and continues to observe the shelf for strong stain removers or paint strippers. Dabi on the other hand, is standing behind his crouched figure, pretending like this isn't fucking wack as shit. "Oh, here, this might work." Shouto picks up a small spray of something.

"Looks cheap as hell. Let's just set the stain on fire and blame whatever mark's left on Bakugou."

Shouto actually stops at this, and appears as if he's actually ruminating over his suggestion. "Wait. That might work."

"Yeah. Lis'en. We don't need expensive shit. Just gotta be creative," Dabi says, rapping the side of his head.

"Except Aizawa-sensei would question why Bakugou would even be there in the first place because the common room is currently closed off."

Dabi scowls. "Fine. Buy that shit, then. Hurry up. People think we're thrifters."

"Why?" Shouto inquires curiously, and Dabi doesn't know if the kid is fucking blind to the fact that he's dressed like an eccentric Willy Wonka, and that Shouto himself with a half-burnt sleeve is not starting a new fashion statement. 

"Never mind. Just hurry up," Dabi can't deal with this.

Shouto nods, and reaches into his pockets, before freezing. "What?" Dabi asks, not liking his reaction.

"I don't have my wallet on me."

Dabi blinks. "Oh. No biggie. Here, I'll teach you a household trick- learned it from my time as Touya, too."

Shouto stares at him, looking almost surprised. "What is it?"

"Stealing."

"T- Dabi, no-"

"I'm taking this branch."

"What."

"I'm taking this branch." Dabi points to the tree sprouting right next to the window that they snuck out of earlier to avoid the front door security. Sure, he probably has some tracker on him or some shit, but Aizawa hasn't chased him down at the nearby hardware store with handcuffs, so Dabi doesn't think he's gotta feel the need to sweat it.

"Wha- why?"

"I don't know. It's a nice branch." And maybe it's because he feels weirdly hollow that they didn't pocket a bottle of chemicals. He just needs some sense of accomplishment.

"I mean. That would be destruction of school property."

Dabi shrugs. "Hey. Leaves fall all the time on their own," and he leaps up, gripping the branch and snaps a good segment of its tip. 

"A branch is not a leaf, Touya."

Dabi just whistles a jaunty tune, his lungs wheezy and pitches dull. "Whatever. Don't call me that." But quite truthfully, he's already given up on Shouto. Shouto could call him Dabi the Dumptruck and he would just accept it. Whatever. The names are so arbitrary in the end, with zero meaning if he chooses to not interpret them with any. "Just beleaf in me."

Shouto stares, stunted in his tracks as Dabi's already slinging a long leg over the window sill, too undignified to feel embarrassed by the way his heart nearly gives out as he struggles to yank himself up and over.

He looks behind him, to find Shouto still standing there in a daze. "Hurry up before I lock the window on you."

At this, Shouto finally takes a step forward. And with enviable and unmatched ease he swings himself over, landing neatly on his two feet. As he brushes past Dabi, he catches the mumbled and almost incredulous-sounding: "belief in me."

"You're not even doing any of the work!"

Dabi peace-signs from the side. "Listen. I can't even carry my own bodyweight on my own two legs. You got this." He gives Shouto a thumbs-up, and in response, Shouto just scrunches his face with obvious detestation.

"I moved one side can't you at least carry the other-" Dabi glances down at the other end of the couch, where Aizawa's sleeping visage faces back up at him. 

"Nah. You got it."

"You're the one who spilled the paint!" Shouto hisses from the other side, as he shifts that end of the couch to cover the length of the paint splatter.

"Yeah. But you're still going to get in trouble if you're caught."

Dabi nearly cracks a smile as Shouto sets down the couch (and even while aggravated he doesn't dare to drop it in case if Aizawa wakes up, and Dabi thinks that's utterly hilarious), and flips him off. 

He must be feverish, or maniacal. Maybe both. Because he's almost enjoying his time right now.

