Chapter Text
You stood behind the bar, shining glasses as you set up the counter and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall just above the entrance of the small pub. You sighed as you set the glass down before taking the rag you were using and throwing it over your shoulder. It was quiet in the open room filled with circular tabs, rectangular booths and metal rimmed chairs- quiet except for the footsteps of employees prepping for opening.
Your black jeans hung on your waist as your white button up was slightly wrinkled, the long sleeves rolled as best as possible up to your elbows. Your hair up and out of the way so you wouldn’t be constantly fighting it when the rush started. There was a small, pocket apron around your waist with a pocket for a receipt book, a pen, some napkins and pain medicine just in case another headache walked in the door tonight and a few other odds and ends. The only other thing on your person was the new pair of steel toed boots you had indulged yourself to.
“Hey, Boss Lady,” one of your employees called. You looked around, seeing the one who called you peeking their head around from inside the rec room. The room itself was probably one of the most expensive rooms you’ve ever put together. A pool table in the middle of the room, dart boards on either side of the room, a small little entertainment center, a sofa and another mini bar inside run by a trusted bargirl you hired when you opened your pub doors for the first time.
“What is it?”
“Is the rec room rented out for the night? I heard some of the others saying it was.”
That was something else that was different about your little hole in the wall. Since you weren’t all that popular or big enough for a special vip area or an area in general for occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, your patrons could call and make reservations and get the rec room rented out. However, you only let the room be rented on Fridays, Saturdays and Wednesdays. The other days, it was open for anyone to come and go as they please so long as nothing is damaged.
It was Friday night. You couldn’t think of anyone renting it out tonight, but there was a group coming in tomorrow so long as they don’t cancel on you.
You shook your head. “No. It’s tomorrow when it’s rented. You’re clear to leave the dividing ropes put away.”
“Right on,” they thumbs upped you before retreating back into the room to prep and clean before opening.
7:45, a quarter ‘till eight- opening time. You cupped one hand around your mouth. “Hurry up and get your final prepping all done. Quarter ‘till!” Your employees all made some sort of response or sound back to you, signaling that they understood.
Part of you always felt a little guilty each opening night since you knew it wasn’t just regular citizens or the occasional hero off duty who frequented your pub. You knew of the bad people who walk in the doors, stay for a drink and leave without causing a ruckus. You knew of them, because, unknown to your employees, you had a second job.
A second job that had a lot to do with the large, concrete basement of your pub that you refused to tell them about. It wouldn’t be a great business move if you just told people you let villains sneak into your pub to go into the basement where you had a large array of (stolen) medical equipment to treat their injuries.
-x-x-x-
It was well into the midnight rush of the night when the door opened again. The loud combination of everyone’s murmurs and the smell of every type of alcohol someone could name off filtered through the air and almost made you pull out your medicine. After three years running this place, one would think you’d become accustomed to the smells combined with the noise. To no avail.
You had stepped back away from the bar, your back close to the shelves behind you lined with bottles, cups, glasses, and a small old-style antenna radio that, despite being turned on, wasn’t heard over the ruckus.
Heading to the opposite side of the bar after being paged by some random man for a neat glass of whiskey. You snagged a glass, grabbing a bottle of the cheapest brand you could find- because this man’s lack of manners towards a lady, bargirl or not, didn’t impress you. Pouring the liquor into the glass like it was second nature, you reached under the bar to scoop out a sphere of ice to drop into the glass.
Sliding it over to the already tipsy looking man, you were called- more politely this time- from another patron for a bottle of beer. Smiling at him and signaling to him that you heard him, you trotted over to the mini fridge under the bar and grabbed the brand he requested.
As you carefully, and skillfully, popped the tab off with the bar’s edge, you placed the bottle on a coaster and slid it over to him, tapping the bar top with your hand and serving him with a smile. He thanked you, which you were appreciative of, before he turned to his friend next to him and continued conversing.
Moving back to the middle of the bar, you noticed a few empty glasses in front of empty bar stools with bills pinned under them. Taking the bills and pocketing them, you took the glasses and stashed them below the bar in a small tub you kept in a metal cart for easily putting dirty dishes for later.
As you wiped down the bar top, you saw another person, clad in a full black get-up slide into a bar stool that was recently left vacant. They weren’t far from you, just a few feet, but you could smell the scent of smoke on them. You sighed, knowing exactly who it was. Anyone would think that the man who just sat down was just a heavy smoker- and he was, but not so much recently so he claims- but you knew better.
He lifted his arm to rest his elbow on the bar, his chin resting in his palm as you felt him stare at you.
You didn’t say a thing to him, only got a glass off the shelf behind you, mixed some coke with some rum and added a scoop of ice, before placing the glass on some napkins and sliding it towards him.
“Like usual?” You asked, retracting your hand as he had already started to pick up the glass to sip on it.
“Like usual,” he confirmed. This particular man had a deep voice, always laced with a small rough sound- more rough when he’s tired or just plain exhausted. It was a side effect of the smoking and other smoke-like quirks of his personality. “You seem busy tonight.”
