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Touya’s whole world had crumbled to pieces in such a short amount of time. Waking from that coma and learning he’d slept for three years after burning near to death, being told his body would never be the same again, and that his quirk was practically unusable in the state he was in, or so he was advised. That doctor and the unsettling voice that tried to coax him into staying so they could try to fix him, as if he was helpless and ruined, like a lamb needing to be culled. Their audacity that anyone other than Endeavor could have the privilege of teaching him anything. Only his father could help him, no other man was worth listening to, and he told them as such before running away from the facility he’d been held in, weak and tired, bare feet tender and blistering from the long walk and lack of use prior. His resolve would carry him.
But despite having returned home with all his intentions set on reuniting with his family, with his father, apologizing and showing them what he was really made of; that too had crumbled before him with the sight of Enji’s perpetuated abuse- no, love being poured into the youngest child, Shouto.
Not Touya.
Still, after all this time, nothing had changed. The teen had stood, shell shocked and staring into the training room window, heart beating too fast and clenching in his chest, painful, aching with a yearning for his fathers love, his training and knowledge, his approval and pride, his unwavering attention. While Shouto remained ungrateful and oblivious of what he was stealing from Touya.
Nothing had changed. Their lives had not been disrupted by Touya’s absence. In fact, it seemed they were better off since he’d vanished. Didn’t they care? Didn’t they worry and fret? Had any of them shed tears? Felt an emptiness in the shape of the eldest Todoroki child? A muffled thud and the low roar of flames eating at the walls and floor of the training room pulled Touya out of his spiral briefly. Shouto laid on the floor in tears, having collapsed, cowering away from Enji Todoroki.
Something dark and heavy settled in Touya’s chest.
"It should be me!" He thought bitterly, hands clenched at his sides, nails digging painful crescents into the boys palms, unnoticed over the despair swallowing him up. "I should be the one in that room! I wouldn’t be ungrateful like Shouto, that brat- if only Dad would watch and see what I can do, he’d really see then!"
“Too late.” The teen's voice sounded foreign even muttered under his breath, the gravelly tone of his anger, a bitter sweet comfort. He didn’t sound like himself. Touya sounded like somebody else. Somebody better. Stronger. Braver. Angrier. Than ever before.
That night, Touya staked a hideout near the Todoroki Estate until the late, quiet hours. When he was certain everyone had retired to bed for the night, sleeping soundly, unaware of a ghost from the past lurking in the shadows; he snuck inside, careful and meticulous the way he’d learned to be three years ago so he could routinely sneak off to train at Sekoto Peak. It was just as easy as he remembered. The security code hadn’t changed after all this time. Maybe they anticipated his return, and never changed it so he could come back home. A glorious thought, a temporary comfort that filled his brain with a dopamine rush and hope. Once inside, the boy started for his bedroom, following the memory of a younger Touya and his smaller footsteps, ingrained in his mind.
Then Touya saw something disturbing, halting abruptly as he fixated on the jarring view he’d stumbled upon, wide eyed and startled. A respectfully decorated shrine. His shrine. A memorial dedicated just for him. All of the excited hopeful feelings sizzled out and turned sour, leaving a gross sick feeling inside him as he stared at his own picture in the center, three years younger. How naive of him. How could he have forgotten so quickly? Touya was and always had been replaceable. Touya had already been replaced, even before he’d burned to death. In fact, Enji had attempted to replace him three times over, only finally succeeding the third time with Shouto. All of them before that, even Touya, just tossed away like unsatisfying toys.
So much anger and hurt bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill out in thrashing violent flames, itching at his palms and the waterlines of his eyes. Nothing had changed.
Touya would change things.
Touya would make them see.
Touya would shine a bright light on all the grotesque horrors that house kept secret.
And Touya wanted Enji to burn.
The boy extended his hand, pointed his finger and allowed the raging fire inside him to flicker into a small controlled flame at his fingertip, silently lighting the two candles framing his memorial. There he stood, not a soul aware of his presence, a specter lingering in a house no longer a home, had it ever been. The candle flames’ light were dim, dancing idly in the quiet, but unable to overpower the moonlights glow from the windows drowning it. Touya felt similarly, and therefore comforted by the ambiance. He braced his hands together in prayer, held firmly in front of his face. He vowed his revenge, promised to enlighten society with the horrible truth, and personally bring an end to Pro Hero Endeavour. Liar and fraud that he was.
