Chapter Text
Dabi felt like a ghost, walking completely undetected through the streets of Musutafu. Even during the gentle twilight hours, people were still bustling around trying to get home. He didn't exactly like milling in the crowds, the smell of people and the sensation of various bits of cloth and skin brushing against his scorched arms makes him shudder on instinct, even if the nerves were completely dead. Sometimes he missed being able to feel a hand on his skin, the gentle touch of his sister rubbing along his arms after a rough session with their father. Or the first time his youngest brother put a tiny palm to his cheek and babbled a few words to him.
The man shook his head slightly, picking up his pace as he fought the fading memory of his siblings-- so young, and yet so old. Too old. If he was terrified of the coldness of Fuyumi's face at 5, when she'd finally understood what the yelling in the main room was about, then Kami forbid he ever meet her now. She's gotta be, what, 20?
He stumbled slightly as something, or someone, crashed into his chest, and cold metal poked at his stomach. Dabi moved to catch the person and realised the streets were empty now; he'd walked nearly to the other side of town from where he'd started, and he didn't even realise. A stifled whine came from the person in his arms, and he looked down to meet a shock of lavender hair and eyes, wide with fear, and-
"Is that-" Dabi choked, horrified at the cold steel cage strapped over the kid's face. Black and bloody leather pressed into his cheeks and wrenched his jaw open uncomfortably, the skin visible beneath rubbed raw. His lips were cracked and torn and a little bloody from fuck knows what, and scanning over the rest of the kid wasn't helping their case. His fingernails were caked in dirt and blood, hands scraped with tiny beads of red dotting his palms. He had on a long-sleeve shirt, but Dabi could almost count all the scars along his forearms. And his throat- So many scars.
The kid whined again, something low and loud and desperate and Dabi couldn't do it, he didn't have time to think, his feet started moving and he took the kid with him. They retreated into familiar alleyways that the man often hid in, taking a few sharp turns until they got to a locked door. Dabi pulled out a key and practically threw it open, shoving the kid inside much rougher than he'd meant to in his stress and rage and fury. After locking the door again, making sure to keep it quiet as to not alert anyone nearby, Dabi turned to see the kid shaking furiously, eyes somehow even wider as he looked horrified at him.
Dabi raised his hands up placatingly, and the kid eased only slightly.
"Kid, I'm taking that fucking thing off. 'Kay?" Dabi didn't wait for a response before he stepped forward, pocket knife drawn sharply as he held the blade to the kid's cheek. He felt the boy tense as he sliced through the leather, a perfectly clean cut. Dabi hurried to drop the knife to hold the muzzle steady as the leather unwound itself from mauve hair, resting limply on his other shoulder. The kid was close to tears, a few slipping from his eyes as the cage was gently taken from his face, loose barbs of metal wire pulling at his lips slightly as they went. The second it was off he groaned, knees crashing to the floor while he pressed his bloodied hands against his jaw and sobbed. He sounded like he hadn't drank in days, voice hoarse and barely audible.
Dabi scurried into his shitty kitchen, grabbing a freshly bought, still sealed bottle of water and handed it to the kid, who looked up at him suspiciously. The man rolled his eyes and crouched to be at eye level, though he guessed he still couldn't blame him for being wary. Some freaks pretend to help, get your mouth free, only to use it to- He shook that thought loose and pushed on.
"Here, it's not poisoned. Bought the package yesterday, you can check for yourself if you want." He rolled the bottle carefully until it nudged the boy's foot, then groaned as his butt met the floor and he sat back as casually as he could, painfully aware of the torn stitching in his right wrist. The kid thankfully accepted the water, still eyeing Dabi as he opened it and took greedy gulps like he was going to steal it back. Once upon a time Dabi might've tried, purely on that annoying brotherly instinct that he definitely didn't still feel, but he understood abuse. He understood scared kids who just wanted help and then wanted to be left alone, who didn't want trouble but got it anyway. He'd be a pretty big fucking hypocrite if he wasn't at least somewhat aware of the street kids and the fear. The purple-haired kid finished the bottle and sat it between his feet, not meeting Dabi's eyes for a while. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to force out a sound for what felt like years, before Dabi stood and offered him a hand.
