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Dabi idly spun one of Toga’s knives around on the table while the others argued behind him over the way they were going to split the boatload of money they landed on. They’d taken out some shitty ass villain organizations over the past year or so, but they finally hit the jackpot with the last one and were going wild over it. Corporate villains were where it was at. Compress was acting as if he might actually put his share in a kiddie pool and lay in it.
Granted, it had been a while since they’d been paid properly, even if Ujiko and Giran were a lot more generous these days, but no villain expected a normal paycheck. Dabi had never received one in his life, so he didn’t mind the irregular and little to no pay. Money had never done anything for him before. Besides, it wasn’t like he was in villainy for the money anyway. He hadn’t joined the League expecting to get rich. Honestly, as much as the others cheered over the funds, he knew they hadn’t either.
If people became villains for money, they were stupid and pathetic, and he hoped they died.
A thin pair of arms were thrown around his neck, the grip too tight for comfort. “Dabi! Come join us!” He reached up to grab the arms and burn them, but Toga was too quick, off of him in a flash and giggling all cheerful like. “So grumpy! You should be happy! We wouldn’t have this without you.”
“She’s right, you know,” Compress said as he deftly counted a large stack of bills. “You did well.”
Dabi leaned back to look over his shoulders and drawled, “Gee, thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, son,” Compress shot back as he effortlessly dropped onto a couch.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Spinner said, “I’d say you were actually becoming a part of the team.”
A part of the team? Maybe, although Twice sometimes acted like they were actually family. They argued and fought like one at least, but Dabi wasn’t so sure. None of them had great or long-lasting relationships with their family, so they didn’t have much or anything good to base it on. Dabi’s thoughts skirted around the subject whenever it came to mind. Family could be good or bad, but that wasn’t what he was looking for in the League either.
“You’re convenient,” he settled on saying.
“Just admit it: you’re part of the team,” Spinner said. “Stain would be proud.”
Dabi fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was pretty sure Stain hadn’t given a shit about money either, but then again, they kind of needed it to survive.
Spinner didn’t seem too concerned about Stain’s ideology right now. He looked like he’d never seen so much money in his life and didn’t know what to do with it. He’d come from some bum-fucked country town, so it was a likely possibility. He sat on the ground and crossed his legs with one of his swords resting across his lap and a pile of money under it. Dabi was half in mind to remind him what people used money for, but decided to let him be. He deserved it for saving his ass by sticking his sword through someone about to kill him.
See? Dabi could be nice. Progress.
Shigaraki eyed him from the corner of the room and tossed a wad of cash back into the pile. “You just might have redeemed yourself after all the bullshit you’ve pulled.”
“Oh, what were you going to do if I didn’t?” Dabi asked snidely. “Kick me out?”
Redeemed himself. The word burned him more than he would’ve liked, like salt to the open wounds his flames caused. It was almost a compliment coming from Shigaraki, who was admittedly a little nicer to the other members of the League. Dabi didn’t mind it. He didn’t want Shigaraki to be friendly with him. He didn’t want to be friends with any of them. He didn’t need to be redeemed in anyone’s eyes, especially not theirs.
“No,” Shigaraki said slowly, “you’re too useful.”
Dabi snatched up one of the bottles of expensive liquor they’d stolen and stood up. He didn’t drink often, but the occasion called for a celebration, didn’t it? “Glad I could be of service, boss.”
“Aw, where are you going?” Toga asked. “Aren’t you gonna celebrate with us?”
“Hell no.”
“Why not? Please!”
Shigaraki lifted a hand. “Leave him be, Toga.” Dabi paused long enough to glance back, and they connected eyes. “He’s earned it.”
Dabi didn’t like the way he worded it, but it got Toga off his back. She pouted but dropped down in the seat he vacated and didn’t argue. Shigaraki didn’t look away from him, as if he was seeing right through Dabi’s act. It wasn’t an act - he swore it wasn’t - but sometimes it was hard to tell what was and what wasn’t anymore. Everything had started to blend together. The League of Villains wasn’t just the League. Heroes weren’t strictly heroes.
Family wasn’t… He didn’t know what they were.
“Go on then,” Shigaraki said.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dabi turned on his heels and skulked out of the room. This place was actually a lot better than the last few places they’d called hideouts. The voices of the other members slowly drifted into the background as he made his way to a room he’d claimed as his own. He wasn’t sure how long they were going to be here, but he needed his space away from everyone.
After kicking the door shut, he shrugged out of his jacket and threw it onto the ground. He all but flopped onto the mat he used as a bed and then rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, the bottle still in his hand. His shirt rode up when he put his free hand behind his head, exposing some of the few remaining good pieces of skin he had left. He let out a breath and then pulled the cork of the bottle out with his teeth so he could take a small nip. The alcohol burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to his fire.
You might have redeemed yourself.
What did he need of redemption? He’d never asked for it nor did he want it. Dabi had no use for shit like that. Redemption implied that he wanted to be better - that he wanted to be good - but he didn’t. Maybe he had once upon a time when he was someone else - a scrawny kid desperate and weak and not strong enough, never strong enough - but that wasn’t him anymore. That person had been burned to ashes and long since buried.
That kid had wanted redemption. He’d wanted to prove to someone that he was worth something - that he was strong and good. That kid had thought he needed to be redeemed - that the neglect and abuse he suffered was because of his failure and inability to produce the right results. He’d wanted to make his old man proud or just acknowledge his existence again. All that kid could think about was how he could redeem himself in his father’s eyes.
Redemption meant nothing to Dabi. He’d rather spit in its face, like it had done him all those years ago. Fuck redemption. He wanted revenge. He wanted to taste fire and blood, walk through the ashes of his destruction, and step on the bones of everyone he hated.
Dabi took a long drag of the alcohol and swallowed it down even as it made his stomach roll. He took a deep breath despite the smoke in his lungs and closed his eyes. He didn’t need a damn thing from anyone, not the League or his family. All he needed to do was burn until there was nothing left but oblivion.
(And even if he did want redemption - even if there was a tiny piece of that innocent, hurt, scared, angry boy left in him - there was no way he deserved it. He’d lost that chance a long time ago. He didn’t mind. It didn’t sting. He’d let them go years ago. It was better that way. He’d only drag them down too.)