Vitriol surged through him. His life had new meaning. A new purpose of his own design. No longer just a burden of a son, tossed aside and forgotten. Something more. Something horrible.
A nightmare.
On that night, Dabi was born and Touya was laid to rest.
And if he returned back to that facility and burned everyone and everything to the ground before the sun rose the next morning, well. They had it coming.
A few months had passed since that night at the Todoroki Estate. Dabi stood tired and worn out in an abandoned warehouse. The sun was sinking, and what little light that was filtering through the large windows began to die out as evening approached. The white haired teen had spent the majority of the day binging video after video of Endeavor special moves and compilations of epic battles the number two Hero had triumphed in, practicing the iconic moves on his own. The warehouse was the perfect space for training, the second floor made up of a wide open room, allowing his flames to rush wall to wall if he tried hard enough. He could already see some results, regaining his ability to turn up the heat quicker than anything else, but also beginning to manipulate the flames to do what he wanted. The laptop sat charging on a wobbly table, the cable pulled taut and plugged into the wall, a courteous gift he snatched from the facility before burning all of it to the ground. The warehouse building still had power even after being abandoned for who knows how long, but most of the lights inside were blown, busted, and useless. All the better to stay hidden, and also why Dabi practiced during the day rather than at night. His flames lighting up the empty space would be a dead give away to other villains looking for an easy target, or heroes investigating suspicious behavior.
The dulled pain receptors from his reconstruction made it easier to focus on pulling off the moves without constantly worrying about the burning of his skin, though his arms and chest were littered with scorch marks and blistering welts, reminiscent of his youth and what got him into this situation to begin with. Most sensations of pain were numb and ignorable, and Dabi found he could push past old limitations that used to hold him back, even if it wasn't one hundred percent perfect. An upgrade was an upgrade, even if all the pain wasn't avoidable, and he would take advantage of it. Maybe if Endeavor had come to see him, helped him progress, a suitable solution to the burning could’ve been found and applied, and he could’ve been the hero his father wanted.
But no. Not for Touya.
The boy heaved an exhausted sigh and shut the laptop with more force than needed, irritable that another day had passed without the results he wanted, despite having made progress. Logically, Dabi knew it would take time to master these techniques with no teacher other than a screen and his own will, but it still drove him mad. The sun set further, leaving him in a blue grey wash of dusk, darker inside the warehouse than outside. He sat down on the ground next to a makeshift cot that was really just a ratty blanket he’d found to lay on, another to cover up with, and a flat, lifeless pillow heavily stained from a life of neglect. His clothes, the same shirt and pants he'd woken up in months ago, and the only ones he owned, were also stained from dirt and sweat, grimy with his inability to wash them. It's not like he knew where people went to wash their clothes, when all his clothes would be washed at home by his mother, or Fuyumi after his mother left them because of the incident with Shouto.
The nights were the worst part of being homeless and alone. No training or doom scrolling the internet to distract him from hunger pains or exhaustion. Dabi had already scoured every article, archive and interview written or filmed about Endeavor any time he was bored, catching up with the last three years of his career he'd missed. Nothing else held his interest anyway. There was also the problem of the internet access he leeched from a nearby business becoming shoddy after dark, if it didn't just shut off entirely. Then there were the issues with his body; less than ideal, a decaying vessel for all his hatred, already malnourished from three long years of sleep, and now worse with little to no food from living on the streets. It was going to have to change, and soon, if Dabi wanted to survive long enough to kill Endeavor, but it’d be better if he had more control of his quirk to aid him. People going about their day to day seldom offered a helping hand, or even a bite to eat for the starving teen if he ever so much as showed himself, another risk with his stark white, albeit filthy hair, and the eyes of his father. He needed to change his look soon too, another item on his ever growing to do list, if he wanted to avoid possibly getting recognized. Better safe than sorry. But outright stealing the food was also too risky in the state he was in.
Regardless, Dabi could overcome the hunger, could overcome the fatigue beyond anything he’s ever felt. But the nights were too long, too quiet, and painfully lonely. Thoughts of his family, of Natsuo would cross his mind, memories of staying up late venting and crying to him, asking him why their father wouldn’t look at him, or listen to him. Nasty bitter feelings would rush through his body at the memories, making him feel alight without activating his quirk. Natsuo didn’t care. Natsuo moved on just like everyone else did. That boy hadn’t cared when Touya was still alive either, aggravated and tired of the eldest’s complaining. Dabi remembered it all too well, how annoyed his brother would become with him, how Fuyumi didn't quite seem to understand him and his plight.
