Work Text:
Tomura Shigaraki doesn’t celebrate Christmas.
He can’t recall most of his childhood, barely remembers what happened after Father took him in, but there’s always a sense of dread when December comes, a despondency that leaves him feeling oddly penitent and doleful.
Father didn’t really pay attention to holidays. Christmas and Tomura’s birthday, however, always had something extra to come with them. When he was younger, Father used to give him candy as a reward when he showed progress, and as he got older, those presents became more practical, like a new coat or pair of shoes.
Christmas was nothing special, it wasn’t even that terrible, but he remembers hating the holiday even back then.
He doesn’t know why he feels this way; why he flinches when he hears children giggling in the snow, why anger flares inside him when he passes by Christmas markets, why the scent of baked bread and sugary cakes make him recoil in disgust, or why he scorns the blinding festive lights.
He doesn’t know why he feels haunted by the warmth of a woman he’s never met.
Tomura’s hatred of Christmas is jarring, even to himself, but the worst part, the part that leaves him absolutely desolate, is Santa Claus.
He doesn’t care about the couples flooding Christmas Eve, the parties with friends on Christmas, or the sickening family get-togethers and grand meals for New Years. But Santa– the joyous man who uses his quirk to see everything and bring good little boys and girls presents on Christmas day– is a big deal to him.
He’s not sure how he learned about the mysterious quirk user, but the looming thought of Mr. Santa has been following him his entire life. With the power that man has, he rivals Father, himself, and it’s just as scary as it is riveting.
A man with omniscient capabilities and some kind of transport ability that allows him to travel around Japan– hell, around the globe? It’s almost too absurd to be true.
But it is.
Shigaraki has been around the bend more than once. He’s been around the most unsightly of creatures, and has had the displeasure of being forced into conversation with the lowest of individuals that come from the darkest of alleys and aren’t worth even a second of his time. He’s overheard the deadliest quirk users of his time whisper about Mr. Santa bringing their children gifts on Christmas day. He’s even heard scoundrels drowning their woes in filthy bars and practically begging for him to give them “good booze and women”, as if even the great Santa Claus has that kind of power.
He’d be no less than a God if he could, capable of both fulfilling the whims of humanity and decimating it more effectively than Tomura’s quirk– but he digresses.
Point being, Santa is real and, instead of using his quirk for something productive, he takes it upon himself to be the universal determinant of right and wrong. It feels almost inane; the very system that Tomura is hellbent on dismantling is perfectly represented and destroyed by one man, and he’s not even a Pro Hero.
Heroes and villains, good and bad, guardians and victims, it’s all the same. Black and white views of the world that work to reject those who don’t fit into their perfectly created roles. Santa, for all intents and purposes, should be like All Might– a self righteous powerhouse that claims to be a hero but is really just the poster child of everything wrong with hero society.
He’s not, though. Mr. Santa doesn’t represent the lack of a middle ground, he is the middle ground. He goes by his own code in discerning who’s naughty or nice, regardless of your history or official status. He doesn't adhere to the Hero Commission or the laws put in place about quirk use because he is the law.
All Might is a puppet used to parade around a false sense of security and inflicts the wills of those higher up, regardless of what those wills are; a fool’s gold in heroism, if you will.
Santa Claus is the judge, jury, and executioner of the entire world. He inflicts no one’s will but his own and refuses to reject someone due to a quirk, lack of wealth, or a role cast upon them by society.
He is neither All Might, nor All For One.
And it shows in how much Tomura loathes Mr. Santa while also respecting him as much as Father.
Which is why it’s so– so frustrating to him that he, Tomura Shigaraki, has never been visited by the man once. He’s never woken up to presents on Christmas morning or heard the distant sound of an old man, jolly and kind, laughing outside his window. In his twenty years of being alive, Santa has never come, not even when Tomura was a child.
Which means one of two things: either Santa is full of shit, or he’s deemed Tomura so rotten that he didn’t deserve gifts, even as a child.
