Chapter Text
When Twice could get the old antenna attached to the box TV to work, the beat up machine played fuzzy news footage with crackly audio in the corner of the warehouse. The antenna only got public channels, so the League, in their spare time, was left flipping through the same three channels: news, soap operas and game shows, and a government update channel, which included kids shows, government addresses, and health information. They left it on the news, generally, which was most relevant to them.
(The exception, of course, being when Toga and Twice get their hands on the remote and switch it over to the soap operas. They eat that shit up.)
The League had a natural predisposition to nocturnal activity. Unless they had somewhere they needed to be, or someone they needed to meet with, their day-to-day routine was better kept in the shadows. Even many meetings with potential members could be done in the late evening, out of the way of the daytime hustle and bustle of citizens and heroes. The League was good at being seen when they wanted to be, but when they didn’t, nighttime acted as a blanket for some of their more recognizable features, like Dabi’s scars or Shigaraki’s hand shtick.
Relevant news played early in the morning and in the evening, which meant it was just in time for the members of the League of Villains to catch up on around their lethargic sleep schedules. But their unpredictable schedules and rotating watch meant that sometimes, they’d be just in time to watch horrible afternoon news, the celebrity gossip “news” and updates on entertainment. What did it matter to the League if two movie stars were seen kissing, or if a pro hero was rumored to have slept with somebody? It didn’t. Still, their unreliable, three-channel antenna didn’t give Dabi much else to watch as he sat on the counter top of the bar, on watch, while the other members lounged around or padded through the offices-turned-”bedrooms” at the back of the warehouse. But today’s hot new story caught his eye as he flicked the channel from a game show to the entertainment news.
“Pro hero Endeavor off the streets this weekend,” announced the young, pink-haired woman reading from a script in front of her. “His agency told us in an interview that this weekend is his birthday, which he is spending with his sons, Natsuo Todoroki and Shoto Todoroki of UA High, his daughter, Fuyumi Todoroki, a school teacher, and first grandchild, Ichiro Todoroki.”
“Grandchild?” Dabi murmured to himself.
The television displayed a grainy image of Endeavor holding a tiny child in his arms; the child had white hair, and his tiny arms reached out, little fingers grabbing loosely at the air. The news reporter let out a sentimental sound, reiterating how cute and endearing the photo was. “I’m sure this adorable photo will be a hit with all the Endeavor fans out there! Happy birthday to Endeavor, and we look forward to seeing Endeavor refreshed after this wholesome family weekend.”
Dabi let out an annoyed huff and jabbed his thumb into the “down” arrow on the television remote. A trivia game show popped up on the screen; the girl who had been losing when Dabi clicked away was now in first place.
Yanking his burner phone out of his pocket, he opened his contacts list and clicked through them. It was a surprisingly long list for such an asocial man; it included the League, several pro heroes (just in case, and Hawks was on there, although he supposed he should mentally categorize him with “League” business by this point), and four unmarked numbers. He scrolled through the names, tapping past Hawks, Shigaraki, Toga, and Twice before hitting the last three contacts, vaguely labelled, “1,” “2,” “3,” and “4.” His finger hovered over “2” before he decided against it, flipping down the lid to the burner flip phone and shoving it back in his pocket. He huffed.
“Dabi!” a shrill voice hollered from behind him. Toga popped up near him, setting her hands on his shoulder. “Oh, game shows still?” she asked with disappointment when her eyes fell on the screen.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping or some shit?” Dabi asked.
“Can’t,” she replied. “I wanted to see if that one show is on, the one with the murder family? Don’t tell Twice, but I’ve been watching ahead without him since he’s sleeping all the time.” Toga pouted. As the game show went to commercial, she turned from Dabi to see if any ad would reveal when the next episode was airing. “Ooh, it’s on after this! Are you watching this, Dabi?”
He hopped off the counter and threw her the remote. “All yours.”
This was against Dabi’s better intuition, and that was really saying something. This was a man who had joined a villainous league to pursue Stain’s anti-hero philosophies, a man who had participated in attacks against school children (in his defense, it was a hero school), a man who spent the better part of his time burning his body and stitching it back together again, and the remainder of his time plotting schemes with other villains. Yet, somehow, this was against his intuition.
He’d done worse, he reminded himself as he mounted the wooden fence. He lifted his foot to the middle horizontal panel and used that height to lift himself over the rest of the vertical wooden slats. He jumped over, feet slapping against the grey pebbles lining the side of the house where it met the fence.
