#dabi touch

 And so it went, into the next day, and the day after that. You kept trying to connect, to dismantle his defenses, but to no avail.  Each time your efforts failed, you deflated and retreated into yourself.  At first it was just with a frown, a silent, tight-lipped anger at his treatment of you. But over time the anger faded to sadness until eventually, by the fifth day, you’d developed a stoic mask of your own that you only wore when you were in his presence.

 It was working. Your connection with him was disappearing, fading away under the forced malnourishment that Dabi inflicted on your delicate bond.  He was both grateful and bitter.

 Dabi didn’t like seeing the hurt on your face, and he liked it even less when you became withdrawn. But he kept his eyes downcast and his jaw clamped tightly shut to the point of aching.  It was fine, he told himself.  This was what he wanted, after all.  

 He hated the way he felt around you, the nausea mingling with the aching desire that swirled like an angry snake in the pit of his stomach.  He’d let himself get careless, let himself get used to you.  You had too much power over him now, he’d realized, making him feel things he didn’t want, thoughts of you occupying his damaged brain more than they should.  They were a swirling vortex of conflicting dreams, daydreams, and intrusive thoughts - nightmares of you on the receiving end of his uncontrollable violence, thoughts of you and Compress, and worst of all, fantasies of you being his, of being able to drown in your soft gentleness in a way that he’d never been able to experience before, and likely never would.  It was teasing, it was pointless, and most of all it was cruel, leaving him to feel battered, confused, and angry.

 Dabi despised it.  If he could burn the thought of you from his mind, he would.

 He just needed to survive this – let his wound heal and wait for his meds to be back in his own hands. Then he’d go back to his isolation, like he should have done from the beginning, building his walls taller, stronger, ensuring that nothing would ever get in again.  No more distractions.  Just him and his determination to take down the one man he hated most, to expose him as the false idol that he was before turning him to ash.  How he missed that single-minded focus, that all-consuming obsession to immerse himself in the fantasies of his father’s downfall.  He’d lost sight of it over the past week, distracted by the pain of withdrawal and your addictive touch.

 This was what he wanted.

 So why did it feel like a knife was twisting slowly in his chest every time he looked at you?  Why did he hate himself a little more every time you reached out to him, and he responded with coldness?

 Every time your cool hands left his scarred skin, his gut twisted at the realization that he was one step closer to losing you.  That eventually, he’d be healed, and that would be the end of it.  Then he’d never be able to feel you again, and the peace your touch brought him would become nothing more than a painful memory, another broken thread added to the rotting tapestry of his short life.

 It was fine.  

 Dabi could handle this. He was used to not getting what he wanted, anyway.  You were a nice distraction for a bit, but now it was time for him to come back down to reality.  He was Dabi, a ruthless killer.  Not Touya, a soft weak-hearted fool.

 Which made it only that much more difficult when you finally said the one thing he hated the most.

 “I’m sorry.”

 Dabi‘s eyes met yours in stunned silence.  He couldn’t understand why those words were coming out of your mouth.  This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to give up. Why were you still trying?

 “What?” he said.

 “I said I’m sorry.”  You had a frown on your face, eyebrows knitted together, and lips pulled down into a pout.

 How easily those words fell from your lips, as if a thousand seeds were planted there, blooming endlessly to fall at his feet like an offering.

 “For what?” his voice was harsh, harsher than he’d intended; but he couldn’t hide his frustration. It angered him, seeing that weakness in you, that need to appease at the cost of your own pride.  You had nothing to be sorry for.  It was him. He was doing this.  Surely you knew that.  If anything, you should be angry.

 If anything, you should hate him.  

 So why didn’t you?

 He watched your face transform from one of frustration to wide-eyed vulnerability, and he could see the answer written across the lift of your eyebrows and your slightly parted lips: ‘I don’t know...’

 You opened your mouth to speak, but before the words could leave your lips, a black portal opened up in the middle of Dabi’s room, interrupting the first real conversation the two of you had had in days.  Not a moment later, Kurogiri poked his head through.

 “There’s been an incident. Compress needs you,” he said.

 Your eyes widened and blood drained from your face, leaving a deathly pallor in its wake as you stood up.

 “I’m coming,” you replied without hesitation.  

 Before Dabi could even react, you walked through the portal without so much as a glance in his direction.

 A deafening silence fell over Dabi’s room as he sat in sudden isolation. An inner battle waged inside of him, one part jealousy the other part concern.  Neither were feelings he welcomed, but that never seemed to make much difference.

 It must have been bad if Kurogiri came and retrieved you himself. Time was of the essence, which meant Compress could be mortally wounded.  No doubt they needed your medical experience, limited as it was. And your quirk…

 Dabi went rigid.

 You couldn’t use your quirk right now; you had just finished treating Dabi’s scars, and he knew... he knew... what happened to you when you overused your quirk. He’d seen firsthand how you’d cower against sound and light, your nose wrinkling against odors, how your body would become trapped under the sensory bombardment after your sessions with him.

 So, what would happen to you if you pushed yourself past that?  If you were forced well beyond your limits?

 “Shit.”

 His body moved on its own, spurred into urgency as he realized what you were about to do. As he threw on his shirt, his mind screamed at him.

 Don’t do this.

 He grabbed his shoes.

 Let her go.

 He put them on, not even bothering with the laces.

 You’ll regret this.

 He didn’t care.  He bolted out of his room to the stairwell, taking the steps two, three at a time, nearly stumbling into the wall on his descent.  The sound of loud, panicked dialogue could barely be heard up into the stairwell from behind the closed door at the bottom.

 Toga’s voice rang through first, shrill with panic.  “Shouldn’t you use your quirk??”

 “There’s no time for that! I can’t stop the bleeding.  He needs a real doctor!” – your voice.

 “Dr. Garaki isn’t responding.” Shigaraki replied. “We may have been out of range of Johnny.”

 “I’m so sorry!” Twice cried. “They said they’d only meet in their territory!”

 “It’s fine, Twice.” Shigaraki muttered.

 “Keep trying.” You said. “I’ll do what I can.”

 Dabi burst through the door to see you kneeling in front of Compress.  His hat and mask were off, his curly hair matted to his forehead with sweat.  His skin was deathly gray as his eyes glazed over on the verge of death.  Dabi instantly saw the reason why – his shirt and vest had been ripped off, exposing the ghastly wound where his arm should have been, meat and bone exposed.  It dripped with blood, a slow ‘tap tap’ that soaked into the old, dirty rug beneath him.