"Pass me the brush."

Dabi passes him the brush. They've reached to some sort of compromise, some cooperative relationship after they spent thirty minutes going through various solutions to the paint stain. So now, Dabi somewhat trusts him to paint alongside with him.

"What the fuck is that." He blurts, staring at the blob on the wall.

Shouto glowers over, and even with the paint mask clasped over two-thirds of his face, he still manages to express utter Discontent and Rage and I-Will-Cave-Your-Skull-In energy. 

"That's not a cat." Dabi musters, pointing to the slinky, red worm curling around one of Dabi's round cats. "That's an eggplant. But red."

"It literally look just like one of yours," Shouto crosses his arms, paint outlining the burns on his sleeves. 

A couple days ago, Dabi would’ve hated hearing that. Would’ve wanted to square up because yeah , he’s not afraid to get arrested for punching a minor. Now, after last night, a time that had forcefully astral projected him out of his old mindset, he finds himself trying to be more insightful of others.

"Like they're just blobs." Shouto states.

And fuck being a compassionate person, that's lame and he was never the type to suck ass, either. "Your cats have the personality and shape of a spat out stick of Wrigley's Juicy Fruit gum. Stop comparing mine to them, you're offending them."

Shouto's bristles. “They're not that bad. They're all just shapes! Mine aren't awful-"

"They look like the first draft of 'Dumb Ways to Die' characters."

"What does that even mean-"

"Deformed peanuts." Dabi summarises.

"I. Shut up."

Dabi looks at him. "Make me."

Aizawa wakes up in a flurry of ringing senses, all disorientated by the screaming in the background of his blurry hearing. He groans, sitting upright.

He looks over. And he's seriously tired- the wall looks closer than it usually does.

The screaming has stopped, so abruptly and without him noticing, that he actually wonders if he hallucinated it for a moment.

"I-" he pauses, looking behind him to see Dabi standing in front of him.

Aizawa's first thought, is that he's blue.

“What.”

“This is for you.” Dabi holds out a hand drenched in blue paint.

Aizawa stares at what’s curled in his hand.

It’s a branch. He pauses. 

It has a face.

The branch has a fucking face.

He looks around. He’s still on U.A.’s second floor, student lounge room. “Where did you get a bran-” His words stunt short, as his gaze whips over from Dabi splattered in blue, to the other brat beside him. He squints. 

There’s something wrong, but he doesn’t know what. This is what he gets for taking precautions of repressing any memory of his class right before he goes to sleep, so that he doesn’t see any of them in his nightmares.

But it’s like almost the end of the school year, so he unwillingly has a vague recollection of what Todoroki should look like.

He figures it out by the second slow swoop of his eyes.

“Why does he have only one hair colour-”

“It’s just paint,” Dabi gestures flippantly. And as if to confirm his words, he reaches over and scrubs Todoroki’s scalp, and the boy crouches to give him better access, and Aizawa watches, horrified, by the crisp crunch of the right side of the hair.

And he just knows that paint is never coming out.

“Why are both of you covered in paint,” he asks tonelessly, any inquiry or curiosity for the world around him, dead. However, as he says that, he comes to the quick conclusion that if they’re that messy then what about the rest of the common room, the room where the floor is carpeted and not at all taped before he asked Dabi to paint-

He quickly stands up, Dabi sidestepping him. Aizawa whirls around.

Nothing appears damaged, harmed, or mercilessly stained.

He blinks, the new colour on the wall catching his eye. “Who painted an eggplant?” He wrinkles his nose, and to the side, Dabi doubles over and Todoroki stares at him, looking betrayed.

Dabi, peeling dried paint off the creases of his scars to probably feed to his firstborn child, eats a flake of the paint.

Aizawa, realising quite quickly that Dabi is close to losing it judging by the dimming light in his eyes, turns to the other Todoroki, only for something to catch his eye. "Wh-" he squints. "Is your sleeve burnt-"

"It was always like that."