And it’s not even about the presents. Tomura doesn’t actually care much for material objects and the shallowness of gift giving seems pointless to him (though, he wouldn’t mind getting gifts, especially if it’s new releases from his favorite games franchises, but you didn’t hear that from him). Truthfully, Santa could just give him a letter or something and that’d be perfectly fine.
No, it’s about the principle of the matter.
When the world called him a devil and left him to die, he took the name Shigaraki and decided that the world deserved the very wrath and destruction that it had a play in making. He doesn’t care that he’s evil to the standards of others, or that people look upon him with fear and resentment. He knows exactly what he is and he’s fine with it.
It doesn’t matter that society has deemed him a villain. He chose that for himself.
But, as previously established, Mr. Santa doesn’t exactly follow the perspectives of the common man or the higher ups. He has his own set of expectations and rules that he follows in determining whether someone is good or bad.
If Santa has decided that he was evil from the start, then what does that say about Tomura?
It’s unfair. It’s so unfair that he’s treated differently, and he doesn’t even know why.
He knows that something happened when he was young. He can’t remember, but he knows that it did. Father says that his family abandoned him– was what he did, what he was, so bad that even his parents didn’t want him? He can’t remember…
God, it's so annoying!
He hates Christmas.
Which is why he checked out of Toga’s excited ramblings hours ago.
“Come on, that’s not fair!” Toga whines loudly, basically stomping on the floor like a child. She’s so loud for someone so small, huffing and puffing as she argues with Dabi. Twice is between them, head whipping back and forth as he tries to mediate the two.
“Life’s not fair, sweetheart.” Dabi snorts, lounging lazily in a dirty, torn up armchair. “We’re villains.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve! You can’t seriously expect me to stay cooped up in this ratty apartment during the most romantic day of the year!”
Tomura closes his eyes in irritation while a hand drifts up to scratch at his neck. He has a map in front of him, red and blue ink in different handwritings mark the entire thing. He doesn’t really care about their holiday squabbles. He has more important things to do, like figure out where all of Overhaul’s secret drug operations are.
They’ve been on the run for a while now and it’s wearing down on everyone, but Tomura especially. Having to keep a low profile isn’t easy and, as the leader, Tomura is the one who everyone looks to for guidance. Tomura is the one who has to make sure that no one gets caught by the heroes or by Overhaul. Tomura is the one who has to make the strategies in order to beat the game and keep his allies alive.
After the Pro Heroes had raided his primary base of operations, Overhaul went into hiding with nothing more than those who survived– or somehow managed to outrun– the police and the remaining vials of Trigger. Word on the street is that the Pro Heroes have the little girl Overhaul was using to make Trigger and are now attempting to track him down before he finds a way to emulate his formula elsewhere.
Part of Tomura actually wants them to find him before he and the rest of the League do. He does want to make things even, despite what Toga may believe, but it’s frankly just exhausting to deal with heroes and other villains. Stain may have been annoying, but at least he didn’t try to hunt them down after he rejected them.
Until that happens, however, they’ve been keeping it lowkey by staying mostly in abandoned warehouses, run down motels, and, this week, a shitty studio apartment– that’s truthfully more of a large bedroom than it is an apartment– that belonged to some thug that Dabi used to know before he died a couple days ago due to “mysterious circumstances”.
“What about those other romantic holidays, like Valentine's Day or White Day? I hear those are splendid alternatives.” Compress offers, tossing one of his blue marbles into the air and catching it in the same hand, then doing it again absentmindedly. His mask is off and resting on the discolored side table next to him with his overcoat folded neatly beneath it.
“But those are different! Everyone knows that the cutest holiday is Christmas. I mean, look at all the lights, the couples going on dates, the pretty snow.” Toga sounds dreamy as she practically skips around the room, finally drawing Tomura’s eyes away from the map. “There’s nothing else like this during winter! I just want to celebrate a little.”
Dabi sighs loudly, pushing himself out of his chair and rolling his neck to the side with a sickening crack. Every time he moves it’s like every bone in his body is protesting their very existence and Tomura swears that it’s a miracle he hasn’t dropped dead yet.
