Chapter Text
Touya's sixteen when he learns the saying 'You reap what you sow'.
It starts with sleepless nights, a near-tight pressure on his chest, impending his lungs to carry out needed oxygen. He shrugs it off as it coming from the repugnant smell that was amassed in the trash.
He tells himself it'd get better, or far better than what his revolting home could ever become to be. He's old enough to fend for his needs, besides, if he could somehow survive a barrage of blazing flames gnawing at his skin — Touya could survive a second time.
(But you got saved, whispers back. Touya feels the pricks of fear invading his chest.)
He curled in on himself, shrouding his body with ravaged makeshift mantles, it alleviates the cold protruding through his toes, and it terrified him for a second.
Touya's well aware of his weak constitution, cold shouldn't be a disturbance for him. But it's been so long, and the scorching heat was the sole feeling he'd memorized, it was the only way to earn attention.
And Touya desperately craved it.
His flames had integrated deep into his veins, melting the frost within him to ashes, until the burns it scattered were palpable.
He was nothing without his flames.
It frightened him to think he might not ever be able to feel them again, nor the fervid, sears that tailed after piping blues.
The constant threat of the man's voice echoes clamorously into Touya's ears 'You will never be able to use your flames over again.' He prays on passing stars, huddled close to himself on chilling nights. Because what cause could he hold being quirkless?
He wondered briefly, if anyone ever came to his help — Would he be returned back to his father? Would he even be glad his (supposed) dead son was back? Would he even believe Touya to be his son, at all? Would he be shunned as before? Would the masterpiece sweep everything that once was Touya's if he doesn't return—
The crisp of a laugh bubbles upwards Touya's throat, painfully melancholic as it goes. Touya had been replaced already, he'd witnessed it the night he returned home. Touya wasn't missed, not by his father. There was nothing but an empty vessel clustered in his room. A farse grave to rest at.
Touya was alive, and the whole world probably guessed him dead. It had been three years since he was pronounced dead, cast afar from his family's minds. 'Course they'd desert Touya as a hollow memory.
None of them had cared enough to glimpse Touya's way, perhaps Natsuo was close to caring, or perhaps he had pitied Touya to a fault.
It was fine, anyway.
Touya would let the world know of his father's sins.
(As he prepped himself for another restless night, tossing prayers into thin air, he can't help the surging thoughts of coming back home — he squashes them, hastily. Touya didn't need to get hurt, mistreated, or abandoned again. He was fine on his own.
He'd let them know.)
It's a summer afternoon when Dabi is born.
He's crammed into a somber alley by some thugs, the smell of alcohol reeks as one of them grins all-teeth at Touya's face, dangerously creeping close to where he stood.
Touya feels a tingling sensation at the tip of his fingers.
"You got some goods with you?" The man spoke out, eyes scanning over Touya's depleted form.
Touya reckoned his options, but his day had already begun poorly — constantly having to search for edibles was taking its toll on him — and a gathering of thugs was the last thing he'd longed for. "Does it look like I do?" He barked, hands shoving the intruding man away.
There's a snap of the man's finger, indulging the other members of his party to join his side. Their physics enclosed over Touya's malnourished figure, which seemed like sheer force could toss him dead.
He does a double-take, considering if it was best to allow them to ravish him, however, the sting on his fingertips got profound, pleading for release. His body was throbbing, trails of smoke seeped through his arms, legs, and mouth. A strange prick of pain cloaks his eyes, which he acknowledges as tears (it's useless after all, his tear ducts had seen long been burned off). Was it the sudden heat around his skin that made his eyes waver?
"What's up with this guy?" One of them commented, grossed out.
"What did you expect?" The other laughed, "Street rats are fucking weird."
A hand grasped Touya's shoulder, and before he could comprehend what occurred, a flash of blue wrapped across the man's hand, licking its way up his arm.
Touya's hand burned, agonizingly.
He bit the inside of his cheek, hand wagging aimlessly. "Shit!" He curses, beads of blood mantle his palm, scorched a hideous carmine. He doesn't get to think much about it, a kick square to his stomach doubles him over, coughing the spurt of blood that crashes.
"You imbecile!" Tough hands swaddle against Touya's throat, constricting his lungs from air. "You'll pay for that!"