"C'mon, you got places to be? I can-"
"Thank you," the boy was so quiet, Dabi could hardly catch what he said. When he did, he felt his eyes widen. Too many thoughts raced through his head: he was about to offer to walk the kid home (which he probably didn't have), or to the cops, or somewhere that wasn't here, because Dabi didn't need a teenager ratting him out while he performed his less-than-legal nightly activities. And he definitely didn't need a traumatised one in his debt. So, now what?
"Don't-" He started, biting his tongue. "It's just decency, kid. Now, you got a place you can go?" The kid shook his head slowly, fluffy purple hair finally deciding to stop defying gravity as it fell into his face. Figures.
"Shit... I can't exactly keep you, kid. So, we're gonna have to figure something out," Dabi walked further into his tiny ass apartment, hands on his hips in order to avoid touching the kid, or his scars, or anything really.
"A-Aren't you a hero, or something?" The stutter made him turn, and the look on the kid's face was murderous. He was either glaring at himself, or at Dabi, for- Fuck knows why. What did the heroes do to this kid for a reaction like that? Then again- Dabi knew the answer all too well, didn't he? That's why he was out here, after all. Those fucking heroes...
Dabi burst into hysterical laughter, clutching his sides as he barely avoided face-planting. He leaned his shoulder against the kitchen wall and slid down, his giggles bubbling into something that could've been maniacal, or just sad. If his tear ducts weren't burnt shut, he'd probably be shedding a few tears, assuming he even knew how. Instead, a small trickle of blood leaked from beneath his right eye as he sighed and collected himself. Turning to the kid and thumbing the stream of red from his eye, he replied sharply.
"Fuck no, I'm no hero." The word tasted sour, no matter how many times he had to use it. The same raging fire stoked his heart whenever he heard it, or watched those attention-seeking freaks on the streets. Never got any easier, not that he ever thought it would. The kid looked less murderous and more confused, eyes narrowed in a weirdly deadpan way. It was almost funny, how cat-like he looked. But Dabi was done with laughing now.
"So... what's your deal, then?" He asked, sitting cross-legged just in the man's peripherals. He shrugged, giving in to the urge and picking at the staples on his wrist. Dabi seriously needed to get this sorted, but he couldn't be bothered to get up and do his song-and-dance with the med kit, especially with the kid just there. Maybe, if he could find her again, Big Sis Magne wouldn't be too upset with him this time. He huffed out a laugh at the irony, remembering how pissed off she was when he began picking at the stitches she'd just fixed up on his shoulder one time, then looked up at the kid's sudden gasp. He was staring directly at his... arm.
Oh shit.
"...Fuck it, kid, can you pass me the first aid? It's over there, I think. Big red box, I'm sure you know what it is." He didn't look up again when he heard the kid move, shuffling into his pathetic bedroom to retrieve the somewhat-stocked supply kit for him. It was set down just by his left side and he grunted in thanks, finally taking the stupidly bulky hoodie off to tend to his injuries. The fabric scratched along his jaw and he realised a second too late that he was still wearing his bandanna, and it had been tussled while removing the hoodie. The kid looked mortified, skin turning pale and maybe a little green, though Dabi couldn't tell with the dying light of the sun streaming through his blinds. He tried to shuffle his face mask around to cover the worst of it, hoping he could play off the giant purple gashes under his eyes as wicked eyebags. The kid looked like he hadn't slept in years, maybe he'd buy it. The silver, however... He'd figure something out, Dabi was smart enough for that. But what the kid asked wasn't anything he was prepared to hear, let alone to answer.
"What happened to you-?" His voice was low, a quiet ambient hum audible in the crushing silence. Dabi turned to the kid slightly, eyes trained on stitching his hand back together.
"Ah, y'know, a bit of this and that, whatever-"
He felt his mind go numb, body limp and slack and completely unmoving no matter how hard he pulled. His eyes fell uselessly to the floor, staring into the box of needles and thread and gauze he'd been keeping safe for so many years, as he heard another question come through loud and clear, even while his head felt like it was shoved deep underwater.