Aizawa's getting real sick of Todoroki's lack of shame for bullshitting outright in his face. "Why are you here?" He sighs, exasperated at the incredulity of Todoroki's existence.

"Making up for lost time," Todoroki answers firmly.

Aizawa looks at him. "That's a stupid reason. Get out."

“He didn’t notice.” Shouto murmurs wistfully, clearly surprised.

“Of course he didn’t. I said he wouldn’t,” Dabi rolls his eyes.

Shouto stiffly looks away. Brat. Just admit you’re wrong. “You know. When someone shifts the couch, they’re going to see the stain.”

“Yeah, just don't be there when that happens." Dabi says impudently. 

Shouto scowls. And in spite of their sudden fighting (and Dabi really did try to straight up blind him with red paint), they still scrapped up enough shoddy teamwork to salvage both their asses. Because at the face of more immediate danger, even enemies can procure a temporary truth.

“Aizawa-sensei's going to kill us if he found out we lied. Paint never gets out of the carpet.”

Dabi shrugs nonchalantly. “Whatever. It’s red. We’ll just say it’s blood if one of his shortstacks find it.”

He stretches, lifting his arms up to pop his shoulders as they wait outside the blocked doorframe of the common room until Aizawa decides he won't internally combust when he lets them back in. "Do it again," Shouto suddenly says.

Dabi pauses, staring at Shouto, who irritatingly enough, isn't as short as he'd like him to be. Thankfully he isn't taller- but while Dabi has the exoskeleton of a homeless and peeled horseshoe crab, Shouto has the body mass and frame of-

Of a normal person.

Goddammit.

If Shouto really wanted to, he could flick Dabi on the forehead and Dabi's entire upperbody would just snap over with his spine remaking the visuals of a negative absolute value graph. "Do...what? Stretch?"

"No like. The thing you did earlier. In front of Aizawa."

"...Giving him a branch that we stole?"

"No like," Shouto pauses, mouth gaping slightly, before setting into a thin line. "When you were proving half of my hair was covered in paint."

Dabi takes a moment to process this entire situation. "...Are you trying to ask me in the most roundabout way to pet you on the head."

"No."

Dabi stares.

"But you want me to do that thing where I fondled your hair to prove to Aizawa that I ruined half of your head."

"Yes."

Dabi narrows his eyes. "You're so fucking spoiled," he scowls. Why the fuck would he pet him on the head?

And as Shouto goes rigid, clearly ready to break all of Dabi's fingers, Dabi sighs, and indulges in Shouto's meaningless whims. He roughly digs his fingers into the tacky strands of his hair. "This is so fucking gross. You're going to have to shave half of your hair."

"I'm not doing that." But, Shouto slouches over, as if giving him better surface area due to their similar heights.

Dabi rolls his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, you're actually a mutt."

"You look like a compressed titan from Shingeki no Kyojin."

"Fuck off."

"You can't reprimand me for swearing when you always do it."

Dabi purses his lips at that, his tongue kissing the back of his teeth, producing a noise of displeasure.

But Shouto doesn't duck out from under Dabi's hand, even though Dabi's given up on actually massaging his scalp by this point, too lazy to do anything but rest his palm on his warm head. 

"Why does half of your head feel cool?"

"Um. My quirk?"

Dabi narrows his eyes. "I feel like this should be detrimental to your health." He confesses. "This can't be considered safe for half of your brain to be cold."

Shouto eyes him judgmentally, and Dabi has a sudden and vicious urge to tear out a clump of his hair. "You're not one to talk about what's considered physiologically healthy in terms of one's quirk."

This time, Dabi does yank on his hair.

Aizawa opens the door to call the siblings in, deciding that maybe he was too harsh on Dabi. He gave him a branch, after all.

He stares.