“I hate you too.” He spat into the empty warehouse, voice rough from lack of use, and swallowed up by the silence of the space surrounding him.
"Do you really mean that?"
A disembodied voice asked him, breaking the silence Dabi was engulfed in. The room remained empty. The voice sounded too much like his own, three years ago.
Touya. Who refused to stay quiet and quit thinking. Constantly harassing Dabi any time he had a moment of peace. Never leaving him truly alone.
“Yes.” Dabi grit out, staring into the dark of the room at nothing.
"What should I do?" The voice sounded distorted, like the source couldn’t be pinned to one spot, and couldn’t be made sense of. Like it was still piecing itself together.
Dabi huffed a haggard breath and shuffled onto the blankets, knees drawing up to his chest, arms securing around them. Holding himself together. There was no sense in answering useless questions or talking to himself.
"It’s too dark in here to do anything." The voice said, stating the obvious. "What a pointless existence."
Dabi didn't try to argue that.
"It’s better to do nothing." Touya’s voice echoed around him, like he was haunted by his own ghost.
Dabi didn’t respond to the attempts at getting his attention. His stomach cramped painfully, and a groan edged past his dry, cracked lips. A strong craving for water hit him, and he smacked his lips, the missing wet sound confirming just how dry his mouth was.
It wasn’t long before the voice returned, restless as always, this time with a personified shadow to join the auditory hallucinations Dabi couldn’t escape from. It loomed across from him, starting where his bare feet rested on the smooth concrete floor, just off the edge of the blankets, and stretching far into the expansive darkness, barely distinguishable from the other shadows of the space. Though, none of the others moved or spoke like this one could. Alive, whether in the teen's mind or really truly there was hard to distinguish, but nonetheless inescapable.
"Hey. I’m Touya." The shadow matched Dabi's silhouette, and an opening where it's mouth would be moved like it could talk. It stretched before him, seemingly staring endlessly into Dabi's soul.
“You always come out when there’s fuck all to do.” Dabi replied, more so to himself in frustration than to the imposter claiming his dead identity, grumbled under his breath like a petulant child.
"Can I ask you some questions? I want you to answer them.” The voice said, giving Dabi a command he did not want to comply with.
“Great. Again with the questioning. Always when I want to be alone.” Dabi complained, miserable in the hell inside his mind. “You know I'll just pass.” Dabi argued, hoping this distorted version of himself would give up. Touya never would though.
"You can do whatever you want. Okay. Here goes." Touya responded, almost cheerily, like everything was going to be okay.
"Can you tell me your name?"
Dabi grimaced at the first question, one he's been asked by this figment of his imagination before. He shifted his eyes to gaze just past his shadow self, blurry and unfocused on a chip in the wall.
“Pass.”
"Really? You can’t even tell me your own name? Why can’t you?"
“Pass.”
"Okay, fine. So you can’t answer other people’s questions. That’s why you’re asking yourself questions like this, even if you don't want to. You’re trying to preserve your mind, right?" Touya had gathered as much, and pushed again, trying to get Dabi to confirm his suspicions.
“Pass.” Dabi mumbled, and his fingers gripped his legs tighter, trying to feel something that could tell him if he was dreaming or not. Something to settle the unease in his mind. Why did he have to be interrogated? Dabi just wanted to rest. All he could feel was a vague pressure; it did nothing to ease him.
“Another pass. This isn’t really self questioning anymore, don’t you agree? Touya."
Again, Dabi refused to answer, choosing to ignore being called by his old name. The implications of it were confusing. Was he Dabi? Or Touya? Was the shadow himself? Or Touya? “Pass.”
"Do you think anyone will notice you if you look troubled like this?" Touya questioned once more. "Is that what you want? Someone to look at you and help?" The shadow continued on, almost like it was berating Dabi. "But don’t you get it? Nobody actually cares about your suffering." The voice paused, allowing Dabi a moment to answer, unwavering in the harshness of the onslaught of questioning.
“Pass.” Dabi’s voice was emotionless, and his face remained blank, staring at the nothing on the wall, avoiding the shadow entirely. Maybe it would just go away on it's own, but the more this happened, the more Dabi grew accustomed to the harassment, and the shadow was always right anyway. Nobody cared about him. His family had made that perfectly clear.
The shadow inched over, raising what looked to be an arm and marking on the wall right where Dabi’s eyes had been glued to during the interaction. It looked like if a finger had been dipped in water and dragged down the wall, leaving behind wet marks, five lines to create a completed tally. Barely discernible in the dark, but of course, Dabi could see it. Touya’s voice sighed back at him, an air of disappointment laced in the breath of something that wasn’t really there.