 And you… you were already struggling.  Dabi could see it in the way your hands shook, the squint of your eyes against the light, the flare of your nostrils and tightly clenched jaw as if you were holding back the urge to vomit. Even from where Dabi stood, the metallic stench of blood was thick in the air.  For you, it must have felt like you were swimming in it.

 “Dabi!” Toga exclaimed and then she looked at you, eyes wide with hope.  “He can cauterize the wound, right??”

 You shook your head.  “It’d just cause more damage and risk infection. Spinner, hold him up and try to keep him still.  Toga, put pressure here.” You placed Toga’s hands where they needed to be, pressing down on the arteries in an attempt to stop the bleeding.  If Compress felt any pain from it, he didn’t show it.  His glassy eyes were distant as shallow, slow breaths rattled through his parted lips.

 “I need belts,” you demanded.  Everyone hesitated, confusion written across their faces. “Belts, NOW!” you bellowed angrily.

 The clinking of buckles being undone and handed over to you echoed throughout the room. Even Dabi removed his white belt, spurred to action by the firmness of your tone. His pants sagged slightly, barely held up by the bony jut of his hips.

 “I’m going to try to make a tourniquet, but it won’t be easy.” You explained.  “He’s lost his arm nearly up to the shoulder.”

 You worked swiftly, connecting the belts and wrapping them around Compress’s chest and shoulder, pulling the straps tight.  As you worked, Dabi took inventory of who was present.

 “Where’s Magne?” he asked.

 Toga was the one who answered, fury in her golden eyes. “Dead.  They killed her.”

 Your movements froze for the briefest moment before continuing.  You never looked up, never responded as you kept yourself focused on Compress’s wound.  Still, Dabi was close enough to see your eyes water slightly as you struggled to keep your composure.  Dabi recalled the first night you had treated him – how you’d said it was your job to keep everyone alive until the end.  He’d known back then that it was a foolish wish, and he’d wondered how you’d react when inevitably you wouldn’t be able to save someone.

 Now he had to watch it firsthand, to watch you struggle to save a life with practically no resources and a quirk that could only provide relief. And the victim was Compress, of all people. Compress, who accompanied you on your outings, who you talked to and laughed with; Compress who you were obviously close with.

 Dabi’s jaw clenched and his vision blurred for a brief moment.

 When he refocused, your hands were placed on Compress’s shoulder, determination in your scared eyes. Dabi’s eyes widened. In that instant, he knew what you were setting out to do, and the distance that he’d been so strict on implementing the past few days erupted into smoke.

 The yell tore from his lips. “STOP!”

 He grabbed your shoulder and yanked you back.

 But it was too late. You let out a pained cry as you fell to the floor, your body trembling.

 Everyone froze as they stared between the two of you with wide, confused eyes.  The moment dragged on as they waited for you to get back up.

 But you didn’t.  Instead, your curled into yourself, your entire body shaking as your arms covered your ears and your hands wrapped around your head. Your eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched, and teeth bared in a grimace.

 “Dabi, what the hell is wrong with you??” Spinner spat.

 But before Dabi could answer, the familiar sickly smell of Johnny’s teleportation quirk permeated the room.  

 “About fucking time.” Shigaraki grumbled.

 You wretched immediately, your senses overwhelmed by the stench mingled with the blood, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor, coughing and gagging.

 Toga grimaced at the sight, but before she could say anything, dark goo burst from everyone’s mouths, enveloping them to whisk them away to Dr. Garaki’s lab.

 Everyone except you, Dabi, and Kurogiri of course.

 A silent pause as Dabi and Kurogiri stared at each other over your curled form.

 “You’re still here.” Kurogiri stated.

 “Yeah, we’re still fucking here.” Dabi cursed.  “Looks like the crazy doc only took those who were at the run-in with the Yakuza.  I told Twice not to get involved with them, and I told Shigaraki too.  But apparently this place is run by fucking idiots.”

 A sob forced its way from your throat before another round of coughing and gagging racked your body. The air was thick with the putrid stench of vomit mingled with the lingering odor of the teleportation quirk, and it assaulted you to the point of delirium, forcing colors behind your closed eyes, and needle-like sensations across your skin.

 Dabi bent down to try to help you up, to move you away from the mess you’d made on the floor, but a cry escaped your lips at his touch. You forced your trembling body out of his hands and shoved him away from you, before scooting as far back as possible on your haunches until your back was pressed against the tattered couch, knees drawn up to your chest and head buried.

 Dabi stared at you speechlessly, his body frozen stiff.

 You shook your head in your hands back and forth. “Don’t...” you whimpered.  “Don’t touch me.  I can’t-” Another round of dry heaving took over your body, stealing your words.

 “What’s wrong with her?” Kurogiri asked.

 Dabi’s jaw clenched as he realized his error.  “She used her quirk too much.” Dabi muttered.  “Like a damn idiot. What the hell were you thinking??”

 Your arms tightened around your ears at the sound of his voice.  A pained moan bubbled past your lips before turning into a dry sob, spit dangling from your lip.  Dabi grappled with his temper and inwardly cursed himself.  Fuck, he was bad at this.  So bad at this.  His tongue was too sharp, his voice too rough.  And he had no idea – no idea at all – how to be... sensitive.  That was your strength, not his.

 Dabi racked his brain for solutions but had none.  What the hell was he supposed to do now?  He hated to see you like this, suffering, trapped. He felt useless.

 And Dabi hated nothing more than feeling useless.

 It was Kurogiri who went into action, kneeling before you.  

 “What do you need?” the nomu asked, his voice calm.

 Dabi watched in thinly veiled envy.

 There was a moment of heavy silence before your voice came through in the softest whisper. “...bath.”

 It was the only clue you were able to give before you went under again.  You fought against the overload, struggling to keep yourself above water.  But you were failing, drowning in every little experience, every minute detail of simple existence. You felt everything, heard everything, smelled everything, could see everything, even the mists of color dancing behind your eyelids when you squeezed them shut.  It incapacitated you, taking you hostage and locking you in a cage you couldn’t escape from.

 You needed your room. Your bathtub.  And judging by the look of you, there was no way you could get yourself there on your own, even with Kurogiri’s portal.  Someone had to help you.

 “I’ll take her.”

