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NOW
Dabi slouched back on the decrepit sofa of the current League of Villains hideout. It was some shithole bar that Giran had walked him into several weeks earlier, with a man more cloud than human behind the bar and a raging lunatic with hands all over his body in front of it.
He was not a fan of the joint, but he was a fan of the misery he was going to be able to provide next week at the Yuuei students’ little summer camp, and – although he would never admit it – he was somewhat of a fan of the people.
Not Shigaraki. Shigaraki was a grade-A asshole Dabi planned to burn alive at some point.
But that girl Toga was a maniacal riot and Twice was both infuriating and hilarious at all times. Magne was probably the most level-headed of the group, and the only one to respect and not question Dabi’s obviously fake name, and Spinner—well Spinner was a fucking lizard who taped swords together to seem cool because he had no real quirk.
(Mr Compress was a cheat at cards but drank with Dabi well into the night telling stories of grand escapades. He was probably Dabi’s favourite.)
It was Shigaraki that was the problem.
That greasy-haired dusty bitch.
He didn’t know how to deal with it. How to go about his hate. He just remembered all too well the last time they’d met, even if Shigaraki evidently didn’t.
SEVEN YEARS AGO
Touya stared at the man in the suit. He was ugly in a handsome way, and handsome in an I’m rich, I don’t need good looks way. He had a son.
The thing about the orphanage Mr Sunny ran was that no one ever got adopted. They also never really went outside.
Touya’s first few days had been filled with learning about the place; how every child was a little bit sick, and so couldn’t leave the building; how he had been in a coma for three years and no one had ever really thought he would wake up. He’d learned the routines and the schedules, the way they got limited information about the outside world to stop them from feeling upset about not being a part of it.
“It’s our own world here,” Kaori, the brunette girl with the impossibly wide smile, told him after the tour. He had still been antsy, wanting to run all the way home. Kaori was immuno-compromised and so had to be careful with germs and dirt. Touya, with his experimental surgeries to recover his skin after it was all burned away, was recommended to not go outside for at least a year now he was up and moving, to help the tissue from disintegrating in the UV rays of the sun.
His nerves had settled after a while. Even though it was an orphanage, and he knew his dad would be looking for him, Mr Sunny said that he wouldn’t be able to go home yet anyway, due to the skin thing. So Mr Sunny was trying to get in contact with Touya’s family, and then they’d visit and everything would be sorted.
Obviously.
So he had only been there six days when the suited man showed up with his son.
“Maybe they want to give him a sibling,” Kaori whispered where they sat at the low arts and crafts table.
The son was maybe thirteen, with pale blue hair that covered his eyes and an oversized hoodie that hid his hands. He followed his father around like a mute as the suited man perused the children, asked Mr Sunny about their quirks.
When they reached Touya and Kaori, with their half-hearted paper snowflakes, the man said, “And these two?”
“Kaori’s quirk allows her to read minds if they’re in physical contact,” Mr Sunny said.
“I only get a few words at a time, though,” Kaori was quick to add. “Not much at all.” He remembered how she had told him that they rarely got prospective parents in looking at the kids; and a quirk like hers could be thought of as weird or invasive. She downplayed it for the man and his son.
“And Touya here has a fire quirk,” Mr Sunny said.
“I’ve got a family,” he added, just as fast as Kaori did. “I’m not an orphan.”
Mr Sunny’s smile never lessened, but it did change briefly. “Of course you’re not, sweetie,” he said. He turned to the man. “We’re still trying to get in touch with Touya’s family to help reunite them.”
“Well, I’m not here looking to adopt,” the man said, hand on his son’s shoulder. Touya felt the air leave the room. He smiled down at Touya. “But I think you’d do nicely for my purposes.”
His purposes were odd. Touya was taken out of the main room and down behind the STAFF ONLY door in the corridor. Downstairs, there was a wide room laden with training mats. He recognised the gear from the training room in his own house, the one he used to spend all his days in until his father started barring him at the door.
Too weak, Touya knew. Too weak to be the hero he was destined to be. Too weak to be Endeavour’s son.
“What are we doing?” he asked.
“Well,” the man said, taking a seat on the bench at the side of the room. The boy slipped off his shoes and socks, padding out onto the mat. “I’m aware of your parentage, and that means I’m aware that you have undergone training as a child. In combat.”
Touya blinked. Shifted from side to side. “Right.”
“Young Tomura over there is going to be one of the greatest one day, but he needs practice. That’s where you come in.”
“Um.”
“No quirks for the time being. I just want to see what we’re working with.”
Touya scratched the back of his head. “I’ve been in a coma for three years,” he said. “I’m not very strong anymore.”
“Well, let’s go easy to start with, hm, Tomura?”
“Whatever,” Tomura grunted. He was bouncing from foot to foot.
“Easy,” the man repeated.
Unsure and unsteady, Touya slipped off his socks and joined Tomura on the mat. He watched the other boy, several years younger and a lot shorter, shove his sleeves up to his elbows. The skin on his arms was dry, ragged. Peeking out from behind his hair, his eyes were like Endeavour’s fire.
Touya settled into a beginning pose, checking his stance as he was taught. The man signalled they should begin, and Tomura darted forward.
Touya landed heavy on the mat, Tomura’s knee on his chest.
“Again,” the man said.
They rose. Touya coughed. They positioned themselves and started once more. This time, Touya dodged the first hit, but got caught in the second. Tomura’s foot swung around for the third, capturing his ankle and pulled it out from under him.
He hit the mat.
“This is too easy,” Tomura said.