Another gush of flames is lit alive, burrowing throughout the man's body — Touya swallows lungfuls of air as the pressure on his throat lessens.
Before him, the cluster of thugs burn under his flames, screams echo in the alley, and then there's nothing but ashes on the ground.
Touya suppresses the cry tearing out his throat, his hands are soon enveloped in red, if he squints close he's sure his skin is peeling off, leaving bruised, damaged flesh that looks on the edge of ripping apart.
He rose to his feet, gradually. The swelling on both his hands grew worse, nonetheless, dull glee brimmed down his veins. He'd used his quirk for the first time in a while.
It made him feel complete.
If he could use only this amount of power — then maybe he wouldn't be as worthless. His revenge would emerge faster than foreseen. He wouldn't be looked down upon by the other scumbags.
He would be feared.
Just as was expected from the start.
(Burning the remnants of his skin turned into a daily habit because as much as he preached for forgiveness, it would never glance his way. He'd found a local surgeon — tending to his open ruptures of skin. The wounds got eventually wretched, to the point he held little healthy skin on his body.
By the time his body was entirely concealed in grotesque skin grafts, no sight of what was Touya could be caught of.
There, he thinks, is when Dabi is born.
Or perhaps 'Dabi' had been around since Touya's death was announced.)
One thing is clear in his head.
He'd survive and endure the coming years for his big reveal.
He winds up visiting his family as he reaches the age of seventeen.
Though, the 'visiting' referred better as 'spying'. His family still believed 'Touya' was dead, and that served his cause. He could already imagine it (Dabi stands high and mighty atop his father's corpse, spewing each of the secrets the Todoroki hid for gruesome years.) The plan was set in motion, waiting for the perfect timing to burst free.
Dabi would be praised, he'd saved Japan from some other false hero among them. The citizens wouldn't have to wait to be rescued for fame, there were bound to be 'pretend' heroes everywhere, but if he could erase just one of them—
There's a 'thud' on the floor, door slammed open. His father's impassive tone welcomes Dabi from where he spies on the window. The wave of deja vu hits hard when he peeks at Shouto's little form following in tow at Endeavor, his bicolored hair is unkempt, back hunched, appearing visibly tired.
Not easy to be the perfect child, isn't it? He inwardly snarled. Shouto didn't have what it takes, Dabi does. It's unfair, this was meant to be his future. Dabi was supposed to be the one to surpass All Might. Not his little brother. Not the one who arrived later. Not the one who clearly doesn't want to become stronger.
His thoughts are cut short by the quick expansion of fire crowding the tatami floors, an inferno of flames curl close to Shouto, his absurd brother happens to coil in on himself. As if that would help to not get veiled from his father's burning attacks.
"Shouto!" His father shouted, brows furrowed in displeasure. "Hiding on yourself will not rescue you from a villain's attack! You have to hit back stronger."
The same scene from that day, huh?
A current of flames strides toward Endeavor's muscled form, Shouto's hand keeps forming new flames, each thrown blindingly at their father. From what Dabi could observe, the boy had an enraged gaze in his eyes, not proper for a child, at least. Glaring daggers at his father's pleased sight, mismatched orbs masked with toppling hatred.
Unhappy with your life, golden child? Dabi sneered.
It's then as Shouto's little face crumples in tears, that Dabi takes sight of the unappealing red smudge on his turquoise side.
Dabi's chest felt oddly squeezed.
"Shouto!" Endeavor stomped closer, hands scorching red. Dabi doesn't miss the slight jump of Shouto's shoulders. "If a villain caught you crying, they'd say you're weak. You won't surpass All Might that way! Stop whining and work on your flames."
"I can't go on anymore," Shouto whimpered from where he stood, feet bare. "My hand is starting to hurt," he adds as quietly. "I wanna rest."
"A villain won't wait until you're fully healed." Endeavor scolded. "You have to keep going. You won't get stronger this way, Shouto."
Another rush of flames strikes Shouto's tiny figure, forcing him to resume his fighting stance, anew.
The training goes on for hours, and hours, and hours. Until Shouto ends up puking on the tatami floor, over-exhausted from the manipulation of his flames. A narrow string of smoke wafts from the boy's arm. His chest falls and rises swiftly — sweat streams down his chin. It was very clear Shouto was not ready for that long exertion of training.
Now if it were he...