 Dabi realized it was his own voice that said those words, and he stood there, dumbfounded.  The words had fallen from his lips so easily, without thought, committing him to take on a task that he immediately knew he was ill-suited for.

 But it was too late, he couldn’t undo it.  Kurogiri was already nodding his agreement and opening up a black portal to your room. “Very well. I will clean up the... mess.”

 Dabi stared down at you, assessing. There was no way you were going to stand, let alone walk. He’d have to carry you.  He wasn’t the strongest, but he certainly wasn’t weak either. He could do it.  For you, he could do it.

 Dabi knelt down in front of you, his body poised inches from your own.  You sensed him as if the heat from his skin was a fire licking against your flesh, and you struggled to press yourself further against the couch to no avail. He stared at you, his eyes unreadable, his mouth solemn.

 The regret of what he was about to do ached deep in his chest.

 ‘I’m sorry,’ he thought.  He meant it.

 The shaking of your body froze as if you had heard his silent apology, could feel the tension building in his body the same way he did.  It was a petrified fear that stilled your muscles, made you hold your breath with a sharp intake of air.

 You knew what was coming.

 Before you could escape him, he scooped you up into his arms and dashed through the black portal.

 It’d been less than ten seconds, but it’d felt like thirty as you writhed and kicked against him, cries and protests ripping from you throat as you fought to free yourself from his hold. An instant later, you were both through the portal. Dabi barely managed to get you to your bed before he dropped you onto it with ungraceful hands thanks to your thrashing.

 As soon as you landed on your bed, you curled into a fetal position as your body racked with sobs.  It was nearly pitch black in your room, your dark curtains drawn closed.  The faintest hint of city light trickled through the cracks.

 Dabi kept his composure, his stoic mask tightly in place despite the screaming fury in his mind. Everything about this was fucking misery.  Why? Why did he sign himself up for this?  His skin was shit, his body temperature was too hot, and he wasn’t gentle. He was the worst person to do this.

 But you needed him.

 The voice was small and distant in his head, and he scoffed at it.  You didn’t need him.  You needed help.  That didn’t mean you needed him.  He should have let Kurogiri help you.

 Dabi let out a huff of air. It was too late now.

 He took a final glance at you to make sure you were okay before retreating to your bathroom to begin running the water. He turned on the light and closed the bathroom door to help ward off the light and sound.  He knew it wouldn’t help much, though, not with your quirk going full haywire.  You could likely hear a pin drop down the hall. Dabi wondered if you could hear Kurogiri scrubbing the rug downstairs.

 What temperature did you like?  How high was he supposed to fill it?  Was he supposed to add anything to it? He knew he wouldn’t be getting any more answers from you, not with the state you were in now.  He’d have to figure it out himself.  He turned on the faucet and let the tub begin to fill.  For the next five agonizing minutes, he sat on the closed toilet seat with his elbows on his knees, his fingers tightly intertwined and pressed against his lips.

 He had no plan, no strategy; in short, Dabi had no idea what the hell he was doing.

 As soon as the bath was full enough, he turned off the water and exited the bathroom.  He froze, his eyes wide, to see that you’d stripped down to nothing but your underwear, all other clothing items strewn across your bed and floor.  Even your bra was gone, sitting on the floor a mere foot away from him, highlighted by the light of the bathroom flooding across the room.  It was so unexpected, that the simple cotton pattern lodged itself firmly in his memory before he even had time to blink.

 He tore his eyes away and stared at you.  You were curled tightly into a fetal position, your back facing him, and now he could see it – your scar, stretching across your lower back like a map; a map that led to a story he didn’t know, a past that you kept under lock and key.

 He didn’t have time for that now, though.  He walked forward slowly, until he was standing over you.  Your face was wet with tears that had soaked into your sheets; your eyes still tightly closed. Your teeth chattered against the cold of the room, your skin covered in goosebumps.  Your brow was furrowed, and in that moment, it was as if you were unaware of his presence, the sound of him lost amongst the noise of everything else; the drip of the bathtub faucet, the howling of the wind outside, the rattle against the old glass windows.

 He’d have to pick you up again, and no doubt you’d fight him.

 Fuck, he hated this.

 He took a deep breath as he braced his body in preparation, then picked you up in his arms.  This time his hot hands were in direct contact with your bare skin, and it made the second attempt so much worse.  A pained scream ripped itself from your battered throat, your arms thrashing wildly, fingernails catching on the staples in his cheek.  He felt one tear, the dull tug of his flesh followed by the tickling trickle of blood. There was no pain - your quirk was still in effect on his skin, a fact he was grateful for.

 Dabi could feel his grip slipping, and a curse escaped his lips as he half dropped you, the heels of your bare feet landing on the ground with a thud. His body was strong though, his reflexes quick and he caught the rest of your weight in his arms before the rest of you went crashing down to the hard floor.  You cried out again in agony, incoherent pleas babbled from your lips.

 “No, no, no, please, no, STOP!”

 Dabi’s jaw clenched, lips pulled back into a grimace.

 “Damn it, stop fighting me.” He growled.

 Somehow it seemed to work, the sound of his words cutting through the sensory bombardment to register in your brain.  Your body mellowed just enough, even though your sobs and shaking continued, your arms crossed protectively over your exposed breasts. Dabi got his free arm behind your knees and lifted you up again to carry you the rest of the way into the bathroom, blood dripping from his chin to land on your arms. Each drip caused you to flinch in his arms, as you sucked air in through your teeth, tortured moans gurgling in your throat.

 As soon as he set you down in the water, you submerged yourself like a sea creature returning to its murky depths, until only your nose and mouth stayed above the water.

 Once you were safe, Dabi turned off the bathroom light and sat back against the bathroom wall, water dripping from his wet arms onto the tiled floor.  His chest heaved with heavy breaths as he took a moment to recover. The blood continued to drip from his chin, and he fingered at the hole where the staple had been. It was likely somewhere on your bedroom floor now; he’d find it later.  Dabi grabbed some toilet paper and held it to his open wound. Then he leaned his head back against the cold surface of the wall.

 The intensity of the past ten minutes gradually faded like a receding tide, taking with it all the signs of distress. The dripping bath faucet finally fell silent, the lapping water from your shifting beneath the surface stilled, and Dabi’s breaths mellowed into quiet puffs.  He finally opened his eyes and stared at the bathtub a couple feet in front of him. From his slouched position, he couldn’t see you.  In fact, in the darkness, he couldn’t see much of anything; just dark shapes where objects were.  The toilet, the counter... But he could hear you, ever so faintly – the quiet in and out of your breathing and the smallest sound of water sloshing against the tub when you moved – the only signs that you were alive.