"Did someone hurt you?" Dabi couldn't control anything, not the way his hand dropped into his lap after meticulously threading the needle back into itself to keep the stream from disappearing, or the way his mouth worked itself open even though his teeth were clenched shut. He couldn't stop it. Dabi, for the first time in years, was afraid.
"No," He heard himself answer, voice dull and drained in a way that sounded almost mechanical. Disgusting.
The kid shuffled slightly, and he felt his brain melt into some form of normal. He wanted to scream. Lunge at the kid for doing whatever he just did, attack himself for giving in, something. He was never taught to release his anger in a healthy way, so pardon Dabi for picking fights to ease the tension. Yes, he would fight the brat, especially if the little shit just brainwashed him into possibly spilling his entire family trauma like he'd first guessed.
He lifted his head and met tired lavender eyes with his own ice-cold ones. The displeasure he felt was surely written on his face, as the other wilted slightly and muttered an apology. Dabi didn't answer, returning to his half-hearted stitch job before the kid could speak again.
"You are a weird guy. Interesting, but... weird." He felt the stare on him as he worked, felt the kid flick over every part of him from his gangly arms to his jeans that were definitely not falling apart, to his still masked face and settling on the silver rings stitching the purple eyebags to his cheeks. Dabi sensed a question, and felt the urge to bite something.
"You got a name, guy?" The kid asked, and Dabi got the feeling that wasn't the question he wanted to ask him. He shrugged and mumbled into the fabric of his mask. "Dabi."
The kid nodded and briefly held a hand out, curling it into a fist expectantly. "Shinso," he offered, and when Dabi raised his eyes he just gestured towards his arm. The man sighed and bumped his fist with Shinso's, and received a wide and tired smile in return. He couldn't help but smile a little, even after everything that just went down.
"You do that shit often?" He asked, finishing with the thread and sticking a gauze strip over the seams. The kid flinched out of the corner of his eye, and he felt just a little bad.
"I didn't want to." Shinso muttered, sounding heartbroken. Dabi looked up curiously, thousands of questions running through his mind.
"Then why-"
"People don't just look like that!" He cried, standing suddenly and almost falling over. Dabi held up his hands and went to stand, but the kid kept him pinned with a finger pointed at his chest. "P-People don't just... they don't just look like you. Or me. Th- They... they're made, and- I- I didn't want to know- but I just couldn't stop, I tried so hard."
That's why they put you in a muzzle, the man realised, growing sicker by the second. Those fuckers strapped this kid up because he was curious, and asked too many questions. Talked too much. Was just a little too loud, and they didn't like it. Fuck, if he didn't know how that felt-
"Kid," Dabi tried to say, wanting more than anything to calm the kid down. Selfishly to make sure he didn't alert any stragglers on the street below, or any non-existent neighbours he might have developed in the last 20 minutes. But primarily to help soothe him. He knew how badly he needed to be told that, as a kid, he was allowed to experiment and be curious, to ask questions and talk back without fear of losing a finger or a tongue. He wanted that, and he would give that to this kid who needed it just as badly. "Have you ever had quirk counselling?"
What a stupid fucking way to lead. He wanted to smack himself, already knowing damn well the answer was-
"No," the kid said, eyes downcast. "I- I tried practising once, but..."
Their eyes both drifted towards the discarded muzzle, and they swallowed. Dabi took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and prayed to whatever fucking thing was watching him after giving him this kid.
"You shouldn't be afraid of asking questions."
"I know."
"Is your quirk always active when you ask?"
"...I don't think so? Sometimes it just happens, I guess." He picked at the hem of his sleeve. "Are you... you... uh... mad? You are mad?" Shinso tried, and Dabi could literally see the amount of effort it took, to ask without asking and he sighed.
"No, I'm not- well... Okay, yeah. A little. But- I... fuck, kid, there's shit you shouldn't have to hear. Not just because you're too young or whatever, but because I don't wanna tell you. I don't wanna tell anyone, and that's... I get it, it wasn't your fault. Not entirely. I just... (Fuck, I'm bad at this)."
Shinso nodded slightly, slowly at first, then met his eyes. "I'm sorry.."
"Me too."