Dabi thrust the thought away, calling it a day as he bores a final glare to Shouto's back. Probably a deeper one to Endeavor as well.
As his feet guide him to his usual hideout, thoughts of his youngest brother surface in his mind. He tried not to think back on Shouto's tear-stained features. Tried not to allow envy to blur his chest.
One thing Dabi was certain of, is that his father would have a hard time disciplining his perfect puppet.
Adolescence was the most rebellious state humans entered, after all.
(Dabi doesn't visit his family again. Not that he wants to. He's convinced himself he doesn't care for the golden child's development in the future.)
It is better that way.
The passing months are a blur.
And before he knows it, his eighteen birthday clashes over him. He's proud in a sense, he's fending off for himself without the income of his father.
He can officially say he's survived.
He was an adult now, getting a job and a promising salary shouldn't be that difficult to obtain. Nowadays, what companies scoured for were young people. Trying out for heroic stuff would just attract unwanted attention. So this was the best he could do to survive a couple of years more.
And he could pay the debt he owned to that underground surgeon, possibly get some fresh grafts for his screwed ones.
Dabi stares ahead at the sky, the white clumps have gathered in a sole ashen cloud, obstructing the sun's radiant rays. Indicating a rainfall was bound to come. He scoffed softly under his breath, the least Dabi needed was a cluster of water draping his clothes.
But curiosity gets the best of him, as he nears a corner, the robust figure of his father greets him steps afar. He's concentrated on apprehending a robber, who weeps pitifully under Endeavor's sturdier hands.
If his father is oh-so preoccupied with solving crimes on a customary basis... Then what is the golden child doing for now?
A figment of Shouto's tearful face swarmed his thoughts.
Dabi narrowed his eyes.
His mother would usually pledge to his father to let Shouto go, claiming he was too young to start training. But his mother hadn't been there when Shouto cried or puked helplessly on the floor.
Did his mother give up on Shouto?
He found it bizarre to believe, his mother cared for Shouto far more than what he did for him or any of his siblings. Either way... He'd pay little Shouto a visit (not because he cares) he loathed his brother. He had taken Dabi's spotlight, ushering him aside from his father's attention and approval.
Not that he demanded any of his approval now.
He takes the closest bus towards Musutafu.
Later that day, he reached his former home, searching window from window for Shouto. He doesn't find the latter — nevertheless, he does find something intriguing. Crouched in a prayer, Natsuo murmurs against the floor of what used to be 'Touya's' room. The shrine has never perturbed Dabi that much, he enjoyed the idea of his family suffering in silence for him — perhaps watching Natsuo send him his prayers made a tad part of him wish he had died.
The door to his aged room 'creaks' open.
Shouto's doe heterochromatic eyes peek at Natsuo's crouching position. The kid stands idle for a few beats until Natsuo clears his throat to say,
"Hey there, Shou."
"Hi," The kid muttered softly, fumbling with the hem of his shirt. "What are you doing?"
Natsuo breathes deliberately through his nose. "It's nothing, Shou. Go back to rest. Father's coming home late."
The kid's form seemed to loosen up at the prospect of their father arriving late. Dabi's brows arch in surprise when the kid steps into the room to crouch beside Natsuo, small hands entwined, mimicking Natsuo's own. "Is that Touya-nii?"
Oh.
Natsuo's face scrunched, nodding ever so slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah, that was our older brother."
Dabi whistled lowly. Shouto was about five when he'd 'died', the kid probably only remembered him from old photos plastered on the walls — sometimes when Shouto would manage to escape from Endeavor's sight to observe his siblings play in the yard. Those were the times Dabi would be able to glance at Shouto, who would later get dragged by their father to the Dojo.
"Is Touya-nii in a better place now?" Shouto asked, the corner of his lips pulling downwards.
He wants to laugh. Say that no, he's very much tethered to this world, his death a faint no one would ever know of. Not in the prior years, not anytime soon.
The simple promise of startling his father's world with the truth is what keeps him going. Fuel for his days.
Besides, hell was a permanent part of his life.
Natsuo nods stiffly. "Don't worry, Shou. He's in a better place now. He must be watching over us."
Dabi snickered. Not much of a difference from what I'm doing.
Shouto lifted his head to meet Natsuo's eyes. "Like a guardian angel?" A pause. "Is that what Touya-nii became?"