 The world around him fell into silence, and for a bit, time lost its meaning.  It was as if the world around him froze with bated breath, waiting, watching as he danced on the knife’s edge of indecision.

 Should he go now that you were safely where you wanted to be? Or should he stay in case you needed him again?

 Did you need him?

 He thought of getting up and leaving, letting you have your privacy; it’s what he would have wanted if he were in your position.

 The night of his overdose flashed as a reminder in his mind, and he gave a silent wry scoff to himself. He had asked to be alone back then, but you’d refused.  And in the end, it had paid off – you might have saved his life that night with your stubbornness and quick thinking.  

 Stay or go.  Stay or go.  The thought bounced in his head, a coin flipping endlessly in a void but never landing.  It wouldn’t land, not until he made a choice.

 Up to this point, he had committed himself to putting distance between the two of you, to put an end to whatever this budding feeling was that you had somehow nurtured within him. He’d lost count on how many times he’d promised himself not to get wrapped up in you, to not care how you felt or what you did.  And he’d come so close to finally cutting those ties, to let the frayed thread of your tether to him wither and snap away strand by strand.

 But now here he was, like a goddamn lady-in-waiting, hoping you’d call on him.

 Dabi choked back a dry laugh as realization dawned on him.

 There was no choice here.  It was all a lie, an illusion he wove for himself to give himself some semblance of control over a situation he’d already yielded to. It had happened in an instant, without deliberation, without thought.  In your hour of need, Dabi had acted, committing himself to you the way you had done for him.  It didn’t matter whether he wanted to or not. It didn’t matter how he felt, what he’d done before, or what would happen next.  All he knew was he had to do something.

 Maybe it was because he felt indebted to you.  Or maybe it was because he felt guilty.

 Or maybe it was simply because you were someone who didn’t deserve to be abandoned.

 He was going to stay. He was going to stay and wait for you, for as long as it took for you to need him again or dismiss him.

 So, he waited.  And waited. The bleeding had finally stopped, so he took the opportunity to peek in the cabinet beneath your sink for a first aid kit using the light of his phone.  He heard the water shift slightly, and he glanced over at you, waiting. But it had gone quiet again, and he returned to rummaging through your cabinet.  His search was rewarded when he found the plastic container with the red plus sign on it.  He opened it up and he grabbed two bandages.  Then he opened both of them and placed them over the wound in the shape of an X to help keep the skin together.  It probably wasn’t as great as the care you would have given him, but he’d dealt with ripped staples before.  He just needed to let it heal, then he’d put a new one in.

 He returned to waiting, turning off the light of his phone to join you in the darkness.  And as he waited, his mind rolled over the memories of you, of him, of conversations and laughter, confusion and hurt.  For the first time in days, he stopped fighting the thoughts of you, instead letting them flow in and out of him like a breeze through an open window. It caressed him, soothed him, and for at least a little bit, he lost himself to it.

 “....Dabi... are you still there?”

 The whispered hush of your voice felt like a shout, ripping him from his daydreams, causing Dabi to instantly sit up. He hesitated, waiting.

 “...Dabi?” your pitch went up slightly, a sign of distress.

 “Yeah.” He answered. “I’m here.”

 You voice shook.  “C-can you turn on the water? It’s getting c-cold...”

 Had he really been sitting there for that long? Dabi checked the time on his phone. It’d been almost an hour.

 “Yeah, doll...” he replied.

 He came over to the tub, and despite your vulnerable state, he couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye.  It was dark – too dark to see anything of value.  Your features were lost, washed out in shadow.  But he could see the outline of you, the faintest hints of form that showed him that you were sitting up.  You were shivering, body shaking slightly.  Every now and then he could hear the chattering of your teeth before the sound disappeared again as you struggled to keep your jaw still. It must have sounded like a jackhammer to you.

 “It’s gonna be loud.”

 “Okay.”

 He turned on the hot water and pulled the plug on the bathtub drain to allow some of the cold water to leave.  The sound was loud and obnoxious as it gurgled, and he heard the familiar painful moan come from your throat again.  He plugged the drain again and let the hot water fill.

 As soon as the water was warm again, he turned it off.  This time, he made himself comfortable against the bathtub, his back to you.  Not a second later, you were back under the water, allowing your senses to be swallowed up in the blackness.  

 The room once again fell silent, and Dabi leaned his head back against the tub, knees drawn up so he could rest his forearms on them.  He played with the inside of his cheek with his tongue, tasting the metallic flavor of blood there, feeling the flesh already begin to swell like canker sore. You’d really done some damage...

 So, it continued. Dabi sitting alone in his thoughts while you disappeared to your underwater world of silence and darkness.  Every now and then you’d resurface to ask for his help, and he’d do it, adjusting the water temperature for you before returning back to his spot on the floor once you were satisfied.

 Time ticked by slowly, and Dabi felt stuck, trapped in a loop that he couldn’t leave.  How long did it take for you to come down from your sensory overload?  How many nights did you have to endure this alone after you’d treated him, or anyone else in the League? He’d had no idea... even when he’d first learned what your quirk did to you, he hadn’t really understood what that meant, how severe and long-lasting the effects were.

 The sound of the tub filling up without his help caused him to jump slightly before he realized you’d initiated it this time with your foot. He repositioned himself back against the bathtub.

 “How’re you holding up?” he finally asked.  The undertone of concern in his voice sounded strange, foreign, especially after days of hardly speaking.

 His eyes stared forward. The faintest amount of light trickled in from your bedroom where the atmospheric city light managed to sneak past your curtains.  It allowed the objects in your bathroom to gather form against the blackness.

 “I’m... okay...” you whispered.  “It’s... manageable.  Barely.”

 Another long awkward silence, before Dabi found the right words again.

 “Do you need anything?”

 “A hand towel?”

 The only one Dabi saw was the one hanging next to your sink, it’s lighter shade barely visible.  He snatched it down and handed it back to you. He didn’t turn to look at you, but he could hear you place the towel in the water, likely to cover the parts of yourself you didn’t want him to see, despite the darkness surrounding both of you.

 “Anything else?”

 “No, I’m okay.”

 Another long silence, and this time you were the first one to speak.