Dabi saunters over to the fridge with about as much swagger as a walking corpse and pulls it open with a little too much force. “If we’re gonna be celebrating Christmas then we’re gonna need more beer,” he says, pulling out the final three bottles and showcasing them to the room.
“Didn't that case belong to the dead guy?” Twice asks, gesturing wildly at the beers. “Ah, so what? He wasn’t gonna drink them anyways.”
“And aren’t you the one who drank them all, Dabi?” Tomura remarks, already bored of the group’s antics.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, boss.” Dabi mocks, ambling past the tiny dining table that Tomura is sitting at, knees to his chest and hands scratching at whatever skin is left uncovered. “I didn’t know you wanted any. Wasn’t even aware you were old enough to drink.”
Tomura rolls his eyes, resting his forehead on his knees. His head is pounding and his eyes feel dry, throbbing with sleep deprivation. How much sleep has he gotten lately? Not nearly enough to deal with this. “Why don't you go crawl somewhere and die?”
“Oh! Oh!” Toga exclaims, jumping up and down with her hand in the air, full of way too much energy considering it’s almost midnight. It interrupts the snort Dabi lets out as he uses a cheap lighter to pop open the beers. “Can I have one?”
“Fuck no.” Dabi answers immediately, offering a beer to Compress and Twice.
“I really wish we had something better than cheap alcohol. Chardonnay, perhaps?” Compress lamets with an unsatisfied hum, taking the bottle anyways.
Twice, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to take his, pulling his mask up enough to uncover his mouth and taking a large swig. “I don’t know, I think there’s something nice about super cheap beer from a convenience store. So, take that stick out of your pompous ass, old man.”
Toga whines loudly, falling onto the couch next to Compress and throwing her arms up in despair. “You won’t let us go out, and now you decide to suddenly be a good person and not let me drink? I’ve literally killed people but that’s your line?”
“Sorry if I’m not too fond of serving shitty booze to a little girl.”
Toga gasps, affronted. “Hey! Who are you calling little, you bastard? I’ll show you little when I cut you up so pretty that even your ugly face can–”
“Will you two shut up and quit arguing?” Tomura suddenly snaps. “I’m trying to work and all this irksome yelling is giving me a headache. In case you’ve forgotten, Overhaul still wants us dead.”
There’s a moment of silence as they stare at him, the only sound in the background being from the busy streets outside and the low volume chatter from the cheap box TV they were watching shitty Christmas movies on. Tomura feels his irritation grow under the scrutiny. If they didn’t want him to yell at them then they shouldn’t have been so damn irritating.
“Well, jeez.” Toga mutters. “Someone’s not feeling the Christmas spirit.”
Tomura scoffs at that. “Christmas or not, it doesn’t change our circumstances.”
“We’re so sorry for disturbing you, sir.” Twice says, tone on the cusp of being too sarcastic, bowing his head for a few seconds.
Tomura mutters an offhand “it’s whatever” and reaches for a pen to continue writing on the map. He can hear whispers behind him– very obviously Toga and Twice with how bad they are at it– but doesn’t bother reprimanding them again. He’s exhausted and slowly coming to his limit.
If this is what Father intended for him, then it fucking blows.
“So anyways, Jin, what do you want for Christmas?” Toga asks, and Tomura can already hear the smile on her face. If he looked behind him, there’s no doubt that he’d see her leaning forward excitedly on her sweater paws.
“Jesus Christ, not this shit again.” Dabi groans loudly. “I’m too sober for this.”
For once, Tomura agrees with him.
Twice hums loudly, seemingly ignoring Dabi altogether, and when Tomura glances at him, he’s sat cross legged on the ground and is staring at the ceiling, stroking his chin in thought. “I’m not sure. I think spending time with everyone is enough for me. I actually could really use a place with some HEAT, but I’ll settle for you losers. What about you, Toga?”
Toga kicks her legs out happily and grins, showcasing her sharp teeth. “Well, I think I’d like for Mr. Santa to bring me Izuku for Christmas, but if that’s not possible, then I think that some pomegranates would be nice. It’s been so long since I’ve had one.”