Contrary to that, Dabi was meant to become Shouto's stone in his path. He wouldn't protect a rip-off of his dreams. Shouto would know what genuine charring hell was when they'd meet.
Natsuo chuckled, "That would be nice." lacing his pinky finger with Shouto's slim one, he whispered: "If we want Touya-nii to guard us... Let's pray for him, alright, Shou?"
Shouto bobbed his head earnestly, eyes fluttering shut. "Okay."
They stood there for languid minutes, Natsuo mainly phrasing for Touya's well-being, while Shouto mumbled 'yes' to whatever he said.
It made Dabi's heart ache with unexplainable sentiments.
He could just tap the window, let them know that after all these years he was still alive—
Shredding the thought away, he leaped on his toes, hands stuffed in his pockets as he fled from his home. It was never frankly his home, anyway.
Dabi stays awake the whole night, pondering about his family.
It was this way every day.
The nearing years are the same.
His stuck between confessing to his family that he's alive and kicking — the thought leaves as fast as it comes, though. It's a repetitive process. Sometimes he's situation is too inadequate, from searching for scraps of food in the trash (because as hard as Dabi looked for a job. His appearance left people revolted) to actually finding decent junctures where luck goes his way.
Not to mention, his burnt skin was an issue for him.
Furthermore, he couldn't precisely neglect his flames, the streets were nearly a safe place to reside in. He'd made it his motto to eradicate all the discriminating bastards that existed in Japan. Plus, if the common crimes of arson flashed in the news, he might've or might've not had something to do with them.
It was strenuous to control himself when Japan was overwhelmed with belittling scums that had no service to this world.
Burning things to ashes was a stress reliever, a semblance of comfort no one was able to rob from him.
(Sometimes, when curiosity gets the best of him, he strolls around Kioto, finishing off by seizing a bus to travel toward Musutafu. The face of his father often greets him, and the sourness around his tastebuds strengthens, bottomless hatred (resentment) devouring his soul upside-down. Along with him, the pitiful face of his perfect replacement combusts his chest bitterly — a pungent pang he can't quite get rid of, venomous on its crawl, a feeling that eats his insides until he's left with the sole sensation of wrath.
Rarely, he's unexpectedly welcomed by the sight of his siblings, clustered close in a wantoning embrace. Dabi's plucked the pieces, Shouto's never authorized to interact with his siblings (he recalls it like a sorrowful memory when Touya still preserved. Then pain, loathing, and remorse ensued his track) Fuyumi would be the one to cuddle Shouto's head on her chest, softly murmuring 'reassurances' to his bicolored hair. Natsuo would dwell, consoling Shouto whenever the kid sobbed, often cleaning the wounds that marred his tiny arms, knees, and chest. They'd remain together for hours, only detaching when the juggling of keys signalized their father's arrival.)
Dabi wasn't affected by this. Not at all.
He didn't miss Fuyumi's bantering over his burns nor her fishing some food from her plate, secretly settling the nutrients on his plate.
He didn't miss Natsuo's caring nature or the late night-talks he'd share his resentments and fears on unusually cold days. Though, the feeling might've popped at the protruding gaze that was his father's icy eyes.
He didn't think about what could have been if he and Shouto had ever bonded.
Would everything have changed?
Would he have never burned himself to death and met his demise?
Would Shouto and he even get along?
Would he be a good older brother for Shouto?
Turquoise orbs stay awake that night.
It's just when Dabi's twenty-two, that something changes.
The chasing of his dream.
He expected it, the unavoidable. He'd envisioned this to occur, he's nothing but a simple peon, awaiting for his youngest brother to conquer the hero ranks.
To surpass the expectations laid upon him, once upon a time.
(well, those visions were when he'd still harbored a tangible body, left to rot by his father)
Dabi's stop was supposed to be like the rest, the golden child would be training to the brim, his father a maddened contrast of desperation and aggravation, drawing every trick under his sleeve to mold his star into a pie of indestructible strength. Fuyumi would be gone, who knows where. Natsuo passed the hours latched on books, often writing on sheets of paper.
That was the usual.
It'd switched enormously.
•
Dabi had been plastered on one of Natsuo's windows, carefully eyeing the mass of books and work stacked on his table, when Fuyumi barged in, gentle on her footsteps, snow-like.