 “...can you stay with me a little longer?”

 Dabi released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

 “Yeah, doll.”

 More time passed, and yet Dabi couldn’t bring himself to pick up his phone, to scroll through the internet or stream videos on mute. It all felt unimportant, useless.  Instead, his eyes wandered around the bathroom, taking in all the little details of you.  Even in the dark, they somehow managed to make this old decrepit space feel lived in and cared for.  It was a sharp contrast to his own bathroom that held only the barest of necessities.

 After more time passed, you sat up slightly, your head adequately above water.  It’d been a few hours now since you’d first gone under water, and Dabi’s back was aching.  He didn’t complain, though, and he didn’t try to leave.  Instead, he glanced back at you.  It bothered him that he couldn’t see your face very well.  He wanted to see your eyes.  He gave up and looked forward again as his fingers began picking at the threads on his pants.

 “... Do you think Compress is going to be okay?” your voice was barely above a whisper, the fear tight in your throat.

 Dabi’s eyebrows drew together, and he was glad you couldn’t see him.  “Yeah. I’m sure he’s fine.  I hear that crazy doc can fix anything.”

 Another long silence before you spoke again.

 “Magne is gone....”

 Dabi could hear the tears in your voice before you even sniffled.  His attention on the thread between his fingers faltered.  “...yeah.”

 Another sniffle, and he glanced at you to see your dark form wipe at your cheeks. “It was too soon...” you whispered.

 More sniffles, and Dabi watched you with an unreadable gaze before looking away again.

 “Oh God,” you muttered. “Toga... Toga must be beside herself, she loved Magne.”

 “Toga loves everyone.” Dabi said dryly.

 His attempt at humor to ease his own discomfort backfired.

 “Don’t do that.” you scolded.  “Aren’t you the least bit sad?”

 Dabi hesitated.  Was he?  It would feel strange without her around from now on... but was Dabi ever close with her?  No. Dabi wasn’t close with anyone.  So, could he say he was sad about it?

 Not really.

 He gave a half-hearted shrug, unwilling to let the blunt truth fall from his lips. “I dunno what to say, doll... when you’ve been doin’ this villain thing for so long, ya get used to it after a while.  It’s easier to just not get attached.”

 “I... I don’t think I could ever do that.  Not get attached.”

 If anyone else had said that to him, he’d have scoffed and called them an idiot, told them that they weren’t going to make it as a villain.  But this was you.  You were different.  Even if the same held true – that you weren’t really made for this villain life – he couldn’t bring himself to be so callous towards you. He had to find different words, words that wouldn’t hurt.

 “I know.”

 It was the only response he could think of, but it seemed to be the right one, because you continued talking, your voice hushed.  

 “I don’t think I’d ever want to get used to it... to learn how to stop valuing people.”

 Dabi tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.

 Was that what he did? Learned to stop valuing people? To stop valuing life?  Was that why he felt so numb most of the time?  Maybe that was why he didn’t know how to handle his emotions ever since he’d come off his drugs.  He’d gotten so used to feeling nothing for so long, that now even the smallest things felt like too much.

 No wonder he felt like he was drowning all the time.

 “Is this how it’s going to be?” you asked.  “Am I just going to keep losing people I care about?” Your voice dropped to a barely audible whisper.  “Everyone getting picked off one by one until...” your words choked your throat and you swallowed.  “Are we going to lose?”

 Dabi hated to hear that fear in your voice, fueled by the despair of an inevitable violent future, and lurking beneath that, the fear of isolation, of abandonment – the fear of being the only one left to suffer loss, the only one left to mourn those who would be forgotten.

 He turned around to look at you. “Hey.” You didn’t respond, and he nudged your shoulder with his hand. “Hey.” You jumped a little at his touch and he could tell by the movement of your head that you were looking at him. “We aren’t gonna lose, okay?”

 “You don’t know that.” you replied.

 Dabi couldn’t fight you on that.  You looked away from him again, and he rolled his eyes as he let out an annoyed sigh. “Okay, fine. You’re right.  We might lose.  But we’ll go down fucking fighting, just like I’m sure Magne did.”

 “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 “Do you want me to lie to you? Tell you everything’s gonna be okay?”

 “....No.”

 “Good. ‘Cause you’re too smart for that.”

You averted your eyes.  “I’m not even really scared of dying, to be honest...”

 The mental picture of that statement flashed in Dabi’s mind and his jaw tightened as he fought down the protest that sprung to his lips.  The thought of you dying...

 You continued, unaware of his shift in mood. “I just... I don’t want to end up alone again...”

 Again.  So you’d been through this before.

 He thought of your scar, and the curiosity – the need to know – itched inside his skull.  But this wasn’t the right time to ask – not when you were already vulnerable, on the verge of spilling more tears.

 Fuck, he hated to see you cry.  It didn’t suit you. Your face was too kind for tears.

 “Hey.” He muttered.  You didn’t respond, so Dabi took your chin in his finger and tilted your face until you were facing him again.  “Look at me.” He leaned in closer to you until he could make out your eyes.  They stared at him, wide open, and he wondered if you could see better with your heightened senses.  “You won’t be alone,” he said.

 He could hear the glimmer of hope blooming in your voice.  “I won’t?”

 “Of course not.”

 “...Promise?”

 Dabi hesitated. If there was something he hated nearly as much as apologies, it was promises. They were too easy to make, and too easy to break.  And this was a promise that could be easily broken.  After all, what happened in the end was anyone’s guess.

 You knew this.  You weren’t a fool.  But the look in your eyes... the way you hung onto the open-ended silence, waiting for him to answer, silently begging him...

 Dabi’s throat suddenly felt dry, and he swallowed.  “Promise.”

 He wished could take it back as soon as he said it. He could already feel something shift within himself; the surrender of a long battle that he’d been fighting, the slow death of his resistance.

 A bittersweet feeling bloomed within his chest, beautiful and aching.  You’d won.  There was no pushing you away now, no removing you from his life. The invisible tether was renewed, forged by that single word of commitment.  A part of him was grateful.  It felt simpler, easier to give in to.  And yet, he still felt the familiar ache of longing that danced to the slow beat of his heart, an incongruous blemish on his renewed friendship with you.

 Because that’s what this was, right? This deep connection he felt? You’d used the word before, but he hadn’t quite grasped its meaning.  Even now, he still wasn’t entirely sure he understood.  It was supposed to be something good, something that eased the loneliness from both of your shoulders.