“We’re always busy on Fridays, nothing unusual about that. It’s the start of the weekend, everyone wants to drink.” You threw your cleaning rag over your shoulder, shouting to a call of another bar sitting patron as you felt the black, clad, mask covered man’s eyes on your. “You gonna stick around all night, or are you gonna drink and go this time?”
He pulled his mask down to uncover his mouth, dark scars showing under the hood of his jacket just long enough to take a sip, and pull it back over his face. Setting the glass down, he let out a breath and circled his finger along the rim.
“I think I’ll stick around, just to annoy you.” You could hear the smirk on his face as you held back an eye roll for professionalism’s sake.
“How courteous, thank you so very much.” He chuckled at your reply as you left your place in front of him to tend to others paging you left and right. He pushed his curled hand into his cheek as he watched you pad back and forth behind the long bar. You should be grateful he at least planned on paying tonight.
He remained on his barstool the next few hours, only shifting to look around, take a short spin on the stool, or stand to stretch his hunched body before sitting back down. Each time his glass was close to empty, you’d knock your knuckles on the bar top- a signal asking if he wanted a refill- and he’d either knock back or keep the glass away from you as a form of saying yes or no.
Though, it wouldn’t be a proper Friday night mid-shift without something going wrong.
You weren’t sure why, but when 2 am started rolling around, you always grew weary of your patrons. It was the prime time for tipsy, or smashed, people to start trouble. Whether with you, or with other paying customers, or even your employees. Out of all options, you wished they’d pester you so you don’t have to deal with someone else being harassed. Though, even when it did happen to you- which was often since your place was stuck behind a wooden, polished bar- you didn’t ever appreciate it.
You glanced around the filled room and saw a few familiar faces of villains you had treated before who decided to stay in your good graces.
Them being there did make you feel a bit better about you own safety since you knew if something were to happen, they’d jump up to throw down on your behalf, even if you could handle yourself plenty well.
You were once again wiping down the wood of your bar for the gazillionth time this evening when some scumbag, a smashed man who was well over your age, stumbled his way to the bar and slumped himself into a stool and leaned over the counter like some hunchbacked gargoyle.
He reached over the bar to start to fiddle with the beer spigots that lined the end of it. Before he could create a giant mess in the tray beneath them and onto the floor, you rushed over and slapped his hands away.
Instead of hissing at your stinging slaps, he whistled at your actions to keep your property away from him grime hands as you rolled your eyes.
“Sir, keep your hands off of the bar tools.” You reached over and grabbed the half empty bottle of beer from his hands before you poured the rest of the alcohol out of it and tossed it under the bar into the bin where it clinked together with the other beer bottles you’ve tossed tonight. “I’m cutting you off. Sober up, leave your payment and get out before I have you thrown out.”
From down the bar, you knew the scarred man in black was watching you. Whenever this kind of scene went down, you could feel his and all the other familiar eyes on you. For villains, they sure were people of action and debt. Made you feel bad for calling them villains- if you didn’t think about the crimes they most definitely committed on a day-to-day basis.
The drunk man slurred what you assumed was probably something close to reluctance at you cutting him off for the night and your swift decision to kick him out after he paid what he owed.
Persistently reaching over to try and yank on the spigots again, you once again slapped his hands away, going a step further and grabbing his wrists and tossing them away back over to his side of the bar.
“I won’t ask you again, sir.”
Your familiar scarred man set down his drink, the contents in it empty as the remaining, semi-melted ice cubes fell together in satisfying clinks against the glass.
It was times like now where you wished the quirk laws would allow you to use your quirk publicly without a permit or license because of riffraff like this oh-so-lovely hammered gentleman. You were one to break the rules anyways, so you would if push came to shove regardless and you knew that your customers would keep their mouths shut about it.
You’ve gone many a night with bar fights and tassels and not a single cop was called because you could handle the situation yourself, or your trusty villain’s had your back. Your little pub and you were a bend in the rules with a great camouflage jacket over your head and trustful patrons willing to keep a secret or get so drunk they don’t remember what happened. Either option suited you well.
You weren’t a hero, nor a villain. You were in the middle- a civilian with some spare time and no interest in sharing what you did the time you’re not running your pub.
The man stood from his stool the moment you turned your back to him and not only did he shove his arm against three different beer spigots in a clumsy fall against the bar, but he partly climbed over the bar, reached towards you and yanked you back by your shoulder just so he could get a solid slap on your ass.
The shriek you let out wasn’t loud, it was more of shock of what was happening, followed by instant disgust. Your rear stung at the strength the disgusting man used to slap it before he was drunkenly laughing, his gross breath wafting towards you from his half climbed over body.
Before you could take care of the situation yourself, he was yanked back off to his side of the bar onto his wobbly feet. The instant his feet hit the tile and his chin even twitched to look around to see what yanked him back, glass shattered across his face.
The scarred man who had silently kept you company tonight- and previous nights before that- had grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, yanked him back and away from you as you righted the beer spigots that had already created a big enough mess and smashed his empty, rum glass against the side of his head.