"Hey," Natsuo nodded Fuyumi's way, not sparing another glance.
"Natsu..." She mumbled, feet dragging against the shining tiles of the floor, hands morphed into fists. "We need to talk."
Natsuo scoffed. "There's nothing to talk about."
"That's not true, and you know it." Fuyumi bit her lip, propelling her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "What happened with father—"
"Leave it, Fuyumi." Natsuo's eyelashes fluttered closed, arms crossed against his chest, petulantly. "I don't want to talk about that."
"He told me about it, Natsu. Do you really think it was Father's fault that Touya—"
"Of course it was!" Natsuo shouted, fist banging the study table. "It was all his doing! If Touya-nii hadn't trained for hours to no end for Endeavor to glance his way, none of this would have ever happened!"
Fuyumi's head lowered, lips parting to speak but not saying anything at all. She scooted next to Natsuo, shoving him into a tight hug, arms shaking under the pressure.
All Dabi could do was stare.
Wishing — hushedly yearning to be part of that hug.
"That's not what got you upset with Father, was it, Natsu?"
Natsuo only deigned to nod mutely, tears damping onto Fuyumi's favorite rosette sweater. He lessened his hold, wiping the trails of tears from his eyes, heaving a breath. "He's doing it with Shouto now."
Fuyumi hummed. "I heard he's taking his entrance exam, isn't he?"
Now, that flared Dabi's attention.
Ah, the kid...
He was fourteen, wasn't he?
"He is," Natsuo huffed, knuckles turning white. "It's wrong. Trying out for heroics is what killed Touya. He's going to send him to the same destiny."
"Natsu—"
"I can't get it out of my head. We fought because of that reason, he was pressuring Shouto to win first place — a-and I just burst! I can't let it happen as it happened with Touya, Fuyumi—"
"Natsu—"
"He's only fourteen! He still has plenty of paths that require staying far away from hero stuff. Why can't Father just let him be for once, he controls every move Shouto makes. It's fucking sick—"
"Natsu!"
"I don't want to lose Shouto like we lost Touya!"
Fuyumi's face morphed into one of utter sorrow, shoulders trembling as she pulled Natsuo into another hug. "I'm sorry, Natsu! I can't make our situation better, not yet." With a pause, she sniffled out: "It'll change one day, okay? I won't let Shouto die. I promise. I'll keep you both safe. It's all I can do. I'm sorry, Natsuo, I'm so sorry!" She whispered like a mantra meant to keep them safe.
They remained there, both wailing to their heart's content.
Dabi lingered, perplexed.
•
You can't change a damned fate, Dabi wants to let out, none comes out of his lips, choosing to yet again hide himself in the confidence of the night.
He doesn't turn back.
Even though a part of him longs to let himself be shown.
A few days later, he finds out Shouto won second place.
An odd sense of glee creeps down his spine.
His father is as insufferable, per usual. Frequently demanding Shouto to train extensive hours past nighttime.
Not like that's anything new.
Someone had to carry the glorious legacy their father had caved on himself.
He wasn't meant to be the one to shine.
That's fine. Dabi was made from ashes. A fire could always start if they remained.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, huh?
He'd make good use of it.
At age twenty-four, he meets equally 'missteps' society had given upon saving. They're a bunch of runaways, striving to survive the daily atrocities that gleamed their life.
They call themselves 'The League of Villains'.
The name sounds ridicule enough.
Shigaraki, the leader, is an obnoxious brat who can hardly control his issues, most of them involving a certain green-haired kid who's followed All Might's footsteps — possibly on his way to becoming the next 'big thing', so to say. The boss claims he's confident enough to take a kid on a battle to death.
Dabi's never been one to judge his enemy's abilities.
Most nights, the boss (surprisingly) stays up late till dawn playing games, most violent ones, but he and the strange lizard seem attached to a game called 'League of Legends', he doesn't get the hype of it. Neither does he dare to spill it, his head would be dust on the ground in mere seconds.
The oversized lizard would chew him alive, for sure.
Spinner, he reasons, will matter-of-factly step in tow with whatever decision their leader chose, whether it was a stupid one or a life-risking one, where they were bound to get hurt, because, may he say, their coordination was just not it.
Or, maybe he was the problem.
He's always been more of a loner.
Senseless relationships would just retain him from his goal.