 So why did you still feel so untouchable?

 “Dabi...?”

 Your voice cut through his haze, soft and nervous.  He realized he still held your chin in his fingers, his thumb tucked into the nook just below your lip.  The insane urge to draw his thumb across the skin – to feel its plump softness – overcame him. He resisted, just barely, before finally releasing you from his hold.

 “You ready to get out?”

 “...just a little more time. It feels safe here.  But you can go if you want... you don’t have to stay anymore.”

 “Do you want me to go?”

 You hesitated, sucking air into your lungs as you held your answer on your breath.

 “No...” you finally said.

 “Then I’ll stay.”

 “Really?”

 “Don’t make it weird.”

 “Sorry...”

 Dabi gave your nose a playful pinch.  “Stop apologizing for everything.”

 “Sorry.” You said automatically, then giggled when you realized it.

 “You’re ridiculous.” Dabi muttered.  “Why do you always do that?”

 “What? Apologize?”

 “Yeah.”

 “I dunno...” you hummed. “I guess it just... feels easier sometimes.  Even if it’s not my fault, all I want is for things to get better.”

 “That’s how you get taken advantage of.”

 “Oh, c’mon.  I don’t do it that often, do I?” you sulked. Dabi could picture the pout of your lips perfectly.

 “All the time.” He replied.

 “Really??”

 “Oh yeah.”

 You hummed again. “Maybe your view is biased.  I only really do it with people I wanna keep around.”

 “You wanna keep me around?”

 “Yeah, of course. You’re a good person.  A bit of a dick, but deep down, you’re good.”

 This time Dabi let out a laugh.  “Well, that’s just poor judgment on your part.”

 You scoffed and gave his shoulder an annoyed nudge.  “I mean it, Dabi.”

 Dabi fell silent as his grin faded away.  “I treated you like shit,” he finally said.

 “Oh, you totally did,” you agreed.  You pointed your finger at him.  “And we’re gonna talk about that later, when I’m not half naked in a bathtub, trust me.”

 Dabi raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Yeah, we’ll see about that..’ he thought.  Last thing he wanted was to get into the reasons why he had been pushing you away.

 “But...”- you continued, your tone becoming solemn – “when it mattered most, you were there for me. So, see? Good person.”

 Dabi shifted uncomfortably, his lips drawn into a stubborn pout that he hoped you couldn’t see.  “Now you’re making it weird again.”

 “Not sorry.”

 Dabi could hear the smile in your voice, and a small smirk curved the corner of his mouth. “Ha ha, very funny.”

 “Thank you, I thought so...” you beamed.

 Dabi scoffed at you, then took the opportunity to change the subject. “How’s the water?”

 “A little cold,” you confessed.

 Dabi turned on the tap until you were satisfied. You still covered your ears against the noise, but once it was done, you didn’t disappear under the water like you’d done before.  Dabi returned to his position against the tub.

 Minutes ticked by as you shared the silence. Finally, after some time had passed, your voice drifted up.

 “Talk to me...”

 Dabi kept his eyes trained on your ceiling with his head tilted back.

 “About what?”

 “I don’t know... anything...” you replied.  “I like the sound of your voice...”

 Dabi struggled to suppress the smile that threatened to split across his face.  You liked his voice, huh?

 “Maybe... maybe a funny story?” you suggested.

 A funny story?  Dabi searched his brain to see if he had any of those. He didn’t interact with the League very often, but every now and then...

 “There was the time that Twice and I got shitfaced and went around and changed the locks on everyone’s doors...”

 “Really??” A laugh bubbled from your throat, and Dabi basked in the sound.

 “Yeah. Shigaraki almost disintegrated his door.”

 “What stopped him?”

 “Kurogiri. He ruined all the fun by teleporting everyone into their rooms so they could unlock the doors from the inside.”

 “Pft, party pooper.”

 Dabi let out a chuckle. “Then there was the other time Toga and Twice decided to mess with Spinner and switched everything in Spinner’s room with Toga’s room.”

 “Oh no...”

 “When he went into his room all of Toga’s shit was there, and she was hanging out in there like it was her room. Spinner lost his shit, of course.  I don’t like her much, but I gotta give her credit - she kept up with the act, insisting it was her room and had been the whole time. He thought he was going fucking crazy.”

 Another laugh rippled past your lips.

 “Then there was the time Spinner drank too much and passed out.  Both Toga and Magne had fun with that one.  You should have heard the scream he made when he saw himself in the mirror the next morning.”

 You chuckled.  “Spinner gets picked on a lot, doesn’t he?”

 Dabi shrugged.  “He’s an easy target. He’s a lightweight when he drinks, and he’s easy to rile up.”

 “Any other stories? I didn’t realize everyone was so silly together.  Sounds more like a college dorm than a League of Villains...”

 “Toga almost got herself killed by Shigaraki one time....”

 You leaned forward, completely invested.  “What happened?”

 “She managed to get a hold of one of his hands while he was asleep and painted the nails pink.”

 “No.”

 “Hot pink.”

 You gasped. “How did she even get a hold of it??”

 A mischievous grin spread across his face that gave away the answer instantly, and in that moment, he realized you did have sharper eyesight with your sensory overload.

 “You??” Your jaw hung open.  “But why? How?”

 “I got some skills of my own, doll.  Years of experience picking pockets doesn’t go away, y’know.”

 “Yeah, but why did you even help her? I thought you hated Toga.”

 “Oh, I do.  It was a win-win for me. Either she gets caught or Shigaraki is gonna show up with nail polish on his dead hand, right over his face.”

 “You’re terrible.”

 “I know.” He grinned devilishly.

 “So, what happened?”

 “Kurogiri again... he probably saved Toga’s ass, to be honest.  Used some smooth excuse to get the hand from Shigaraki and then removed the nail polish himself.”

 You let out a sigh.

 Dabi looked back at you. “How about you?  Any wild stories I should know about?”

 “Me??”

 “Yeah, college girl. You gonna tell me all of you med students didn’t have some crazy shit happening on the sides? I always hear that college is where all the fun happens.”

 “Oh, well, yeah that’s true I guess, but I didn’t really... you know... participate much.”

 “Why not? Shit, if I was in college, I’d live it up.”

 “I dunno... school was too important for me.  I didn’t want to do anything stupid that’d come back to bite me later.” Your eyes darkened and your tone changed.  “A lot of good that did me in the end, though...”