"Oh. Hi sensei," Todoroki greets from where he's slamming Dabi into the floor. "I'm using the move called the 'Vertebreaker'."

Aizawa shuts the door. 

Kaminari stares at the tree.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bakugou asks, mildly concerned that Kaminari has fried his brain alongside his quirk again. If so, then he has to leave the scene immediately before the responsibility of safely getting Kaminari getting back to his room somehow transfers over onto him.

“Wasn't there a branch here before?” Kaminari finally says, pointing at the gnarled tree.

Bakugou stares.

He knew it, Kaminari’s fucking lost it again.

He leaves.

Yamada’s eyes remain fixated on the new object of affecting Aizawa has brought into their teacher’s lounge, which is essentially a room of collectibles, Eri's Crayola drawings, and occasionally, a wack present from a student that could legally land someone in jail if responsible authorities caught them in their possession.

“Where did you get a branch?”

Aizawa sighs, and props the stick against the corner of the room.

“It has a face.” Yamada observes aloud. There’s a crooked smiley face illustrated with black marker or paint, decorating the silver birch skin. 

“She,” Aizawa stresses, “apparently has a name.”

“What’s the name?”

Aizawa doesn’t say anything.

Yamada sets down his mug. “Aizawa. What’s the name?” He asks, harder this time.

“Sensei didn’t look too pleased that we named her Birtchy.”

Dabi isn’t too stressed about this. “Whatever. The fact that we applied a censor in the first place is weird enough. He swears freely, anyways.”

Shouto appears to contemplate this, before shrugging. “Okay.” He dunks the thin brush into the white paint, streaking whiskers onto one of the cats that Dabi had painted earlier.

They’ve came to a rather peaceful compromise: Dabi paints the cats and their major features, and Shouto paints the small details. 

Small details pertain to straight lines and circles. Neither things, Dabi has come to learn, Shouto can do well, but at the very minimum, he actually can do.

He watches as the whisker slices through the cat’s lip.

Shouto freezes.

Dabi sighs.

“It’s whatever." Dabi finally says, exasperated.

“You said that for the last five cats, too,” Shouto gestures towards the other array of cats, all of them with their own mutations.

“Whatever. They’re still cats, so they all look equally good,” Dabi grits.

“You’re being too nice.”

“Why? You want me to burn off your skin for not doing something perfectly?” Dabi asks dryly.

They hold an unwarrantedly and unnervingly long stare. 

“Geez.” Shouto finally says. “Dad really messed you up.”

“Fuck off, Mommy Issues™."

“We have the same mom.” Shouto says flatly.

Dabi squints. For a kid with the obvious social aptitude of a single sesame seed from a crushed hamburger bun, he’s getting too comfortable with this conversation. “Shut up before I make sure we have the same scars,” Dabi threatens.

Shouto sets down his brush, and to Dabi's horror, actually appears contemplative. “Wait. Wouldn’t that mean you end up with a larger burn on your eye from me because out of the two of us I’m the only one with a quirk-”

“Burns aren't the only way to get scars,” Dabi snaps, already hosting an intense visual of decking Shouto in the face with the end of his paintbrush.

Shouto narrows his eyes at Dabi’s upheld paintbrush, and probably remembering how their previous spat ended with chemicals in Dabi's open wounds and a potential side buzz for Shouto, he takes a cautious step back.

“What are you guys doing?” A sudden and very tired voice bites from the end of the hallway.

“He’s being a prick,” Dabi instantly tattles, feeling absolutely no shame in doing so, either. 

“I. No.” Shouto stammers. And god , even his stutter is deadpanned. Dabi rolls his eyes so hard, there’s a phantom tug at the scars lining his bottom eyelids. 

Aizawa looks at them, unblinkingly, expressionless. “Okay.” He says, not accepting or resigning, just there. "Stop threatening each other before I feel like I have to get involved." He sends another threateningly blank gaze at them, "just in case if the implications weren't clear, I really do not want to get involved under any circumstances. Do not get me involved." And it really sounds like he's saying that for his own sake rather than for theirs. 