“Oooh,” Twice says. “I didn’t know you liked pomegranates.”
“Everyday I ask myself why I’m here,” Dabi mutters around his beer. “And everyday I fail to find a suitable answer.”
Compress laughs, looking deeply amused. “Well, at least you have both of your arms, darling. It could always be much worse.”
“Yeah, and you could lose your other arm, right? You wanna test that?” Blue flames lick the edges of Dabi’s hand and reflect in the brown glass of his bottle, tiny bits of smoke framing the sadistic smile on his face.
“Ha!” Compress chortles. “Bitch, please.”
A gloved hand reaches towards Dabi in a flash, the man too stunned by how fitting yet odd the words sounded from such a theatrical gentleman.
Tomura, on the other hand, is sick of where this interaction seemed to be heading. He slides out of his chair and grips it by the seat with his pinkies out, throwing it towards the two before Compress could activate his quirk.
There’s a flash of blue and Twice gasps dramatically, jerking his body backwards and spilling beer on his costume. As the flash fades, it reveals Dabi looking a bit shell-shocked as he watches the chair warp into a shiny marble, briefly hovering in the air before dropping to the hardwood floor. “Huh,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
Tomura glowers at them both. “What did I just say? You guys are so annoying. Cut it out and don’t make me ask you again.”
Compress, who seems to be the only one with half a brain cell, shuts his mouth and leans back in his seat with a respectful nod. Dabi, on the other hand, smirks. “What’s got your panties in a twist, boss? It’s Christmas!”
Tomura’s hands twitch, aching to reach out and decay every single one of them. Truthfully, Tomura’s always had a bit of a short fuse, but even he can admit that he’s been particularly testy that night. If he were just sleep deprived, or if it were just Christmas, or if Dabi was the only one being loud and snarky, then maybe Tomura would have dealt with things the way he always does: by shutting down.
But he’s never been very good at conflict resolution in general, and nothing about tonight has been ideal.
Tomura moves so he’s standing over Dabi and then leans down with one of his hands gripping the back of the armchair, thumb barely hovering above the fabric. Their faces are uncomfortably close, and he can see the putrid details of Dabi’s burns and staples. “I am going to say this one time, and one time only. I don’t give a shit if it’s Christmas, if one of you interrupts what I’m doing again, I’m going to kill you right then and there. Got it?”
“Got it.” Dabi mutters, looking thoroughly unamused.
Tomura pushes himself upright again, “accidentally” allowing all five fingers to press against the back of the armchair until it withers away completely, sending Dabi flailing backwards to the floor with a shout of surprise.
Dragging over a different dining chair and returning to his map, Tomura is grateful for the silence that follows, though he can feel the awkward tension beginning to boil over. The lighting is warm and dim enough that he can actually begin to relax.
Dabi is grumbling in the background, making as much noise as he can get away with as he brushes off dust from his pants and back. Despite that, it’s the quietest it’s been in hours.
“Hey, Tomura?” Toga’s voice cuts through his bubble of peace. “What do you want for Christmas?”
There’s a sharp inhale from Twice and Tomura can feel the rest of them holding their breath, waiting for his reaction. Part of him has anger surging through his body, ready to bite and claw at the girl for blatantly ignoring his orders.
The other, stronger part of him sighs in defeat. He doesn’t mind fucking up Dabi or scolding Twice and Compress, but he always feels a little shitty when he yells at Toga. She’s just as annoying as the rest of them, if not, even more so, but she’s also the youngest and Tomura sympathizes with some of her more childish personality traits.
That being said–
“For you to have a mute button,” he answers plainly. “Or maybe some kind of volume setting.”
–it doesn’t mean he has to be nice about it.
“No, I mean from Santa, silly!” Toga says, sounds like she’s seconds away from smirking and playfully making fun of him. “Like, if Santa appeared right in front of you, what would you ask him for?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tomura says immediately, shoulders slumping a bit as he curls into himself and hunches over the table, barely looking at any of them. “He’s never given me anything before, so why would he now?”