 It was the first glimpse you’d given Dabi into your troubled past, and he latched onto it instantly.  

 “What happened?”

 You pursed your lips together before answering, choosing your words carefully. “According to the records, I forged my application to the program. The real reason was that that they didn’t like my research thesis.”

 “What was your thesis?”

 Your hesitation was more palpable this time before giving the truth. “The impact of quirk suppression on physical and mental health.”

 To say your thesis would be controversial was an understatement.  Limitations and rules on quirk use were the foundation of how the Hero Society operated.  To call that golden rule into question was to question hero society as a whole.

 Dabi let out a low whistle. “Really hitting the hornet’s nest, huh?”

 You gave a half-hearted shrug.  “Can’t make a profit off hero work if you stop treating people like villains, right? They’d rather let people get sick from quirk suppression until it either kills them or manifests itself violently, then label them as a villain and let them become fodder for heroes.”

 The way you talked about it, it made villainy sound like something that was forced rather than becoming a choice.  It was too simple; it missed the bigger picture.  

 Dabi frowned.  “Do you really think that’s what villains are? Just a buncha sickos who couldn’t help themselves?”

 “Not all of them, but definitely some of them.” You caught on to the shift in his tone.  “I wasn’t looking to save everyone, Dabi. Just the ones who’d lost themselves to their quirks when the suppression became too much.”

 Dabi fell silent for a few minutes as he thought over your response.  “So that’s how you ended up joining the villains, huh?”

 “More or less…”

 There was more of course, but you weren’t willing to share it just yet.

 A sigh left your lips, and you leaned your head back against the tub.  “I wanted to be a hero in my own way of sorts... but now here I am, playing for the other team.”

 “Yeah, same.”

 “What??”

 Dabi froze as he realized what he’d said, the confession he’d just made in passing.  He fumbled.  “Nothin’, forget about it.”

 He hoped you’d let it go. And maybe if you’d seen the look in his eyes, you might have.  But this time, too much had been shared, and your curiosity got the better of you.

 “Wait... you wanted to be a hero?”

 He could hear the amusement in your voice, and he didn’t blame you.  Dabi was as far from a hero as one could get.

 Dabi looked away ashamed. He hadn’t meant to open up, let alone expose something so... weak. So stupid.  An awkward silence fell as he tried to figure out how to get out of your question and still salvage the connection he felt in this moment.

 Fortunately, your powers of perception kicked in.  You heard his silence and understood.

 “I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to pry like that.  You don’t have to answer...”

 Your words released the pressure sitting on his chest and he let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  They allowed enough space for reflection, for Dabi to make a choice.

 Maybe it was the bond you both shared, or maybe it was simply the darkness of the bathroom.  But for this first time, he felt... safe.  He felt the words begin to form on his tongue like the slow unfurling of flower petals, to allow you the first glimpse at who he was – who he really was – to allow himself, for the first time, to be seen.

His voice came forth, quiet and deep.  “...a long time ago.  When I was a kid.”

 “What happened?” your voice was soft, a soothing balm.

 An angry smile crept across his damaged lips as he stared at the staples on the back of his hand. Then he turned has hand over, palm up, and brought forth a small dancing flame.  It lit up the bathroom with its blue glow, causing shadows to shake and jump along the walls.  You squinted against it, blinded by its beauty.

 “I got my quirk.”

 “Oh. Right.”

 “Yeah.”  Dabi closed his fist and the flame extinguished, once again throwing the bathroom into blackness.  You were grateful – the flame, while beautiful, hurt your sensitive eyes.

 “That must have been hard...” you sympathized.

 Dabi let out a dry laugh. You didn’t know the half of it.  He stared at the wall in front of him as painful memories – fresh memories, that had resurfaced over the past week - played in his head.  

 “Imagine being told ever since you were born that you were born to be a hero.  That it’s your destiny, like some goddamn Chosen One.  It’s all anyone ever talks about.  Follow in daddy’s big footsteps.  And of course, being a dumb kid, you believe it. It’s all you want; all you care about. And then you wake up one day with a body that destroys itself.”

 Dabi leaned his head back. “I kept thinking that there was something I was doing wrong, that I could change it somehow... that was what he kept telling me, for years.  It was my fault; I could fix it if I just tried harder.

 “But I couldn’t.  Y’know why?”

 You shook your head, but Dabi didn’t notice.

 “Because,” he continued, “I inherited my mom’s ice resistance.” He gave a weak laugh.  “How fucked up is that? A fire user whose skin can’t handle fire.” Dabi shook his head.  “All those years wasted chasing an impossible dream.  His dream.  And my dad, he...”

 Dabi’s words faltered, unable to finish his statement.  He swallowed, forcing down the unwelcome stone of emotion that had lodged itself in his throat.

 The pause gave just enough time for his words to sink in, the invisible puzzle pieces beginning to click into place in your head.  Your eyes widened.

 “Your dad was a hero?” you asked.

 Dabi didn’t hear the slight change in the pitch in your voice or sense the tension emanating from your body. He was too busy wrapped up in his thoughts to notice, nursing old wounds and watering his hatred.  Even you were nearly forgotten in the moment, your voice disembodied, floating in the ether of his awareness.

 “Yeah.” He said bitterly. “Only on the outside, though. Behind closed doors, he was-” Dabi’s words froze as a myriad of descriptions swirled on his tongue.  Abusive.  Manipulative. Obsessive. They were all too raw, too vulnerable. He buried them with a swallow before finding different words, easier words. “He was a dick.”

 You sat in stunned silence, your thoughts torn between your budding realization of who he was and the emotional distress currently emanating from the man next to you.  You wanted to ask questions – so many more questions.  You could feel the panic start to coalesce in your throat like a newborn star, threatening to explode, and you struggled to tamp it down.

 This was not the time for this.  

 Finally, Dabi was opening up to you. Finally, he was letting you in. You stared at the slope of his shoulders, at the stiffness present through every muscle in his body.  You weren’t sure if the tension was from his newfound vulnerability with you, or from the painful memories that his words were bringing forth. Either way, you focused on the emotions rolling off of him. Anger.  Resentment. And, heaviest of all, a deep and profound sadness.

 The panic you’d been feeling ebbed as the ache in your own heart echoed the silent suffering of the man in front of you.  You understood what he meant, even if he didn’t say it outright.  And if your theory was correct – and you bet money it was - then you had no doubt on the kind of man his father was.