The drunk man hit the ground, grabbing and holding his head as blood dripped from the side of his face and ear. The scarred man looked down at him, shaking his hand about, the purple scars of his wrist showing as he shook the limb. The glass seemed to nick his palm a bit upon impact, but nothing compared to the nasty wound on the drunk’s face.
As the drunk lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding, your defender bent to riffle through his pocket and nabbed his wallet. Pulling out both a card and a wad of cash, he held both towards you.
“What’s his tab?” His rough voice was stern as you just sighed.
You plucked bills from his hand, a handful of twenties, before you put it into your pocket. You looked around, seeing a table from the corner lift a bill in his hand before he waved it at you. You nodded- they were signaling they had his bill. They then held up four fingers and then a fist. A four dollar tab. You decided that you’d keep the extra as a bonus and maybe tip your workers as well for his behavior.
“He’s good to go.” You said as the scarred man put the card back into his wallet and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. He then picked the drunk off the tile and shoved him out the doors before making his way back to the bar.
He stepped over his glass and ice mess as he toed at a larger piece of glass that used to be the bottom of it. He then looked at you with a shrug. You could practically seem the smirk on his face before he spoke.
“My bad.”
Instead of saying anything, you placed a small plastic tub on the bar top and slid it towards him. You flicked your eyes down and he just sighed. Squatting, he picked up his mess of glass and ice the best he could before he gave the tub back to you to throw away. You had already gotten a start on the beer mess that made your nose twitch at the stench.
You always hated the smell of beer.
“Smells like piss,” you muttered to yourself. The scarred man heard you loud and clear though and he stifled a laugh at your annoyance. Once you had it more or less cleaned, you glanced at the closed fist of the man’s cut up hand. You saw small beads of red drop onto your bar. You pushed a handful of napkins towards him to squeeze into his palm. “Come down when we close. We’ll get your hand properly cleaned up.”
He didn’t argue. Just chuckled as he took a sip out of his water bottle you had placed in front of him as he shut the napkins in his grip tightly.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
-x-x-x-
4 am: closing time. You sigh as you bid your final employee farewell before you locked the door behind them. You sighed as you walked back to the bar, untying your apron from your waist on the way. You emptied the pockets and placed whatever was inside on the bar top. There was only one person left in the bar, in the same stool he had been in all night.
You thumbed through the bills in your pockets, rounding to behind the bar and unlocking the always locked money drawer just under the far end of the counter where a small card swipe sat for patrons not paying with cash.
Tucking your cash safely away and locking the drawer shut you stashed the key on the keyring with all your other keys in the pocket of your jeans. You pulled your phone from your back pocket and checked the time. About half after now.
“Okay,” you spoke, the man already standing. “Come around the bar and we’ll head down.”
He followed your lead, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his large jacket with his hood still on even in the new found privacy. You walked back into the kitchen and beyond to a small landing that had an unlabeled door and then a separate staircase leading upward past a different doorframe. He looked up the stairs, knowing full well that beyond them lays your apartment.
Part of him was envious that you lived in your place of work. Technically, he could live in his, but he had his own separate place of peace away for breathers. He could only deal with his comrades for so long in a single span of time.
You unlocked the unlabeled door that you told everyone who asked was just a closet for your personal belongings that didn’t fit up in the apartment. Opening it, another set of stairs that lead down was beyond it.
Descending them, the man followed and shut the door behind him. He locked it when it was shut at his back. There was a different entrance to the basement he was descending into outside the bar anyways for the people who knew it was there and needed it.
At the bottom, you flipped on the lights to the large, open room. It wasn’t a giant space, but it was large enough to move around and there was a sofa, a work bench you used as a counter for coffee and random objects, tables and chairs for your patients waiting comfortably. There were two rooms off two of the left side of the main ‘waiting room’ and one to the right- all solitary rooms for overnight patients. The furthest back room had no door and just past the frame was a storage room of medicine, wraps, gauze, antiseptics, salves- just whatever you could get your hands on.
You’re even occasionally gifted treatment items from past clients in hopes to repay the debt they feel they may owe you.
You point towards the long, hard top operating table in the back as you make your way to one of the shelves on the wall. You kept all the basic first aid out in the open since they were easy to replace.
“Go sit,” you direct as the man flipped off his hood and unzipped his jacket. His white tank top was wrinkle from being inside the stuffy jacket all night and he adjusted his belt to sit comfortably and not pull on his belt loops to dig into his hips. Ruffling his black hair, he made his way to the table to lean against it.
You were soon in front of him, hand out towards him asking for his own to inspect.
“You’re always causing some sort of scene every time you come by. You realize it’s getting old, right Dabi?”
The face stapled, scarred pyro-villain just grinned down at you, chest jolting with a scoff of amusement as you pulled the blood beaded napkins he held in his hand since you gave it to him away. Then, you poked around with tweezers pulling small pieces of glass away from his skin.
“Don’t lie. You love when I come by. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”
“I don’t need to be ‘kept on my toes’,” you tutted, making sure there were no pieces of glass left in his palm. When there appeared to be none, you started dabbing the small cuts with antiseptic as he just kept leisurely leaning on your table. “If you keep coming here and just to get all cut up, I’m going to start charging you for not only your drinks, but all the patching up I do to you too.”