There’s another pause, and when Twice finally breaks it twenty seconds later, he sounds stunned. “... wait, what does that mean? Because I understood it exactly, but these nimrods need a little help.”
“You’re acting as if Santa’s real in the first place. Don’t tell me you dumbasses still believe in children’s stories ported over from the States. Shits only there to make people money.” Dabi scoffs in the background, his beer loudly swishing in the bottle when he takes another obnoxious gulp.
“Shut up, Dabi.” Toga hisses, reaching over Compress to hit his arm. “Tomura, what do you mean?”
Tomura brings one of his hands to cover his face as a sense of nervousness begins to spike, making his heart pound in his chest and his skin feel itchy. He’s beginning to really regret leaving his hands on the other side of the apartment, too far for him to get up and grab without revealing how antsy this conversation is making him. “Santa never brought me anything, even when I was growing up. I always guessed I was just too terrible.”
“Hold on a minute,” Compress says, straightening up. “Do you actually believe in Santa Claus? The jolly fellow who delivers gifts to children?”
The way it’s phrased, like the man is in utter disbelief that Tomura would even consider such a thing to be true, has him scowling. “Of course, I do! Who do you think I am? I’m not some pathetic wannabe thug who’s never heard of one of the most powerful quirk users in the world.” Tomura sneers, eyes downcast as he grips his hair and yanks at it, trying to get out all his anxious energy.
“Oh my god, that’s so adorable!” Twice practically coos. “That’s genuinely pathetic.”
“And you believe that the reason why Santa has never given you anything, is because you were always doomed to be bad?” Compress asks, eyebrows expressively furrowed and his fingers pushing together so his hands form a triangle. The metal of his prosthetic arm reflects the dull light.
“Yeah,” Tomura hums distantly. “It’s part of why I hate Christmas so much.”
Compress frowns. “Well, that won’t quite do, will it? What kind of man refuses to give a child a chance?”
“Why are we pretending like Santa exists– Jesus, what the fuck?” Dabi grunts out when, this time, it’s Compress who hits him, smacking the back of his head like a misbehaving child.
“You’re playing your part wonderfully, Dabi, as the main antagonist, but you can quit it now. The show’s over and the bit isn’t entertaining if there’s no audience to enjoy it.” Compress’ voice has a warning edge to it that completely goes over Tomura’s head. It probably says something about his exhaustion that he hasn’t noticed all the other weird things that occurred during this revelation either.
Dabi stares at him incredulously and nods slowly. “Right, yeah… that’s my bad.”
“Tomura, that’s so sad.” Toga says, a big frown on her face. “There’s no way that’s possible! It has to be some sort of oversight or something, right?” She looks at the others with a beckoning nod, which they all– sans Dabi– eagerly follow.
“No, yeah, you’re absolutely right! I mean, no one is perfect– besides me, of course!- so it had to be some kind of accident!” Twice says quickly, looking to Toga for approval.
“I concur,” Compress crosses his arms, looking sure of himself. “I’m sure that tomorrow, he’ll have realized his mistake and he’ll stop by. On another, unrelated note, it’s very late, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps it’s time to turn in for the night?”
Tomura blinks. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah!” Toga immediately jumps in. “You’ve been so grumpy all day, Tomura, and I’m sure that it’s because you don’t get nearly enough sleep! Maybe you should take the night off for once and sleep in a bit.”
“I’m not going to–” Tomura starts to protest, but Toga doesn’t care and hops over to him.
“No, listen, it’s perfect! You can get some sleep while Compress tries to finish tracking Overhaul and Dabi, Jin, and I can go out to the store for more beer and stuff. That way, it’s quiet so you can sleep, your work will get done, and I get to go out and see all the pretty markets and decorations! It’s a win-win.” Toga sounds so matter-of-factly that Tomura forgets to respond for a second, caught off guard by the very sudden change of plans and the fact that his subordinates are trying to order him around.
“You can’t just-!”