The backyard opened into a lovely, little zen garden. There were paths of grey pebbles from the side of the house into the yard, jutting between large swathes of grass. A handful of trees lined the edges of the yard, and the far fence housed a garden with flowers and vegetables. It looked different from how Dabi remembered it, softer somehow. A hammock was hitched between two of the trees, and the light wind rocked it. Dabi stayed close to the walls, hugging his hood close to his head. He was thankful for the way the side of the house shadowed the moonlight, as it made it that much easier for Dabi to sneak around.
Which room was he looking for? He knew this was the right house, of course, and he knew they layout well, but he didn’t know which room…
He knew which rooms it wouldn’t be. The second floor master was obviously out of the question. The other rooms on the second floor included Natsuo and Shoto Todoroki; those would be out of the question, too, because even though they stayed in dorms at their respective schools, surely they would need a place to sleep when they came home for breaks. That left two rooms on the first floor (thank God it was the first floor, that made things easier); the one on the far east side of the house was Fuyumi’s, which left only one room left.
Right, Dabi thought. It made the most sense.
There hadn’t been a screen on the window when Dabi had been here; he’d removed it himself, and no one ever noticed. He hoped it would still be how he left it, unlocked and without a screen. He edged along the wall, slinking past a sliding glass door to the backyard and stopping at the second window after that. He reached his hands up, delicately running them across the window pane. No screen. He shoved his long, spindly fingers into the small gap at the edge, digging at the window pane with his fingernails. Dabi supposed it made sense that the window would have been altered in the past six years, but he prayed…
And got a grasp.
He shoved the window pane open. The window was tall, taking up a large portion of the wall. It sunk low to the ground so that Dabi, with his height, could easily step over it without causing a scene. There were white, billowy curtains covering the window that he pushed aside as he stepped into the room.
Everything looked different.
In the darkness, he made a small flame in his hand to see better. The twin bed which had been in the corner was gone. The wooden school desk remained, but it looked like it had been painted. On top of it, instead of textbooks, there were picture books and coloring pages. A set of drawers sat next to the desk with labels like “books” and “crayons” and “blocks.” In the middle of the room was a cradle with a hanging mobile above it. The pieces of the mobile were lit, and, while it looked homemade, it was well done; the dangling charms were little snowflakes and campfires with blue and red lights respectively glowing inside. Dabi reached a hand up to touch a piece gently before looking down at the baby inside.
The little boy was still young enough that his crib was empty other than him, no stuffed animals and a little blanket over the side of the crib. He wore a baby blue onesie with a dinosaur on the chest. The baby slept peacefully, his legs kicked out and his hands near his face. Before thinking, he reached his arms in the crib and pulled the baby into his hands.
“Hey, little man,” Dabi whispered as the baby grabbed at his hoodie. “Ichiro.”
He had a full head of fuzzy, white hair and chubby baby cheeks. He shifted in Dabi’s arms, resting his head against his chest as he settled back into slumber. Dabi held him closely and rocked him gently, walking in circles around the room, keeping his body temperature high to insulate the baby.
Dabi didn’t smile, exactly, but his face took a soft, peaceful look to it. He hadn’t thought it was a good idea, even as he pursued it, but now, he felt content with his decision. It had been years since he’d stepped foot in this house - six years - and it had changed drastically. He’d had one goal as a follower of Stain and a member of the League: kill Endeavor. Now, that man rested peacefully on the floor above him after having spent a birthday weekend with almost his entire family. Dabi could have done it, could have met his one goal, but he couldn’t do that, not with the peaceful little baby in his arms. So instead, he paced and rocked the baby gently, and pretended everything was alright.
Until, as he was passing the window, the door cracked open, and a sleepy young woman caught him in his tracks.
Fuyumi was wearing a t-shirt and silk pajama shorts; her hair was loose and messy. It was evident she had just woken up from the room next door. She flicked on the light. They looked at each other, both their eyes widening quickly. He saw her face turned from sleepy to horrified in half a second as she looked for something to defend herself with. While her quirk was weak, she’d learned combat basics as a kid. She had nothing on Dabi, quirk or combat wise, but he knew Fuyumi, and he knew what this situation looked like.