Anyways, the lizard was a big-time fan of the Hero Killer: Stain, reciting thousands of inspiring (for him) phrases the villain has delivered to his audience.
He's a wannabe cheap copy.
In resume.
"What's got you in a sour mood?" a shrill voice questions beside him, eagerly chewing on a granola cookie.
Dabi whirled his head to bore his view to the blond teenager, brows arching upwards. "I'm not. That's the face I was born with."
"Sureeeeee, whatever the grandpa says!"
Dabi's flames blaze before he can prevent them, bouncing on the frame of the crazed girl, who manages to escape them as she sticks her tongue out. "Don't call me that, crazy." He grunted, blood pooling down his wrist.
The teen limits herself to smiling, fangs poking out of her lips, returning to her game of guessing with Twice.
Pair of lunatics.
Toga, the aggravating blond, happened to join this little mishap party at the same time he did, may he say her company was one he did not ask for nor appreciated. Her fancy knife tricks were by far what deemed her acceptable to the gang. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of a teen on the run.
Though, that'd been in the past, changing when the girl confessed her woes about the life that shadowed her.
To have a bastard of parents could be something they'd happened to bond over.
Dabi might've treasured it more than he'd anticipated.
They were born imperfect, cast aside by those who were supposed to protect and guide them throughout life, only for showing their true colors.
"I'm hungry! No, I'm not!" Twice's voice shrieks from afar.
Dabi rolled his eyes.
Twice, second crazy, or was the correct term demented? It was all contradictions with the man, mood changes were a thing to foresee as well. Dabi wondered how well was he holding on with that much trauma going loops around his head.
Not that Dabi would ever care to ask.
The door opens, abruptly, and a man dressed in fine clothing enters, grinning wide as he plopped marble orbs on the table.
A mass of snacks greets their sight.
"I have found goods," He says proudly. "Be sure to not waste a thing. Who knows when we'll get more of these."
"Just in time! You took way too long!"
A beat of silence passes on as everyone gathers different kinds of snacks to eat.
Gaming on the couch, Shigaraki and Spinner chomp down on cheese-flavored Pringles, not minding the filth that muddled on the controls.
Toga and Twice continue their game of guessing, gnawing hungrily on diverse snacks all at once. He hears Mr. Compress tut a scolding tone as he tells 'Toga don't talk with your mouth open.' shutting the teen who obeys him, lips sealed shut.
Mr. Compress comes to stand by his side, bag of spicy potatoes in hand. "Want some?" he asks, revealing his half-finished snack.
Dabi grabs the bag, stuffing his mouth with the burning potatoes. "Didn't know you liked spice."
Mr. Compress shook his head. "I don't have them regularly. Gotta protect my stomach from future problems, y'know? But this a special occasion, so one should not harm."
"Because we scarcely find any food?"
Mister smirked. "Precisely."
They sat there for a couple of minutes more.
There's havoc on the streets as an immense TV programs the annual sports festival of UA High.
Many cheer on for their favorites, most going on with 'extravagant' ones. Those who have shown so far to have the potential — that deserve the shining spot of triumph. There's minimum mirth when some heteromorph kids are displayed, the crowd lessened its screams of happiness. Some continue expressing their support.
The world is an ugly contrast of black and white.
Various names he's never heard of are introduced. He waits and waits, and waits. Scanning each of the students on the screen to find the one he was searching for.
His eyes settle on fiery turquoise.
Got you.
Dabi's not alarmed, it hurts slightly this time. Shouto would be put on a pedestal if he'd ever won. He'd be left behind as an old, faded memory that wasn't welcomed in the minds of his family.
This was how it was supposed to happen.
He could only imagine his father's pride, getting praise from thousands of people, busting his ego even more.
His father would be proving Dabi's worthlessness.
Why won't you understand I'm doing this for your own good!? You cannot use your quirk!
Dabi flungs a cackle to thin air.
The fights go on for hours, launched by competitive kids who had no desire to give up the number one place. He doesn't care. His eyes immediately go up whenever he catches a view of the golden child.
He's grown up, chubby cheeks turned to more chiseled ones. His voice is deep, almost much like his father's. And he can't help but notice the hostility that overflows his eyes, mind set on winning, a cruel imposition Endeavor delivered on the teen's shoulder.