Tomura is interrupted by Dabi this time. “Chill out, boss, it’s fine. As much as I hate to admit it, the kid is right. You’ve been on your last leg for a while and, if it means you aren’t gonna bitch at us over nothing, I’m more than willing to take over as lead babysitter for these morons.”
Dabi places his hands on Tomura’s shoulders and pushes him towards the only bed in the entire apartment– a cheap twin mattress that they’ve been rotating each night– while he talks. The smiles on Twice and Toga are too big not to be alarming, but… Tomura is tired. He’s had a maximum of two hours of sleep every night and, at this point, he doesn’t care that they’re all acting suspicious or that they’re wanting to go out.
If they die, he couldn’t care less.
Resigned to his fate, Tomura lets out a sigh and allows Dabi to take the lead with little protest. The man shoves him on the bed roughly, making him grumble and kick when he’s forced to face plant into the sheets. Dabi, oddly enough, does go out of his way to pull the thin blanket from under his body to throw on top of him carelessly.
“Is that good enough for the little baby?” Dabi taunts, snickering. Tomura glares at him from over his shoulder.
“One day, I’m going to decay your tongue and we’ll see if you’re able to laugh then.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dabi dismisses, walking back towards the rest of the League. “Whatever you say. Nighty night, princess.”
They can hear Tomura bitching into his pillow but it’s too muffled to make out any words. He doesn’t get up or fight them on going to sleep, so Toga considers it a win, especially considering how stubborn their boss can get.
“Well, that was a lot easier than I thought it’d be.” Twice says, a little too loud. Toga nudges him a bit and he flings both hands to cover his mouth.
“I’m surprised you even bothered helping, Dabi.” Toga strolls up to him so she can point an accusing finger at his chest. “First you wouldn’t let me drink and now you’re helping us set up for Christmas? Sounds like someone’s getting soft~” she teases in a sing-songy voice.
Dabi rolls his eyes and thrusts his half empty beer bottle at her. “Oh my God, take mine if you want a drink that goddamn bad. You’re so fucking annoying.”
“She has a point, though,” Compress says. “Why did you decide to play along?”
“Don’t think too hard about it. I couldn’t care less that the boss is an overgrown child who needs to get in touch with reality. I just want some better beer that doesn’t belong to a dead guy and, hey, if playing Santa Claus will get that for me? Then, Merry fuckin’ Christmas.”
Toga doesn’t actually know how much she believes that. She hasn’t known Dabi for very long, but he always seems to have little personality quirks about him that conflict with everything else. Like, what kind of villain throws such a fuss about an underage murderer drinking alcohol? It almost has an air of protectiveness to it, like maybe he feels like the older brother of the group?
It’s weird, but it can be useful.
Dabi shoves his hands in his pockets and huffs in annoyance. “Will you assholes stop staring at me like that and let’s get this show on the road?”
“Ah, about that,” Compress interjects. “I’m not too sure I agree much with Toga’s plan. Is it really the best idea to have the three of you setting this up? It’s not that I don’t trust you, exactly, but–”
“Ah, it’ll be fiiine.” Toga says, waving him off and cackling a bit. “There’s no one more qualified to give Tomura the best Santa visit ever than me and Jin. Right, Jin?”
“Huh? What?” Twice says from behind his hands. “Yeah, of course! I’m a pro at breaking into people’s houses! And stealing shit from children!”
“That’s the Grinch, dipshit.” Dabi deadpans.
“Oh, dear.” Compress sighs. “This is going to be a disaster.”
Despite his initial objections, Tomura has the best sleep he’s had in weeks and, when he wakes up, the sun is barely peeking out from the horizon. It may have only been about six hours, but he honestly can’t remember the last time he slept through the night like this.
Ha, maybe Christmas miracles do exist.
The morning is peaceful. He finally feels relaxed, like maybe he won’t try and decay the birds singing on the telephone wires right outside the window. Maybe, for once, the idiots he recruited were right and sleep was all he really needed to get a level head again–
“Dabi! Knock it off before you catch the entire apartment on fire!”