“Oh, you’d never,” he mused. He knew you all too well and he also knew that even if he were here daily for scratching his knee or getting a paper cut, you’d never have the heart to charge him anything when it came to treatment.
Maybe he took advantage of that, maybe he didn’t.
It didn’t help that he knew you had the hots for him- I mean, you did tell him about how you felt weeks ago; straight o his face no less. He just brushed it all off, knowing good and well that he and relationships in general just didn’t work out. Besides, he was someone the public knew the face of and he wasn’t just someone to pass on the street and forget the face of.
Dabi rejected you, you knew he would, but he let you down as easy as he could. You just simply wanted to put your feelings out there so nothing would be awkward in the future. It stung sure, but you felt more open with your feelings not bottled up in secrecy.
You wrapped his hand in gauze and called it good enough, placing all your things back where they were. Dabi looked at his hand, flipping it back and forth as he inspected how neatly you’ve gotten at wrapping bandages since the very first time.
“Not bad,” he hummed. The first time he heard of you and came to get treated, you had to treat a nasty gash on his leg and you were clumsily with your bandaging since he was already covered in scars. You were so confused on if you could cover them or not and if you did, if there was a special way. You leaved quickly though.
“Not like you could do any better. You don’t really need any more stitches or staples than you already have.”
“Don’t act like you don’t think they’re sexy,” he teased as he stood up straight, plunging his hands into his pants pockets as he began to follow you around the basement room to room like a dog. You soon left your basement, going back up the stairs, opening the door and leaving before going up the second set of stairs leading up to your apartment.
Dabi followed you the entire way with a shit eating grin on his face.
You sighed as you unlocked your apartment door and looked over your shoulder and down to the burnt man just behind you on lower stair steps.
“Do you need something?”
“Yeah. Inside.”
You cursed under your breath, going inside and him following knowing that you couldn’t argue him out of it. He often did this, getting treated and then going up to your apartment. In fact, there was a time when he would pick your lock and let himself in, so you ended up making him a copy so he could just stop doing it.
He may not be good in relationships and definitely not looking for one, on top of rejecting you, but he could very well enjoy his evenings pestering you instead. they were two distinctly different situations.
Kicking off his boots and fumbling with his jacket, he hung it on the coat wrack- not willing to be yelled at by you for making your home a mess with his junk again- and let himself in. He immediately made a beeline for your living room and plopped himself on your couch like he owned the place and paid your bills.
You had ventured to the kitchen before you went to the living room and tossed him something. Catching it, he saw a poptart in his hand, still wrapped in it’s aluminum wrapping.
“Eat. I’m taking a shower.” He shrugged as you turned and headed to shower as he flipped on your television and let himself finally relax.
It was odd, being around you and in your home. He didn’t even feel this relaxed and loose in his own apartment by himself. Where he lived was nothing fancy and it was cheap, but it was his and the location was kept on the downlow just like he needed. Spending time with the league was fine and dandy, but they could be so damned irritating sometimes, so he didn’t dare even try and nap at the base.
He let his head fall back against the couch and he took deep breaths.
On occasions like this, he did feel a bit guilty. It’s not like he was actually taking advantage of your feelings or your kindness to do what he wanted, you were just too nice for your own good and let him. Don’t get him wrong, you would scold him if he did something you didn’t like- like leaving his jacket on the floor- so it wasn’t like you didn’t want him here.
Dabi could hear your shower running just barely under the sound of the tv’s noise. Sometimes, he’d find himself thinking back to when you told him how you felt and how easily you accepted the fact he said no.
He was just coming back from another stupid league mission and had a pretty nasty cut behind his left shoulder. You were cleaning the blood off his skin, trying not to snag your rags in any staples before you were smearing something onto the wound, making him sigh in of relief of the cooling sensation.
It was when you were pasting a gauze pad on his shoulder and patching it on securely when you blurted out that you liked him. All he did when you said that was laugh at you, to which your silence that followed explained that you weren’t joking and were in fact serious. He looked at you with a face you hadn’t seen before, a look of vulnerability for just a moment, before it shifted to one of seriousness.
“I’m not interested. Sorry, doll.” You nodded at his quick rejection. Though you accepted it fairly easily, he could still see the slight furrow of your brow and dip in your lips with his rejection. You may have even seen his rejection coming, but hearing it still had to be a blow to your heart.
He was glad the relationship between you two hadn’t changed regardless of how you felt and how he said no. You still put up with his bullshit and he still hung around like a fly you couldn’t smash under a flyswatter because it kept evading the strikes. It was still comfortable here- in your place.
Dabi stood from the couch, moving to your window only to lean out when he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. You had really gotten on his ass once when you caught him smoking in the middle of your living room without a window even open. You told him to smoke out a window, or go outside to contaminate his lungs claiming you dealt with the smell of smoke enough during bar hours.