Because this didn’t look like Dabi dropping by to see his little nephew he hadn’t even known about, wanting to hold him. This looked like a powerful member of the League of Villains breaking and entering into the number one hero’s house and taking his grandchild. They were each surprised to see each other, but for violently different reasons. Dabi reminded himself that she wouldn’t recognize him; he wasn’t the same short, light-haired, lean teen boy she had known, but a tall, lanky, dark-haired man covered in scars. While it was done by design against Endeavor, it gave him the short end of the stick now.
“Fuyumi,” Dabi said quietly.
“Oh my God,” she said quickly.
“Reminds me of Sho,” Dabi said, hoping to make her understand. He still clung to Ichiro, a drive in him to hold on, to cling to the closest thing he’d had to a family interaction in the better part of a decade. They were close in age, and they used to watch Sho when they were real little. That was when Endeavor was still pursuing Natsuo, before Shoto’s quirk was strong enough to present but after he’d discarded Fuyumi and Dabi. When their mother needed a break, the two played blocks with Shoto and held him in their laps. He was begging Fuyumi to understand.
He never got the chance to make her understand because a large, imposing figure appeared behind her, a shadow that turned into a man as he stepped into the doorway of the nursery.
“Fuyumi?” Endeavor asked. “Is everything okay?”
And then Dabi wasn’t Touya, Fuyumi’s big brother, trying to make her understand and remember. He was back to being Dabi, pro villain with the League, holding the grandson of the number one hero. The softness to his tone with which he talked to Fuyumi slipped away. The peaceful look on his face slipped away. They were replaced with sarcastic, dramatic snark and an ugly sneer that pulled at the staples holding him together. He didn’t dare move to put Ichiro back in his crib; Endeavor would capture him, and that was a life sentence. No, Dabi didn’t have time to speak or react or even think. He only had time to run.
Dabi jumped through the window and sprinted as fast as he could manage, holding Ichiro’s head close to his chest to reduce how much he rocked the boy. By the time Endeavor had jumped through the window in pursuit, Dabi had pushed open the gate, which only opened from inside, and was on the street. He shouted as he followed, but Dabi followed a familiar path Endeavor had never quite gotten from his childhood. He dashed between two neighboring houses in a small division which opened to a creek and a small grove. Inside the grove, there was one end of a flood tunnel that went under the road. He splashed his shoes through the mud and pushed aside saplings until he reached the tunnel. He’d hid in here often as a child when he would run away from Endeavor to cry (Endeavor didn’t like him crying in the house, and he never found the tunnel), so it was ironic when Ichiro burst out in sobs, too.
The tunnel was too short for him to stand in as an adult, but if he bent his head, he could. He tilted his shoulders into a position with horrible posture and rocked Ichiro soothingly against his chest. He raised his temperature again to ensure his warmth. The rocking and heat calmed the boy before his cries could lead Endeavor to them.
Fuck. Fuck . Dabi fucked up. He really fucked up, and he didn’t say that often. What could he do here? Nothing. At least not right away.
He needed to think. He wasn’t trying to take the child! He wouldn’t have if Endeavor hadn’t come downstairs and forced him to bolt; he would have talked with Fuyumi and tried to make her understand and given the baby back, no harm done. All he’d wanted was to see how his other siblings had gotten on in his absence (Shoto was the only one he’d seen in six years) and meet his baby nephew. Dabi hadn’t, per se, wanted this to happen, and he did still care about the members of his family that weren’t a massive pile of dicks.
Goal: take care of this baby until he could find a way to return it. He did care about the well-being of Fuyumi and her child. After all, her one dream had been to have a happy family, and this was a manifestation of that dream. He had to return it. He couldn’t right now, though, without jeopardizing himself, so he’d have to wait. The Todoroki household would be hyper-vigilant now, so he doubted he could sneak in a second time without getting captured. Briefly, it passed his mind to have Hawks bring the baby back as he was a coworker (and friend?) of Endeavor, but it was too risky; either Hawks would have to expose the League as an explanation of why he was in possession of the baby or admit that he was working with the League because Dabi’s face was now associated with this kidnapping.
Dabi had done a lot of stupid shit in his villain career; while he hadn’t had any flashy crimes before the League, their relentless public stunts had left his face circulated in the media as a wanted man. Now, pictures of him would be plastered on the news and in the papers again. But it wouldn’t be for actualizing Stain’s philosophy. It would be for kidnapping.
The baby in his arms stretched and cooed. Dabi softened his voice and cooed back.
Fuck.