Oh, of course. How silly of him. Peace is never an option around here.
Tomura stretches out like a cat and then sits up, trying to ignore the stiffness in his back from such a low quality bed. He’s used to sleeping on less than ideal surfaces, but he’s always been more finicky than most. No matter what, he feels like his bones are made of glass and his joints are sticky with kuromitsu.
It’s cold as his bare feet hit the wood floor. The apartment has terrible insulation, something that hits especially bad at night and in the morning. It’s usually warm considering how tiny the place is and how it has to house five (mostly) full grown adults, but waking up to the freezing winds can be brutal.
Certainly doesn’t help that Tomura’s body isn’t exactly built to withstand this shit.
“What are you yelling about?” Tomura rasps, throat feeling more scratchy than usual.
Toga and Twice freeze in their spots, staring at Tomura with wide eyes. They both have oversized Santa hats on, with Toga’s covering her messy buns and Twice’s slipping off of his masked head. Dabi, on the other hand, doesn’t look bothered in the slightest and continues what he was doing– which, to Tomura’s dismay, is using his quirk to light a bundle of sticks that clearly came from outside, and then throwing them in the garbage can.
“Well,” Compress, who stands in the background with his arms crossed and wears an expression of fond exasperation, simply shrugs. “It appears as though Dabi decided to build his own fireplace for the holidays.”
“It’s fucking freezing in here,” Dabi says. “And my balls feel numb.”
“Oh no,” Compress mutters. “We certainly wouldn’t want that. Total justification for setting a plastic trash can on fire.”
“Well, technically, he set the sticks on fire, not the trash can.” Twice has on a bright pink apron that they most definitely didn’t own before, and he’s taking out a smoking metal cake tin with cutesy oven mitts. “And I think I burned this, whoopsie.”
“I can’t believe I’m getting ridiculed for trying to keep us alive when Twice is being an actual fire hazard.” Dabi says, gesturing towards Twice and the slightly charred cake for emphasis.
“I don’t see you trying to bake a Christmas cake, Mr. Hotshot.” Twice sasses.
“I’m baking my balls here!”
“No one wants to hear about your balls, Dabi, shut up.” Toga says, stepping in front of Tomura. “Especially considering we’ve got a surprise for you, Tomura!”
She’s bouncing on her feet and flapping her arms with a giant smile on her face– much more innocent than her usual sadist grins. Her eyes sparkle with excitement and, despite his own sense of self preservation, he lets her lead him to the couch.
Toga happily gestures to the set up in the middle of the living room– a bowl sits in the middle of the coffee table with dirt filling it to the top and a small tree branch hastily lodged in the center. Small ornaments made up of mostly paperclips, colored clothespins, Compress’ marbles, and balls of scrunched up construction paper hang from the tiny branches with a long string of Christmas lights winding around it and the bowl.
Beneath the “tree” is a series of brown bags with names written in bubbled kanji and colored with markers and stickers. There’s a range of Christmas themed decorations on them, some bags having pretty shapes and animals drawn on them and others having graphic depictions of stick figure elf genocide.
The decorations aren’t limited to the bags, either. Paper fans and trees are scattered on the coffee table, more lights are pinned above the tiny kitchen, and there’s a small reindeer yard decoration leaning on the wall next to the front door.
“What… is this exactly?” Tomura questions slowly, looking down at Toga.
“What does it look like?” Toga giggles, reaching out for one of the bags that has Tomura’s name on it and handing it to him. “Santa Claus came! He must’ve felt bad that he didn’t get you any presents, so he came by last night and set this all up. Isn’t it great?”
“I- Santa came?” Tomura murmurs, nimble fingers opening the bag carefully so he doesn’t accidentally destroy it. Inside is a little Fire Emblem figurine of one of his favorite allies, a werewolf-like character from his favorite iteration of the game. He’s not exactly shy about his virtual hobbies, but he’s never mentioned specifics either so it’s hard to imagine how they found out about this little detail.