Flicking a small, blue flame with his index finger, he lit the stick and huffed. Nicotine really accompanied his quirk- it was like he and cigarettes were just meant to be since he himself was a human-sized lighter.
He heard the door to your bathroom open and soon you stepped out with grey sweat and a cheap, cutoff shirt that just barely exposed your stomach on, towel drying your hair. You looked at him, water still barely dripping off your eyelashes and hair strands untouched by the towel.
“Glad to see you’re listening to me,” you told him as you nodded towards the smoke that he took a draw from. He puffed the smoke out the window as he turned around to lean against the open pane. His hand out the window to keep the crumbling ash from dropping inside.
“I can behave sometimes too, you know.”
You scoffed at him, turning to grab a water bottle from your fridge in the kitchen and returning to the living room. “Yeah, not likely.” You sat on the couch to mindlessly watch whatever channel the tv was on and once Dabi and finished smoking, he shut the window and rejoined you on the couch. His arm was resting on the back of the couch as you had pulled out your phone and began to scroll through apps and occasionally looking back up to the tv.
It was moments like this where the uncertainty really hit him.
It was this- these comfortable situations- that frightened him. He was a bad person, a person who’s done bad things and will continue to do bad things. He used to sit around your apartment and bug you with questions. Had you ever ratted anyone out? Were you really a completely secretive person when it came to your unofficial side job? Were you really someone to be trusted? Why did you do what you did in the first place?
Now, he didn’t ask anything anymore. He grimaced at himself. Maybe he was letting himself get too comfortable here.
“I’m going away for a while,” he suddenly blurted out. You glanced up at him from your phone.
“Have some big job or something coming up?”
“Yeah,” he lied, “some league stuff I gotta deal with.”
“Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”
“No idea. Probably a few weeks I bet.” Dabi couldn’t stop himself from lying to you and he got irritated at himself for feeling even the slightest bit bad for doing so. This was the only way though, the only way to try and get back to the rough, guarded villain he was supposed to always be.
Dabi had to get away from you for a while.
“Well,” you started, looking back down. He looked at you, seeing you frown just a bit- he bit his cheek. “Stay safe. If you need any patching up when you get back, you know where to find me.”
He lowered his chin, his eyes lidding as he hardened his resolve. His decision was final, and he had to follow through with it. He looked back to the tv, trying to bask in theses few final moments.
“Yeah, sure.”
-x-x-x-
Dabi’s irritated. He’s been irritated actually.
He’s sitting at the bar, not your bar, but the bar in the league’s headquarters. He sat slouched in a stool as Kurogiri- as usual- stood behind the bar. The glass of some brown liquor that Dabi had nursed for the past hour started to taste like static to him. He missed your bar’s liquor- the revelation made him more irritated.
The entire reason he’s avoided going to your pub and always looked around corners in the city to make sure you wouldn’t bump into him by accident was so he could squash whatever the fuck he was feeling when he was around you down into dust. Though, theses recent last couple days had proven that his plan was backfiring.
Instead of forgetting what it felt like to be comfortable and content and relaxed, he was missing it. He was missing the air of serene you always carried everywhere you went and he dared to say he yearned for it again.
Dabi clicked his tongue as he pushed his forehead into his palm when Shigiraki had walked into the bar from wherever he had been before. Seeing the hunched over excuse of a comrade, he groaned. The leader had often heard of your patchwork jobs for villains. He himself had even met with you once- not for any injuries he had sustained, but for a simple meeting to exchange greetings with potential allies. Anything helped for his cause.
Shigiraki also knew that Dabi often frequented your pub, and for whatever reason he hadn’t been recently. His sour mood as of late paired with his lack of attendance to your business and attention was too easy to put together.
“I’m really sick of you moping around here,” the leader complained. Dabi lifted his forehead from his palm and glared across the room to the leader who now took a seat one stool away from Dabi. “Go be a killjoy somewhere else.”
“Oh, piss off.”
His mood began to spiral rapidly when Toga and Twice had come into the bar as well, coming back from wherever the fuck they had been. Toga- trying her best to get on Dabi’s every nerve- was told by Kurogiri that his mood was unpleasant because he hadn’t been to a specific bar in town for some time now.
Dabi felt offended that Kurogiri connected his bad mood to the bar and not you.
“Maybe I should kick the crap outta you myself, so you can go back to what’s-her-name and then maybe you’ll finally lose the attitude.” Okay, that one earned the hand-fetishist leader a growl from the pyromaniac. It only made Shigiraki scoff in a small victory, knowing that everyone around the league could see that his sour mood was solely revolving around you- or lack thereof.
Toga, ever on the hunt for new ‘friends’, immediately jumped at the idea of finally going to the mystery lady who heals everyone just because she has a kind heart. An idea that Dabi shut down without so much as batting an eyelash.
“But, why not!” Toga whined. Dabi rolled his eyes. Villain or not, Toga was just a high schooler with more than enough psychotic tendencies to warrant concern. If he had it his way- you’d never even get the chance to set your eyes on the blonde, twin-bunned psycho.
