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“Did you hear —”
“— Todoroki —”
“Stain kill—”
Dabi slammed his hands on the table, blue fire spilling between his fingers and charring the plastic.
The bar fell silent, and acrid smoke rose in the air as the table started to melt. Dabi had to stand up and lift his hands before the melting plastic could stick drip on him, but still, nobody spoke.
Cowards, all of them. He snorted, clenching his hands into fists and quenching the flame. He’d come into this fucking bar to get away from the idiots outside running around like headless chicken — some villain attack in Hosu, of all things — but he guessed that there really was no outrunning your demons, was there?
“What did you say?” he finally asked, snarling into the face of the closest man.
“I-I,” the man stuttered, his eyes darting to his companion who looked just as likely to piss himself.
Rolling his eyes, Dabi took a step forward and let blue fire curl in his hands again. He couldn’t hold it for long, but these idiots didn’t have to know that. “I asked you, What did you say?”
“News are sayin’ Stain killed a kid,” the man spat out, so quickly it was almost incomprehensible.
Dabi’s first instinct was to deny it — Stain’s crusade was just. Hero society was corrupt, rotted all the way through with fake heroes who cared more about fame and their own pride than about the people they were supposed to save.
Than about their families.
“What type of kid?” he snarled instead, fire poised and ready, because there had to be a reason.
“Hero kid.” The man spat, his saliva leaving a dark, wet smear on the ground. “Endeavor’s kid — good riddance if you can ask me. Probably would have been just as big a nuisance as his father.” He laughs, thick and gravelly, and the crowd laughed with him.
Dabi laughed back, just once, and then world seared itself blue.
Touya froze when he walked in the bathroom to find his littlest brother there already, his red and white head bent down. He was sniffling quietly, and holding something in his (tiny, so very tiny) hands — and Touya knew that sniffling, the quiet tears you’d refuse to let fall lest they turn into some unending flood.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and maybe his voice came out too harsh, or too loud, because baby Shouto jumped and sent the item he’d been holding careening into the bathtub.
Touya’s heart froze as he recognized the gauze and scissors.
(Touya had been twelve when his littlest brother’s quirk had come in — twelve, when his father abandoned him for his newer, more perfect version, discarding Touya with nothing more than a disdainful scoff.
There had been a moment, when he’d watched little Shouto spark orange flames with one hand and shape ice with the other, where he’d felt so overcome with hatred it had left him shaking and feeling sick, snarling away from Fuyumi’s helping hand and hating himself even more for the way she flinched back.
They were his siblings. Touya was supposed to protect them — maybe he couldn’t be the hero his father wanted, but Touya would be damned if he didn’t at least keep his siblings safe.
(Even if the scariest monster was the one Touya himself was hopeless against.))
He stepped closer with intent steps, and gently pulled Shouto’s right arm into the light.
The burn wasn’t very big but it was already blistering — and this time, the inferno inside Touya’s chest raged.
“What happened?” Touya asked, keeping his voice cool and collected. He even smiled, the way Mom had when she’d had to patch up his own wounds.
Shouto sniffled again. “I didn’t dodge quickly enough,” he mumbled, casting his head down. His tiny hands curled into fists on his thighs. “I’ll do better next time.”
Touya didn’t know what to say — or rather he did. He wanted to storm back to their father and show him what he’d done, make him see it wasn’t right, that he was hurting them, hurting Shouto, that this couldn’t be right.
He wanted to burn down this god-forsaken house around that man’s head and him with it too.
“Touya-nii!”
Shouto’s alarmed voice brought him back to himself, and Touya jerked his fingers back and away, the blue wisps of flames that had been curling between his fingers dying down without even a hint of smoke.
“Sorry,” he said, checking Shouto over with trembling fingers. “Are you okay?”
Shouto’s eyes were wide as they stared up at him. “I’m okay, Touya-nii,” he replied quietly. “You didn’t hurt me.”