Dabi senses, perhaps not seemed by all, that the youngest of his family never dares to turn his flames alive. Choosing to disguise his capacity under the frost that was gifted to him.
A wall of ice colors the screen.
His brother gasps for breath, arm biting into ice. He creeps toward the boy he was just fighting with — guilt tripping on his features as he commences to warm up his hot side, not quite using his flames but it was the closest to it.
Are you neglecting father's flames, Shouto?
You've never had a choice, did you?
Poor, perfect little Shouto.
That spot was meant to be mine.
His brother flees the scene before his win could be announced.
Dabi tongue tastes acidic around his mouth.
(Pain-staking hours belatedly — his brother fights a green-haired kid named Midoriya, who helps his dearest brother abide the part that sheltered his flames. Endeavor's voice booms across the stadium, praising Shouto for his bravery and acceptance of his flames. It makes Dabi's stomach twirl with nausea. For a second, he thinks Shouto wouldn't win against the brute force of Midoriya's attacks.
But he does.
And a bizarre relief consumes Dabi's chest, setting free the breaths he hadn't known he was holding until now. He shooed the sentiment off, he doesn't care for his brother's wellness.
He doesn't.
Honestly, the boy could die, he wouldn't mind at all. Matter of fact, he might contribute to the youngest death.
He doesn't care for Shouto. Not a fraction.
He doesn't mind when he gets floored by an ardent, hot-headed blond teen — not when his brother continues to hide his flames like a hideous presence he can't rid of, maddening to the eyes.
Though, the movements were delivered sloppy, clogged in speed. Like Shouto didn't truly desire to—
Oh. It all clicked in.
Shouto loses the last round, somewhat unconscious, as he's wagged by an explosion. Afar, he could witness the snarl that characterized his father's face, endlessly dissatisfied, affronted. Witnessing his winsome puppet fail must have wrecked his ego.
He congratulates Shouto, inwardly.
Upset, Endeavor? An object when dealt with cruelly will eventually revert to you.
The awards are handed out by All Might. His brother ends up second, failing to win against the cannonball that was that tempestuous kid).
He feels a sense of pride tint his heart.
You lost on purpose, didn't you, Shouto?
Good boy.
Make father regret his actions.
He leaves the crowded place without notice, carrying a heart that's way too touching for his liking.
His mind sets on a new objective.
Shigaraki's voice looms above them, unusually enthusiastic. "I've found recruits."
"Oh!" Toga squealed, fang-wide lips curling upwards. "Did you find another girl?"
"Close," Shigaraki informed, nails scratching at an itchy spot on his neck. "They'll be useful for our next mission."
"Huh, What mission?" Mister asked, mask below his face, wood brown staring into Shigaraki's crimson orbs. "Are we raiding some rich people?"
"No." Shigaraki smiles over chapped, shattered lips. "I want a better player for our League."
"You gonna convince someone to join us?" Spinner lifts both eyebrows.
"It's something dangerous if you want more numbers on your little mission." Dabi thrummed his fingers on the stool bar, watch set on Shigaraki's inflating smile.
"Observive as always," Shigaraki comments, landing a photo on the table. "I want this kid to join our forces. He'd make good use."
That impulsive, spitfire of blond regards Dabi's view.
He winces to himself, recalling Shouto's encounter with the less-than-friendly blond.
Silence reigns for a medley of seconds.
"Uh," Twice mumbled. "I don't think that's a good idea, that kid looks like he could bite my head off! Excellent idea, Shigaraki! You are so smart."
"And how do you propose we do that?" Mister takes off his hat, sitting on a chair. "You told us what happened last time you infiltrated their training camp. All Might will kill us!"
Shigaraki nodded, flexing his fingers. "I have a plan in mind." He moved to the center, opening his palms in a bloated gesture of power. "Those heroes will be going for a school trip, somewhere near a forest. I've sent Kurogiri to explore the place, to give us an advance at hand. All thanks to our traitor."
Dabi doesn't inquire about it, but by the looks of it, the 'traitor' was probably someone from those heroes in training. If Shigaraki's knowledge of the situation was anything to dismiss.
He marvels, for a brief moment, if the traitor was part of his brother's class.
He doesn't get to dwell much about it — listening to the instructions Shigaraki provided. Shigaraki detailed all the new recruiters, names, and quirks that were intriguing. Somewhere in the conversation, Toga points out her possible girl friendship. Shigaraki clarified Magne's situation, even advising them to be respectful toward her persona.