The constant chartering centering in on him and you began to grate on his nerves and before long he was stomping up to his feet and out the bar door. Shigiraki just scoffed as Toga pouted. Twice was simply mocking and jesting at the burned man who ‘just ran away’.
Dabi had had enough. He was going back to your pub- but it wasn’t going to be because he missed you. He just wanted a drink in peace and fucking quiet. At least away from those idiots.
-x-x-x-
Dabi had slithered his way into your bar- pushing his way in with a group so that when you shouted from your place behind the bar to greet them in and to tell them to just find a seat, you wouldn’t recognize him. He had stopped by his apartment before making his way here to change into clothes he hoped you wouldn’t recognize him in either.
The large, indigo tinted turtle neck he wore was way too large on his torso. The neck was horribly stretched out and pulled up as far as it could be to cover his jaw and mouth so that he didn’t have to wear the mask he knew you would recognize.. He traded his normal jacket with a different one he’d kept around for city crawling as he had it half way zipped up and the hood flipped up to hide his hair and scarred ears. Keeping his chin down, he used the shadow of his hood and the shadows the pub lights casted to keep the scars just under his eyes more or less out of sight.
He grumbled at himself. Why was he going to such lengths to make sure you didn’t see him in the first place? In the past, he wouldn’t have gone to the lengths to stay on the downlow in public like this; he would’ve just gone back home and crashed or drank alone or something of the sort. You probably weren’t even under the impression he was back from the mission you thought he was on.
He slid into a booth in the back corner where he could still see you working behind the bar. Pacing back and forth, talking and serving patrons and just doing your general work. It felt strange seeing you work from all the way in the back instead of in his usual barstool, front row seat. He bit his tongue when he caught himself almost missing his up close proximity to you.
He was soon slid a bottle of beer- even if he didn’t really like the taste- as he nursed it. He’d occasionally scan the bar to see what kind of business you had tonight. When he wasn’t, he was scrolling mindlessly on his phone with glances up to the bar every so often. He felt uneasy when you weren’t in his sights, even with you so close by.
An hour after he had entered the pub, the doors had opened roughly enough to make tables turn their heads or hush up their conversations to see who had just made the racket coming in. Dabi glanced, pulling his hood back just a bit to see past the fabric of it.
A group of three men had walked into the pub. Gruff looking fellas, but nothing all that special. They started scanning the pub area, looking from tables, to faces, to chairs, all the way to the bar. The flame user didn’t appreciate the snarl on the middle man’s face when his eyes landed on you busting the bar top with your rag.
Shutting the door behind them, the three of them split apart, one heading towards the rec room and another heading in Dabi’s side of the bar. The middle man marched up towards the bar and instead of taking a seat- opted to lean on the bar between two already seated patrons. They ended up leaving their bills and scurrying out of the joint.
You took their payment and bit your tongue to keep from telling the obviously trouble-looking newcomer off for running off your customers. In fact, you completely disregarded him.
Once your bills were collected and placed into your apron pocket, you looked at the middle man leaning on the bar square in the eyes. You held unamused eye contact with him for a beat before you shut your eyes and easily turned away from him.
Clearly unhappy with the attention he so desperately wanted, he reached over the bar and yanked on the back of your work button up. You let out a shocked, choked gasp as you dropped the glass you had in your hand. The sound of shattering glass echoed around the pub as it became completely silent.
Dabi jumped from his booth, standing at his table instead of leisurely sitting like he had been as he watched the man reach out for your shirt. He growled under his breath when he yanked you back towards him over the bar.
This trouble-seeker was new to your pub, you could tell this the moment he came in with his two buddies. He didn’t know of the amount of eyes on him now that he had gained the attention he wanted. And he didn’t know how many of those eyes were villains ready to take him out.
You coughed as he tried dragging you completely over the bar just by your shirt collar. Your lower back pushed painfully into the wooden edge of the bar as your heels came off the floor, your toes being the only leverage you had left on your side of the bar top.
You wanted to swing your elbow back and pop the son of a bitch in the nose, but you had to keep all ten of your fingers on the front of your collar to keep it from painfully pulling against your throat. You attempted to unbutton the top buttons for a window of breath, but you didn’t get the chance to before you were dropped.
“Hey!” A voice you had recognized from a past medical visit came from behind you and the man yanking on your shirt. He had groaned as he dropped you, your unsteady toes combined with your heels slamming back down to the floor and your spine dragging down the edge of the bar all made you drop to the floor. You hunched over on the floor, gagging as you pulled on your shirt’s fabric away from your neck- the hemming all stretched out and well ruined by now.
The bar felt like walls that encased around your slumped over body and you soon felt someone hop over the bar and rub your back. Looking up with teary eyes from your lack of breath, you recognized the female criminal you had treated a handful of times before. She soothed you behind the bar as it sounded like pure chaos erupted from beyond the bar.
The short screams and shouts of whatever customer didn’t feel like fighting and fleeing. you even heard your employees ducking out- as you instructed them to do when bar fights broke out. You did not want to feel out accident reports, so your rules of running when things get nasty was non-negotiable.