Touya gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. He hadn’t trained in years—longer than the three he’d been unconscious for. His father had stopped letting him in the training room back when Shouto was born with that perfect split of hair. They went to the doctor and came back with the news that Touya wouldn’t be a hero.
He shoved himself up. He felt hot, boiling.
“Again,” Touya said.
Tomura lurched back in, quick and smooth. Touya took the hits he couldn’t dodge, threw a few of his own. His strength had sapped over the years in the bed; the blows glanced off Tomura’s skin like love taps.
Tomura’s slammed into Touya’s stomach.
“He’s weak,” Tomura hissed as Touya heaved, bent at the waist. “He’s worthless, Sensei. Let’s find someone else.”
“He has potential, child,” the man replied evenly. “Did you not see that burning determination in him? He simply will take time to train.”
“I need a challenge, not a weak loser,” Tomura replied. “Isn’t there anyone else?”
Touya coughed. He was being turned away again, traded in for another model. Why wasn’t he ever good enough?
“Quirks,” he choked.
“Hah?” Tomura looked derisively down at him.
“Let’s use quirks this time.”
He didn’t wait to be told yes. He simply burned.
Fire raced along soft flesh, instantly blue and scorching. Tomura staggered back; the mat caught alight in seconds, paths burning through the plastic as they raced towards him.
“Stop it!” Tomura yelled.
The man slowly rose from the bench.
“I’m not weak,” Touya seethed. The fire was burning through his clothes, was climbing the walls of the training room. The bench caught alight. It swirled and circled Tomura, until he stood alone, bare foot on the cold ground beyond the mats, surrounded. “I’m not WEAK!” he yelled, and the fire roared with him.
“That’s enough,” the man said.
Touya didn’t think so. Touya wanted to burn the whole place down.
His flesh wasn’t hurting yet. He could barely feel the heat, feel any ache. Mr Sunny told him that his nerves had been eradicated in the fire on Sekoto Peak; that he may look mostly better, but under his skin was a series of dead ends and nothingness.
He had lost control on the peak, but he wasn’t losing control here. He could show these two what he was really made of; he could show his father, and the world. They would all see how great of a hero he could be one day.
Tomura looked like a trapped animal, eyes darting for a way out.
The man watched placidly on, hands almost raised like he was ready to move if he must.
Touya kept his attention to Tomura, watched with a spiteful gaze as the younger boy darted forward, through the fire and flames and across the burning mats. Bare foot, his skin barely touched the ground for a second at a time as he ran towards Touya, hands lifted, fingers splayed.
“No, Tomura,” the man said, calm as ice.
Tomura’s hand stopped a centimetre from Touya’s face. Touya realised he had no idea what quirk the boy had.
“He might be useful someday,” the man continued. “We’re done here. Thank you for your time, Touya. We’ll visit again soon.”
The man walked towards the door, opening it and letting the smoke billow out of the room. Touya heaved in air and the flames began to lessen, down to a simmer.
Tomura pulled away his hand, gazed at him with scorn, and then walked off the melting mat. He glanced to where his shoes and socks were now ash before leaving up the stairs with his Sensei.
Touya let the fire die out before stumbling off the mat himself. He could hear Mr Sunny’s concern from upstairs, the fire alarm beginning to ring as the smoke plumed into the hall.
“I’m not weak,” Touya muttered to himself.
He wasn’t, but his skin was already damaged. His hands and arms were a bloody red, the top layers of skin melted away in patches. He could do more than what he had just done; he could burn hotter, longer – but even that short burst was enough to leave his arms a soaking mess.
He wasn’t weak, but maybe he wouldn’t be a hero. Not if he couldn’t use his quirk.
On the upside, he figured, as he started climbing the stairs, he didn’t feel a thing.
NOW
Dabi watched Shigaraki bicker with Spinner about some video game across the room. On the sofa beside him, Magne was trying to explain why her quirk made no feasible sense with men polarising south and women polarising north with modern day gender constructs and the existence of other sexes, especially how, as a transgender woman herself, she was more aware of this than others.
“I heard that Tiger from the Wild Wild Pussycats is trans though,” she continued, though Dabi was barely listening, “and he was polarised south with my quirk, implying that the quirk considers gender construct and opinion, rather than sex, as the basis of the ability – which makes very little sense. For nonbinary people, perhaps it would change further – would they even be polarised?”
“You need a control group,” Mr Compress suggested, because he had been listening where Dabi hadn’t been. “Test out your ability on a number of non-gender conforming people and see if the magnetokineticism respects gender identity.”
Magne hummed in consideration. Dabi watched Shigaraki argue.
He didn’t know if they had ever come back – Shigaraki and the man Dabi now knew to be All For One; Touya had left that night. His fire hadn’t destroyed the orphanage completely, but it was shut down the next time he passed by, presumably moved somewhere less burnt.
He couldn’t stay there any longer, not after that day, after that practice fight with Tomura.
It was strange to him to call him Shigaraki now; he was Tomura in his memory, in his head. He had recognised him almost instantly, too; the same lank hair, same peeling skin.
It was Shigaraki who hadn’t recognised him.
Maybe All For One, too, didn’t know the man in front of them, with dyed black hair, silver piercings and gaping wounds of revealed, dry muscle.
He was playing the long game on bringing down his shitstain father, but now he had a new target. He had spent years hating the twerp from the training room. Now he knew who he was dealing with; now he knew the decay quirk, and his intolerable childish tantrums.
Now, Dabi thought, leaning forward in his seat as the League chatted innocuously in their shithole headquarters, he was going to ruin everything Tomura Shigaraki had worked for.