"That makes five passes." Touya announced, sounding disheartened and hurt. After all, why did Dabi have to be so heartless? Couldn’t he just go along with what Touya wanted? He just needed a little attention. Someone to talk to. Someone who would listen. "Let’s talk about something else, then. Remember Sekoto Peak?" The shadow asked, but continued to speak before Dabi could pass the next wave of questions. "Your flames were the most powerful they’d ever been. You were at your best. But dad didn’t show up again. How did that make you feel?" Touya persisted on, suddenly on the verge of maniacal, a new edge to his voice, the memory of the adrenaline that had coursed through them that night fresh in his mind. Dabi could feel it. A rush that flooded him with fight or flight.
The warehouse took on a new identity, shifting from the bland dark walls, barren and silent, to a forest of trees, high up where the setting sun could still be seen far in the horizon. The lake wasn’t far from where Dabi and the shadow sat in the grass, but he knew it would always be just out of reach.
“Pass.” Dabi whispered, the open air carrying his voice and killing it before it could travel far. The teen wondered if he was finally dreaming, but it all felt too real for that. The cool evening breeze, the rustling leaves, the stars beginning to peak out of the night sky overhead. Birds winding down for the night in the distance. The boy stayed frozen where he sat, fearing if he moved, he’d once again become consumed by his own flames.
"It was exhilarating, wasn’t it? Knowing you could prove your worth to dad." The shadow hung just over Dabi's head like a raincloud, too surreal to make sense of, surrounded by a scene he couldn’t decipher was real or not.
“Pass.”
"That IS how you felt! And that’s why you didn’t question dad’s teachings when he told you to turn up the heat before he gave up on you. Right?"
“Fuck off,” Dabi choked the words out.
"But then you burned. You couldn’t turn it off. And now you’re a walking talking corpse." His shadow self proclaimed, stretching larger and taller over Dabi. "Now you’re nothing. But you’re getting stronger. All on your own. How does that make you feel?" The questioning continued.
“Pass!” Dabi snapped, all his rage resurfacing with the memories. The reminder of his failure and his new goal. His eyes pricked with wet tears but they did not shed.
"You’re so funny. You can’t even answer one question." Touya’s younger voice taunted, swooping down and crashing into Dabi within the memory. The darkness surrounded him until it was all he could see, the trees of Sekoto Peak gone, the sounds evaporated. Everything around him, above him, below him, pitch blackness with no sense of anything, nothing to ground the teen. Empty. Hallow. A vacuum of space.
Then, abruptly Dabi’s Hell Flames flared to life, crawling up his arms and legs faster than he could process it was happening. A scream wrenched from his throat as he tore himself from his curled position on what used to be ground, stumbling backwards nowhere as his quirk ate him alive for a second time. The pain felt real, his skin was sizzling and rotting, fire filled his lungs and burst from his mouth like a beast. The tears in his eyes poured, and just like the first time, those too turned to licking and lashing flames, roasting him from the inside out.
All over again.
“No-! Naa-agh!” All Dabi could do was scream as the memory of burning alive fabricated itself in viciously vivid detail. The light of his fire did nothing to brighten the darkness around him, and all there was to do was relive the agony of his death day three years ago. Briefly, he worried if he’d really done it again, failed and burned to death in that warehouse. Or maybe this was hell and he was forced to hallucinate his mistake over and over as punishment for all eternity. His wails of agony were deafening to his own ears, but not enough to drown out Touya's endlessly pestering voice, whimpering and laughing and crying, a distorted tape stuck on loop. Dabi writhed around like a wild animal, trapped in a burrow being smoked out by the hunter, hair and skin and nerves searing to dust, bones left behind for slow kindling. No body of water for him to fall into and find too late relief, only vast darkness.
"Why won’t you just answer my questions already? Won’t your inner hell just grow larger the more you avoid it?" His younger self speaks up once more, still lingering, watching the tragedy unfold. Touya’s voice sounded defeated and discouraged, wet with sorrow.