You were content to just stay sitting on the floor, catching your breath until the fighting was done. You knew those who were fighting against the law were already defending you and your pub- they would take care of it.
It was their safe space and these thugs had just tried disrupting that space.
It was only when a plume of fire shot out from what looked like to be the back corner of your pub did you jump to your feet. Leaning against the bar with the villainess at your side, holding you to make sure you didn’t tumble over, you saw Dabi.
“Dabi?!” You were shocked to see him. He hadn’t been around due to his work (so he told you), and you were confused on why he was here now. Why was he wearing clothes you hadn’t seen before and when did he get here?
He was quick to jump into the fray, mixing in with forces to drive the stupid thugs out of your pub, but not without beating them within an inch of their life first. Between tables being thrown, chairs knocked over, fire bursting then dispersing and fist and legs flying- it was hard to keep up with what was actually happening.
What you did see though, was from the rec room someone coming out and pointing their fingers out towards your villains- your allies. Their fingertips started to open and sharp, needle like tips were ready to be fired out of them.
You climbed over the bar, the villainess calling out to you to not get involved. You stumbled into a chair, holding yourself up as you shouted over the commotion.
“Hey! Get behind a wall or table!” You pointed to the man under the rec room doorway. “Don’t let whatever he’s gonna shoot out of his fingers hit you!” You were ready to duck back behind a table when you were shoved in the chest by the third man you saw enter with the thugs earlier. He just appeared from no where it seemed when he struck you.
Knocking you into a nearby table, you slid onto it before it tipped and you tumbled off of it when it fell. Groaning, you cursed under your breath. You were getting really fucking sick of being pushed around tonight. You got to your knees to get yourself back to your feet when you felt something push against your back and wrap around your shoulders, keeping you down.
Whatever was keeping you down and covered was warm. It covered your back and kept your shoulders encased. Reaching up, it was an arm that wrapped around your and it was someone’s chest that pushed against your back. Looking back you saw his scarred ears and neck before you saw his face. Not to mention the blast of burning blue that shot out opposite of his outstretched other arm.
“Dabi,” you gasped as you felt his body start to push more into yourself. You whined, his weight beginning to crush you. “Hey, get off me,” you huffed.
“Oh, you so owe me,” he chuckled before he fell against your completely. His arm dropped and the one that wrapped around you previous fell limp and released you. Rolling off to the side awkwardly to try and catch his fall to the tile, you saw a small needle sticking from his neck.
“Oh, shit” you muttered. Turning, you lifted a table to cover your back while the rest of the chaos kept going on behind you. Pushing him onto his back, he was out cold. Looking him over, you didn’t see any worrisome wounds on him- in fact he didn’t look wounded at all. It was only that needle in his neck. “No doubt from that guy’s quirk,” you mumbled as you inspected it.
Did he cover you so you didn’t get hit with the needle instead? You didn’t want to work yourself up into a frenzy at the thought of him taking a shot for you- but no matter how you looked at the situation, that was exactly what happened.
It was a small, thin like a sewing needle with a ball point on the back of it. Whatever this needle is coated in obviously knocked the pyro out. You peeked over the table to see the same man ready to shoot a second round from his fingertips.
“Take out the needle shooter! His needles will render you unconscious!” Your shouted leadership to take out one of the three low-level threats was clear and it was probably 20 minutes later when the three thugs were tied up and unconscious.
You sighed, finally feeling safe again in your busted and destroyed bar. You groaned for the umpteenth time knowing it was going to cost a fortune to get the tables repaired. Not to mention the seared wallpaper that peeled from the previous heat and broken glasses, frames and damaged light fixtures. You would have to close your doors for repairs for at least a month.
As you looked around, you moved from your sitting position to instead kneel at Dabi’s side.
“Can someone help me bring him downstairs? And lock the entrance.” Dabi was picked up and was soon being carried back behind the bar and through the doors, waiting for you to come unlock the way down as someone else had safely latched your pub doors shut. Your employees would understand if you just shot them a few texts.
Before you went into the back, you pointed at the unconscious needle shooter. “Also, bring him down too, but keep him tied up. I need to know what his quirk is so that I know exactly why he did and how to treat it. Anyone else who needs treatment, you can come down too.”
An hour later, you had Dabi’s unconscious body hooked up in one of your rooms to small machines to make sure he wasn’t dying. Whatever the needle was- you concluded that it at least wasn’t poisonous. You had taken it from his neck and had it run for tests. It wasn’t coated in anything, but the tip of it had released a sort of potion into his body from where he had been stores in the ball point end; but you weren’t sure what it was.
You moved away from your laptop on the small desk you had next to Dabi’s temporary bed. You leaned your elbow against the wood and stared at him.
“Until I figure out what exactly happened, I have no idea when he’ll wake up.” You frowned as worry began to churn in your stomach. It eased you that his life didn’t seem to be in danger, but that didn’t really help anything else. He was immobile and unresponsive until further notice as far as you knew.
You sighed getting up and searching for his phone. Finding it in his jacket pocket, you plucked it out and began to go through his contacts. You were glad you watched him punch in his lock code one day and held it in your memory.