“Wow, look what Mr. Santa got you! It must be because you’re such a good leader!” Toga gasps, sounding a little too surprised to be authentic. “Do you like it?”
Does he like it?
He’s never been one to accept gifts like this. The things that Father gave him were always practical; his hands, his outfits, his Nomu. This isn’t like that. It’s a useless little toy that does nothing but take up space.
But it’s his, and someone went out of their way to get it for him.
The others in the League like to tease that their leader is socially inept and doesn’t catch a lot of the subtleties of tone or context– which, admittedly, is very true– but he’s not so blind as to miss bad acting, or the fact that this only happened because they found out that he was too broken for Santa.
Which means that they did this for him.
And he can’t help but smile as he looks at the obvious effort put into the atmosphere– effort that was put there for him. In his entire life, no one has done anything like this, not even Father. He knows that Father cares about him– he knows, but this is different.
Toga is looking at him like she’s so proud of herself, Twice is laughing with Compress as they fight over decorating the burnt Christmas cake with heavy cream that is way too runny, and Dabi is… adding more sticks to the blue trash can fire and cackling gleefully.
It’s almost like they’re family, as disgusting as that sounds.
“Tomura?”
It isn’t until he sees that the smile on Toga’s face was replaced by an expression of concern that he realizes he’s crying. It’s not an ugly sob, or a weepy snivel, it’s a silent stream of tears rolling down his cheeks and blurring his vision.
He doesn’t feel sad, though. It’s not like all the other times he cried when he was kid, when his loneliness felt like an icy plunge into darkness or when his anger burned too bright too fast and the tantrums that followed resulted in a body count.
Tomura’s never been too in tuned with his emotions. They always felt overwhelming and completely out of his control with no rhyme or reason. He feels them but he doesn’t understand them, and it leaves him clawing at nothing as he drowns in his own thoughts. But he knows what sadness feels like, knows the numbness that always lingers.
This isn’t that, not really. He feels disoriented, stuck between two timelines and left astray. He feels like the level’s been reset, even though he already beat the final boss. He feels…
“Tomura?” Toga repeats, trying to catch his eyes from where they burn holes into the figurine in his hands. She looks about as lost as he feels, with wide eyes and her mouth agape. “Are you alright?”
Tomura goes to respond, his voice catching in his throat, when he’s suddenly interrupted.
“Alright, move your asses.” Dabi calls as he makes his way over to them, hands clutching the (still on fire) trash can. Through his tears, Tomura finally notices that Dabi is also wearing a Santa hat and has a creepy smile on his face that’s too sharp and a bit wicked looking, like he’s having a little too much fun setting random shit on fire.
He places the trash can behind the tree and stands back to admire his handwork, completely ignoring the miniature breakdown that Tomura is going through. He clasps his hands together and looks Tomura dead in the eye. “This looks great. All we’re missing is a few dozen beers, some classic family screaming matches, and we’re set for a picture perfect holiday.”
Tomura knows that Dabi is being sarcastic.
At the same time, though, he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest, wet and pathetic sounding. Dabi actually has a point. Tomura may be crying– and still internally reeling from the chaos surrounding him– but, for once, he isn’t all that disappointed that Santa deems him a monster.
Because Tomura Shigaraki doesn’t celebrate Christmas. He never has and, for years, he assumed that he never would.
This time, however, he doesn’t feel haunted by things he doesn’t remember, or isolated from everyone around him. This time, he feels loved, a feeling that feels so distantly familiar that it’s bittersweet.
He doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but he doesn’t mind making an exception this year–
“Uhh, Dabi?” Twice says. “Is the table supposed to be on fire?”
“Son of a bitch!” Dabi snatches one of the couch pillows and starts beating back the tiny flames curling around the coffee table’s edges.
“I told you that doing that would set the place on fire.” Compress chastises, grabbing a fire extinguisher– one that is too close by for it not to have been set up– and putting out the table and the trash can..
“Damn, if it ain’t the consequences of my own actions.” Dabi says, wincing.
Tomura sighs.
Well, so much for a good ending monologue.