Dabi's suffering did not let up, despite the endless nagging from his shadow. It only served to further Dabi’s misery. So he didn’t answer, unbridled pain stealing his breath away, and he collapsed down in a pathetic heap. A splash echoed around them, though no water could be seen or felt. The flames began to die away sluggishly, in no hurry to extinguish; Dabi wheezed weak breath after weak breath. Around him, through cracked eyes, his surroundings slowly become clear again. The warehouse came back into view, though it was tilted sideways. Dabi laid curled up on his side on the blanketed ground, but there were no flames, nor rotted, melted skin. The shadow appeared to be crying, each tear splashing with the same weight his own body had made falling into that lake in an attempt to save his own life, all those nights ago. The tears vanished as they fell, the but sound weighed him down with a heavy guilt. Wracked with full body tremors, skin clammy and sticky and too hot, Dabi watched the shadow draw another five tally marks with a seemingly still wet finger along the wall, totaling ten unanswered questions.
"You’re so cruel, Touya." the shadow said, mean and callous, calling Dabi by his given name, his dead name. "Look how many times you denied me. You're just like dad."
“I don’t... remember you criticizing me this way... in the past,” Dabi lamented between shaky breaths, voice strained from his previous screaming and sobbing, and the refreshed memory of burning to death. “Why... don’t you leave me alone? Obviously we don’t... play well together. All of this is because of you.” Dabi ground out the last word, punctuating his statement with resentment.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" His shadow self asked, offended by the implications put on him. "Do you think you’ve got split personality now? You should know better. I’m just a normal emotion. Everyone has it. But it’s easy to deny me and yourself, for the sake of escaping to avoid the truth. Is this because you don’t get along well with others? Because you think you’re special? Or is it because dad didn't love you? Because you're really not special. And now you’re trapped in self denial. Tell me. Where are you even trying to go?"
Dabi laid worn out, clinging to himself on the ground and waiting for his shadow to finish it's rant. Exhaustion sunk deep into his bones, and a dizziness hit him even without moving from his place on the floor. One final time, Dabi stubbornly replied.
“Pass.”
The shadow wept and wept, shrinking to the size of a small boy against the wall across the room from Dabi.
"We’ve clearly had enough of this. I’m going to leave now." Touya’s little voice spoke up through pitiful cries, matching that of Dabi’s own he hadn’t realized were his until Dabi was the only one left in the room. Finally alone.
Dabi’s face felt wet and too hot, yet he shivered with chills. He must’ve been crying. He stayed like that for what felt like hours, though unlikely longer than a single one, replaying the hyper realistic images of his own death over and over in his head, and the mean words his mind had conjured up. It wasn’t until a loud bang down stairs startled him that he attempted to recover his bearings, haphazardly shoving himself to his feet and stepping into a defensive fighting stance. His legs wobbled horribly, and his fists were shaky. Sweat beaded across his forehead and upper lip, drenching his clothes. His stomach, jostled from getting up too quickly, remained uneasy, and he swallowed down the need to kneel down and vomit. Deep masculine voices filtered through the large space, up the staircase leading to the floor he resided on, and Dabi fought the urge to lay back down to relieve his head spinning.
“Yeah boss, this has to be the place.” One man spoke.
“Yeah I definitely heard wailing from this building.” Another piped up.
“Poor sucker whoever it is.” The first commented, followed by a lax chuckle.
“Didn’t you boys say ya saw flames? Keep your guard up.” A third voice commanded, a distinct accent with an air of authority that differed from the way the first two talked.
Dabi assumed this was the boss man the first guy referred to. He also cursed himself internally, wondering when he'd used his quirk so blatantly that someone had seen it and decided to investigate. Had he really burned? Was it all real, or only parts of it? Which parts? Unfortunately for Dabi, there was no time to wonder about it with three men hot in pursuit of him. He couldn’t make out who was who until they were crossing the thresh hold into the second floor. Two regular goons with quirks that disfigured one's head, and the other's hands, and the third guy who looked something like a greasy pimp crossed with an alcoholic, round glasses and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Dabi could see a missing tooth when he took a drag and blew the smoke like he owned the place, and his own breathing wavered nervously. He steeled his face as best he could anyway.
“Oh it’s a boy,” The first man said, the three walking towards Dabi with little caution. He would change that; no one should be underestimating him. Activating his quirk, Dabi felt the familiar slither of flames lapping up his arms, lighting up the room and illuminating all four of their faces. The three of them halted for a moment, the boss guy holding out an arm to stop them progressing towards him. His goons looked bewildered by Dabi, but their boss looked delighted, and a little smug.
“His face is bloody,” The second guy said, baffling Dabi for a split second. It must've shown on his face, because the boss man lifted a brow as he studied the teenager. Was his face bleeding? He couldn’t tell through the tears.