"Oh. You sound like Dad." Shouto observes casually from where he's painting a purple circle on his hand.

Aizawa scowls, eyebrows lowering his eyes into a glower. "Stop telling me these things."

Shouto turns to Dabi. "Sensei listens to all my complaints now. I suggest if you have any issues, you can tell him."

"I'd really rather not," Dabi says calmly.

"I'd also really rather not," Aizawa smiles wanly, the tightness of his lips reflecting the strain on his last nerve.  “Anyways. Get out of here before you guys start getting high off the paint fumes. Take a break for like thirty minutes.”

“We’re wearing masks, though?” The way Shouto’s eyebrows crinkle down signifies a frown, as if that isn’t his typical expression anyways.

“Stupid.” Dabi scoffs. “There’s no proper ventilation in this room right now- we still should step outside for fresh air.” And he doesn’t know why he feels the need go rile up Shouto. It’s the same with Shigaraki (and Dabi purposefully doesn’t think too deep into it, or else he thinks he’ll start recalling yesterday night and he absolutely refuses to try and piece together a rerun of what had happened). He just feels the need to tick them off, even when in retrospect, there's really no need to invest so much energy into such an emotionally exhausted and temporary relationship. 

“Yeah. Get out.” Aizawa reaffirms drawingly. Then, he gives a knowing look to Dabi.

Dabi looks back, as if he could convey the idea that he has absolutely no idea what Aizawa’s trying to tell him.

Aizawa widens his eyes slightly, trying to express something.

Dabi stares.

And nods slowly.

Aizawa, apparently satisfied with their one-sided transaction, leaves the room.

“What was that about?” Shouto inquires bitingly.

“Uh.” Dabi squints. “He says I’m in charge of you.”

“He did?”  

“Yes.” He lies.

He waits for retaliation.

Shouto however, is either content or just braindead, because he appears basically unbothered by this new change of command. "Now what, then?" He asks.

Dabi pauses. Then: “you want to see something cool?”

“This is something cool?”

“Do you think it’s not?” Dabi scoffs scornfully. If Shouto doesn’t, then clearly his father failed as a parent.

“Isn’t this just arson? Or maybe vandalism?”

Dabi pauses.

And takes another look at the fire eating through the paper in the paper clogged toilet. “Nah. It’s your homework, so it’s private property.” He explains.

“Oh.” Shouto peers over the rim, taking a closer look at the small fire warming the inside of the toilet bowl. “Now what happens?”

“Well. Back then, the neighbourhood kids would just pee on it to set the fire out.”

“I’m not doing that.”

He clicks his tongue. “You act like you’re so punk rock but you’re really nothing more than softcore eboy. Flush it, then,” he gestures flippantly.

“I mean. Since we clogged the toilet to make sure my homework is dry, won’t it flood?”

“Yeah. And water puts out fire.” He says slowly, because he already knew the kid was socially slow, but he wasn’t aware that the boy’s critical thinking was in such a devastating state, either. “What’s your point?”

“I mean.” Shouto glances down at the homework. “Why did I let you do this.” And it’s not a question, it’s a prayer for forgiveness.

Dabi yawns, staples near the crease of his mouth creaking alongside his stretch. “Boredom?”

Shouto, with his crusty, completely red hair (and it’s not even the same shade- the paint is like a crumpled, toxic Mr. Krab’s red while Shouto's natural hair is a reddish burgundy), glances at him, unimpressed. Like a panda, a red splotch of paint circles his unscarred eye, as well. It’s like while Dabi was trying to straight up drown him in paint, he accidentally tried to symmetrize his appearance through his hair and face, as well.

“Okay, make a decision before the fire alarms go off,” Dabi states. “Can’t believe we left that room to escape the toxic fumes and we come here, only to die from toxic fumes.”