Toga bounced with newfound anticipation.
Not much was uttered from that. Shigaraki patiently waited for Giran to guide the new party members to their little league.
Dabi spent the time pondering on Shouto.
He meets Magne, Muscular, Moonfish, and Mustard, a few days later.
Another bucket of deranged, hectic people.
Dabi mulls over whether Shigaraki made the correct move at recruiting them.
The thought dissipates as he glimpses the diverse quirks merging their side.
Attacking the UA kids was a challenge, to say.
Shigaraki had commanded him to distract their teacher Eraser Head from the get-go, and other pros that could be in the area.
Toga was sent on her own to collect blood provisions for herself, in case things went sought, to flee with one of these kids' blood would be valuable to them. Ignoring the grotesque part of that crazy having to swallow that stuff.
Mr. Compress went on his own, as well. Having been laid the most important stake, considering his quirk of stealing. He'd be the chess piece to their win. Though, kidnapping the volatile blond was not something one could call 'easy'.
Spinner was paired with Magne, who Toga desperately clung to in a chance of joining them, getting brushed by Shigaraki claiming to be serious. Anyways, those two were put in charge of seeing no one came after Mister.
Better said than done.
And finally Twice got paired with him, Shigaraki was a complete idiot, if he'd ever thought he would go against Eraser one-on-one. Twice clones were doing an impressive job of distracting those UA teachers. And so far, no teachers neared their area.
Probably didn't suspect whose attacks were those.
The recent joined members to their force, were scattered around different areas, some placed with the task of stopping the heroes in practice from reaching the blond.
A barricade of ice burst through the trees, sending chills down Dabi's spine, a startled Twice huddled close behind. No doubt Shouto's doing. The boy did have a bunch of strength when it came to his frost.
It made him a tad bit uneasy that Shouto was here, just a little. If the kid was ever hurt (which he hoped not) it might deem him to linger on Endeavor's presence.
And as rare as it is — Dabi didn't want Shouto to get hurt. He's not sure why, can't comprehend the clash of rash, raw emotions of envy and worry that stain his heart. He's said himself plenty of times, convinced his mind into loathing his perfect little brother for being so blessed, for it to crumble witnessing his brother despise his flames all thanks to their father.
He's just like him, dimly. Once upon a time, Dabi had thought of his flames as his path to glory, reducing over the years of his replacement. All that was sowed was the ghastly wish to murder his father.
"Let's go," Dabi waved his hand to take motion. "It'd be best if we were to see what's all the commotion about."
"We'll get killed! As you command, captain!"
As Dabi springs to action, the shouts of Mr.Compress flow above, accompanied by the green-haired kid, another one that possessed multiple arms, almost the appearance of an octopus, and ultimately little Shouto welcomes his perspective, thrashed and scraped by the aggression of the fights.
Electric blue and mismatched eyes meet for the first time, after a long time. He'd disappeared when Shouto was no less than five, unaware of the catastrophe that would arrive.
The kid probably doesn't recognize him anymore.
That's alright.
Dabi would make him remember.
He ran to where Mister stood, flashing mockery at obtaining the aggressive blond kid from his classmates.
Dabi jerked both shiny marbles from his hands, tossing them somewhere in the woods, successfully diverting the majority of them.
"Dabi—!" Mister starts.
Dabi beats him to it.
He throws a discharge of blues to where the rest of the heroes are compiled, doesn't think much when he grasps Shouto by the shoulder, and yanks him behind him, where a portal of swarthy mist is waiting.
A disgruntled 'shit' flees Shouto's lips, growing lost as he enters the hole of mist.
He doesnt know what influenced his traitorous heart to do such a thing, might regret the course of his actions when he faces the kid later.
I don't care about Shouto, he repeats like a mantra, to keep him sane.
He does not.
The maniac skips of his fluttering heart tells otherwise.
Dabi grasp both Twice's and Mr. Compress, plows them down the tunnel of flight, and esteemed the UA kids with a last glance. There he glimpses, the guttural fear that glosses over the green-haired kid's features, whispering a sharp "No!".
The portal of Kurogiri shuts.
Dabi's chest finally feels light. A relief set free.
You reap what you sow, Endeavor.