Dabi stepped further back when they continued towards him again, not wanting to fight if he didn't have to. Three to one was not good odds, even with his superior power. “Don’t come any closer!” He yelled the warning, waving his arm in front of him and sending a thrash of fire at the three men. They stopped and backed away to avoid the fiery blaze until it dissipated away, one of them haphazardly trying to put out his hair that caught fire.
“You’re lookin’ worse for wear, kid.” The boss man said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He held out both his hands gesturing his sidekicks away from pursuing the boy, leaving only himself to confront the troubled teen.
“That's none a’ your business!” Dabi barked his answer, baring his teeth and heaving a breath through his nose, trying to look more intimidating and less like he could collapse at any moment.
“We’re not gonna hurt ya,” Boss man said, clearly the leader of the trio. He held his hands up, trying to signify he wasn’t going to be a threat. “You a runaway? That’s quite the quirk ya got there.” He asked, softening his voice to try and ease Dabi's defensive behavior.
“What’s it to you?” Dabi snarked, unable to control his attitude even in the face of danger. He took yet another step back when the old man stepped forward, leaving the other two where he had halted them. The movement made his stomach roll, his non dominant hand wrapped around his torso, flames extinguishing on that arm, the other staying up in warning as his only weapon. Dabi tried to stand tall and hold his position despite his stomach's protests.
“Nothin’. Just surprised to see a talent like you livin' in some slum like this. I’m Giran.” The man said, continuing another step towards Dabi. His cigarette had burned down to the end, and Giran flicked it across the room, finished with the smoke.
“Yeah, well…” Dabi trailed off, short of breath. “It’s temporary.”
“I bet it is.” Giran condescended, closing another two feet between them. Dabi didn’t respond, staying still where he stood, like a deer in headlights, unsure if he should set them all ablaze and ruin his hideout, or bolt and abandon it. There was only a foot or two left before he'd hit the wall.
“I can help ya get on your feet, if you’re needin’ it.” Giran told him, smiling a sleezy grin. It seemed surprisingly genuine, or Dabi was easily fooled, but it certainly wasn’t the latter.
“Don’t need it,” Dabi muttered his hard headed answer, glancing around him. He was cornered like a rat, stalked by a gang of felines.
“Look, kid, ya look troubled. I can help. Got a spare bed under a roof with your name on it. Ya can leave in the mornin’ or stay if you have a change of heart. ‘M not a bad guy.” Giran offered, sweetening the proposition to make it more appealing, trying to coax Dabi into cooperation. “And if ya did decide to stay,” he continued on, “You can help me run errands in exchange for your room. How 'bout that? Sound like a nice deal?”
Dabi weighed the options in his head. If they wanted to kill him, they could’ve likely overpowered him already by that point, if his dominant hand trembling or the way he was partially doubled over was anything for them to go by. Going blindly with them couldn’t be much smarter, but his options were limited, and so was his time to make a decision. Could it be any worse than burning to death, being abducted, reconstructed, and asleep in a coma for three years just to end up homeless and starving? Maybe not. “Okay...”
With Dabi’s mind made up, it seemed his body took that as it's cue to give up, and his legs finally gave out under him, dropping him to the ground. Giran didn't waste any time and was by his side before he could register it, the man’s thick cologne giving his presence away before Dabi actually saw him. He could feel hands slipping underneath his body and lifting, and suddenly everything felt weightless. “Fuck, kid you’re burnin’ up. Fever? Or that damn quirk a' yours?”
Dabi didn’t respond to the question, the sweet bliss of someone else supporting his weight too much of a comfort, a relief he hadn't felt in years now. “And you barely weigh shit,” The man muttered, allowing Dabi to catch a whiff of the cigarette on his breath now that they were closer, before his conscious shut the rest of the way down. Blue teal eyes slipped shut with ease, knowing at the very least he was safe, and at the very worst, it'd probably be a painless death.
Hours later, Dabi awoke in a twin bed, a thin fleece blanket over his body, head resting on a comfortable enough pillow. The weight of a no longer frosty cold ice pack laid across his forehead. He numbly slugged it off, and took in his surroundings, finding a small bedside table next to him. Sat on it was a plastic cup of water that must’ve been iced at one point too, if the puddle of condensation under it was anything to go by, along with a scrawled on sticky note. Dabi downed half the water first, remembering just how parched and dehydrated he had been, before snatching the note and reading it, squinting to make out the nearly illegible penmanship.
“Come down when you get hungry. -G”