Finding a contact under ‘Childish Leader’, you immediately began to ring it. You knew who Dabi worked under, and who this so called ‘childish leader’ was- you did meet with him one time after all. When the line picked up, you were greeted with a sigh.
“What,” a strained voice annoyingly greeted.
“You’ll want to come to the location I’m about to send you,” you started. You swore you heard the frown and confused brow drip on his face when it wasn’t Dabi’s voice that was on the phone. “Want to know what happened to Dabi? Then get your wrap quirked friend to get you over here, Shigaraki.”
You quickly ended the call, letting out a shaky breath and feeling your heart pound in your chest. Dabi only ever really complained about Shigaraki, and you had only met hi that one time for general introductions, so you didn’t know much about him. You hoped that just telling him what to do before sending him your coordinates would be enough to just get him to show up. You’d deal with the rest later.
You stood from your chair as you looked down at Dabi. He always looked quite peaceful sleeping- it was odd since he was always scowling when he was awake. He’d smirk and tease, sure, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a real smile on his face before.
You chuckled to yourself, touching his hair just once before you stopped- knowing he didn’t like you touching him like that. He wanted to keep you at arms length because of your feelings and you knew that- so unconscious or not, you had to keep his wants at the forefront of your mind.
A knock sounded at the door when you saw one of your allied villains come in. “Some guys are in the bar, asking for you. Some freak with a hand on his face and a gimp looking dude.” You almost laughed at the villain’s description.
“Tell them I’ll be up in a moment.” The villain left as you looked once more at Dabi. You smiled down at him. “Thanks for the save, you reckless idiot.”
-x-x-x-
Dabi groaned as he rolled from his back to his side. He was only vaguely aware he was previously on his back ,which already annoyed him- he was not a back sleeper. He peeked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling above him.
That wasn’t his apartment ceiling? Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and taking a breath. His head pounded and he opened his eyes back up to see the room he was in. It wasn’t his apartment at all. He was in a bedroom, but he hadn’t seen this room before.
The last thing he remembered was jumping into a bar fight at your pub and then covering your back when that finger-freak tried shooting something out of his fingertip at you. He didn’t even realize his body moved until he felt the needle meant for you dart into his neck.
Rubbing at his neck, he felt no pain. Getting up, he looked around the room.
This room wasn’t yours- he’d seen it before- and it wasn’t anyone else’s he knew of. He wasn’t at the league HQ either, that run down place didn’t have rooms as well kept at this one. Surely you wouldn’t have pushed him off to some random villain until he woke up and this was some stranger’s room… right?
After a moment, he started getting nosy. As he opened more drawers and books and notepads, he got more and more confused. These were all things he was interested in. All the notebooks had his handwriting in them and his name was signed on papers and sticky notes scattered on a corkboard hanging on the wall. The phone on the bedside table and he unlocked with his passcode and started going through it- it was all his information just like normal, but something was off.
He felt off. He looked at his palms, the scars he’s had since he was younger still showing on his skin. Something nagged in the back of his head and he knew that he had to get answers and the best way to do that is to track you down.
Grabbing a jacket and zipping it up to his chin and placing sunglasses on his face, he left the room that was filled with, presumably his own things, but definitely not his things.
The roads and buildings all around were the same as he remembered. However, when he came to your pub’s building, it looked different. Shabby almost. Trying to go inside, the door was rusted and jammed. Jostling with the door wasn’t getting him anywhere and he knew if he tried to bust it down you’d have his ass on the wall for the damage.
Looking up, he saw the window that lead into the living room of your apartment. Walking around the building he started up the fire escape and carefully treaded the side of the building to the window before he shimmied it open from the outside and hopped inside.
“What the fuck?” The apartment that was once filled with your furniture and belongings was empty. Not just empty, but it was dusty, barren and isolated like no one had been in there for years. Jogging downstairs, he ran into the bar to find it the same way: empty.
No tables, no chairs, no booths. No bottles lining the dusty shelves and no frames of art or recreational items in the rec room. it even still had the old, tacky wallpaper instead of the wallpaper he remembered. The stench of dust filtered through his nose and made his throat burn- it was apparent that the place hadn’t been aired out in years.
Turning back, the door to the basement he had been in so many times wasn’t even there. When he left the building to go to the basement the backway, the backway in didn’t seem to exist either. It was like the basement he had spent so much time in with you patching him up was never there to begin with.
“This is fucking crazy,” he mumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He wasn’t used to feeling whatever was bubbling in his chest. It was painful, like caltrops tearing apart his stomach and chest as he searching for your number in his contacts. He began to start walking back to where your apartment use to be, to go back inside the abandoned pub, when he dialed your phone. He was soon stuck in his tracks when he caught sight of his reflection in a window.
The window’s glass was cracked, barely held in place in the frame as he stared back at his reflection. Reaching up, he ran his scarred hand through his hair. His hair that wasn’t dyed black; his hair that was as white as his mothers.
“Where the fuck am I?” He breathed as he heard the monotone voice over the phone.
-I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed does not exist-