Touya did not blink back tears. “I’m glad,” he said, forcing another smile. He bent down to pick up the supplies Shouto had dropped earlier, and focused more strongly on suppressing his quirk.
He sat down on the cold porcelain edge of the bathtub and started unrolling the gauze.
“Let me see?” he asked, and Shouto obediently lifted his arm again.
“Have you cleaned it?” he asked, his voice as soft as he knew how to make it.
“N-No. Nee-san always does, but I couldn’t find the stuff she used,” Shouto replied.
Anger rose in his chest again, the heat of it so strong he could feel it strangling his lungs. “Fuyumi? Not Mom?” But even as he asked, Touya knew the answer — they’d all noticed how… faded their mother was, how much worse she’d been getting since Endeavor had started to train Shouto.
Touya was so, so afraid of what would happen to them if she broke, but he didn’t know what to do to make it better.
Except this, perhaps, which was what Fuyumi had already been doing. Take care of Shouto so she wouldn’t have to see the burns on another child.
“I’ll let you in onto a little secret, then,” Touya said, winking as he set down the gauze and stood up. He almost laughed when Shouto’s eyes widened again. “All we really need is some mild soap, and warm water.”
“Warm? But it’s a burn? Isn’t cold better?”
Touya’s lips thinned for a moment as he remembered once thinking the same thing. He and Mom had learned about this the hard way, really, but maybe things could be different for Shouto.
“We don’t want it too hot, obviously,” Touya replied, “but if it’s too cold, it’ll be just as bad and damage — hurt — your skin too.”
Shouto’s face fell. “So I can’t use my ice for it?”
Touya’s heart twisted in his chest as he shook his head. “Cool water is best, or wet cloths, if you can swap them out.” He turned on the bathtub’s tap, and stuck a finger under the water to test its temperature, grabbing the soap he’d mentioned earlier with his other hand.
Shouto’s face remained stoic as Touya quietly cleaned the burn. He dried it as gently as he could, and then wrapped it loosely in clean bandages. It was only on Shouto’s arm, which meant it probably wouldn’t rub too much against his clothes if he stayed inside the house, but Shouto was still a kid, and it was probably better to be safe than sorry.
“Thanks, Touya-nii,” Shouto said as Touya finally tied the bandage in place.
Touya ruffled his hair, grinning when the red and white mixed and Shouto yelped. “Sure thing, squirt.” He let his grin ease, patting Shouto’s head softly. “You can come to me for anything, okay? Anything at all.”
Shouto’s gaze fell down. “Anything?” he mumbled.
“Anything,” Touya confirmed, nodding past his tight throat.
“Even if… Even if it’s just to say I don’t want to train with Father anymore?”
The inferno in his chest blazed hotter and Touya swallowed around it. “Even if. I promise I’ll be there to listen. I’ll keep you safe, okay? I’ll keep you all safe. I’m your big brother, it’s my job.”
He oomphed as Shouto’s tiny weight suddenly collided with him, only just catching himself on the bathtub’s edge to keep from toppling them both inside.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he mumbled into his brother’s hair, holding him close. “I promise, you’re going to be just fine.”
Somehow, Touya would make sure of it.
When Dabi came back to himself, his chest was heaving. It felt like he couldn’t get in enough air — but maybe there wasn’t any. Fire burned up oxygen like nothing else — and his fire most of all.
There was little left of the bar he’d been in, and even less of its (former) occupants. Smoldering bits cooling down and ashes, drifting in the wind.
Dabi laughed, the gesture pulling at his staples, buried his shaking hands into his pockets, and started walking away before the police — or worse, a hero — could show up.
But Shouto, his mind whispered, and Dabi hissed out loud, crushing the thought ruthlessly.
Touya might have promised the kid safety, but Touya was dead, and whatever promises he’d made — a long, long time ago — had died with him.
Only Dabi remained, now, and Dabi…
Dabi didn’t care for a dead boy’s promises.
Touya had broken them a long time ago, anyway.