 You placed your hand on Dabi’s shoulder, your touch gentle.

 “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. You didn’t deserve it.”

 Without looking at you, Dabi’s hand came up to cover your hand with his own. Your skin was wet and cold, and his fingers tightened around it slightly.

 He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to speak. He didn’t want to do anything that would take him out of this moment where your words wrapped around him like giftwrapping, the touch of your hand like a bow tying it all together.  It was a gift – this single apology that he had been denied his entire life, lending credence to his experience. He’d wanted to hear those words for so long, that he'd given up that it could ever be a possibility.  He basked in it, committing the sound of your voice to memory, letting the warmth enter him to chase away his rage.

 If everything fell apart – if the League was discovered by heroes and he died tomorrow – these would be the words he’d carry with him to his grave. In his final moment, this would be the memory he’d relive in his mind, repeating it to himself until he took his last breath.

 The conversation fell silent, neither of you willing to break the peace with new words.  But everything ended eventually, and finally, your hand left his shoulder, sliding out from under the warm touch of his fingers.  It forced Dabi to move his own hand in acknowledgement, returning it to his lap where his fingers clutched together as if they could hold onto your lingering heat a little longer.  Time moved forward, and the moment was gone, leaving an ache of longing in its place.

 “You want more hot water?” he asked.

 “No. I think I’m ready to get out.” You replied.

 Dabi stood up.  “Good. My ass is numb from sitting here.”

 You pouted.  “You didn’t have to stay this whole time, you know.”

 “I know.”

 Dabi looked down at you over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the dark.  But your vision was just heightened enough that you could sense the sharpness of his gaze, as if he were trying to cut through the darkness to see you with molten blue eyes.

 A strong sense of vulnerability washed over you as you realized the state you were in.  You curled yourself up even further, trying to cover parts of yourself you didn’t want him to see.

 “Um... can you get me some clothes?” you asked, your voice timid.

 Dabi laughed.  “You shy, doll? You know I can’t even see ya, right?”  Then he added, “Besides, I’ve already seen everything...”

 You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you felt your skin grow white hot.

 “Dabi!!” You splashed him with bathwater, and he narrowly dodged it, laughing, before he stepped out of the bathroom.  

 A moment later, the light to your room turned on and you heard your dresser drawers opening and closing. He was getting your clothes like you’d asked.  Was he going to remember underwear too?  You flushed at the idea of his scarred hands touching your undergarments, his keen eyes looking over the patterns to pick one he liked...

 Your eyes widened in panic.

 Oh God, you kept your vibrator in that drawer.

 You quickly stood up from the tub and grabbed your bath towel from the hanging bar. You dropped the hand towel into the tub and wrapped the dry, soft fabric around your chest before stepping out onto the bathmat that you kept outside your tub. It was still warm from Dabi sitting there for hours, but you had no time to enjoy the feel of it.

 The sound of the drawers shuffling had gone quiet, and your skin prickled with trepidation.

 Please don’t find it, please don’t find it....

 The last thing you needed was him teasing you over that.

 “Just some pajama pants and a shirt is fine!” you yelled, hoping against all hope that he hadn’t come across it yet. After all, you kept it buried, tucked into the back of the drawer beneath your clothes.  Maybe he didn’t see it, maybe...

 You took a step toward the open bathroom door and instant regret washed over you when stepped onto wet tile.  Maybe it was from when you had splashed at him.  Or maybe it was your wet underwear that you still wore, small rivulets of water snaking down your thighs to pool at your feet.  All you knew was that one moment you were upright, and then next moment the world was tilting as you felt yourself fall backward. It happened so quickly, there was no time to scream, no time to gasp.

 But before you could crack your head on the edge of your tub, Dabi was there, his strong arm wrapped around your toweled figure.

 “Fallin’ for me already?” he teased, but his panting breath betrayed how quickly his body had moved to catch you.  He must have entered the bathroom at just the right time, his reflexes taking over.

 You were pressed up against him as he held you steady, and you froze as your eyes locked.  Cerulean blue stared at you as if searching for something and yet hiding everything.  His hand spread across the curve of your back, holding you closer, and for the briefest of moments, you felt his thumb caress the cotton fabric of the towel as if secretly exploring the shape of you. Your hand clutched the towel against your body as your other hand clutched his shirt, the cotton balled beneath your fist. His eyes dipped to glance at your lips, and your heart pounded heavy in your chest.

 “Dabi...” you whispered.

 Your eyes lowered to watch his own lips, to stare at the scarred tissue there.

 That was when you noticed it - the makeshift butterfly bandage on his cheek, the flesh there swollen and bruised with the hint of dried blood crusted beneath the patchwork. You hadn’t noticed it before... it’d been too dark, and he’d always kept his left side from facing you when he was sitting against the tub.  But now, it was all you saw.

 “Oh my God, what happened??”

 Dabi blinked.  “What?”

 He straightened up slightly, unaware that he had been slowly dipping his head down towards you.

 “Your cheek...” you released his shirt and stretched your fingers toward the wound.  “Did... did I do this??”

 Dabi’s hand caught yours before it could make contact.  “Don’t worry about it, doll.  It’ll heal.”

 “Dabi, I ripped out a staple.”

 “I said don’t worry about it. It’s not my first time.  What were you hollerin’ about, anyway?”

 You pulled away from him slightly and readjusted your towel tighter around your chest. “Oh, um.... nothing. Nevermind, forget it.”

 Dabi thrust some clothing into your hands.  “Here’s your stuff.  Try not to fall again.  I didn’t hang out with you for four hours straight just for you to crack your head open at the end.”

 Before you could give a retort, he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

 You waited silently for a couple breaths before finally removing your wet underwear and drying off your body. Your hands and feet were completely pruned by this point, your hair limp.  You checked the clothes that he’d brought you.  A t-shirt, pajama pants, and... underwear.  They were a simple cotton pair, nothing to be embarrassed about. But your heart pounded wildly in your chest regardless.  You dressed yourself quickly.

 Now you stood in front of the mirror and stared at your reflection.  You looked haggard. Your hair was a hot mess.  Your eyes had dark circles under them.  Your lips look chapped.  All in all, you couldn’t find one single attractive thing about you.

 You’re not his type. The mean voice echoed in your head.

 You pushed this intrusive thought aside with a frown, and towel dried your hair as best you could before attempting to fix it into something manageable.  Once it was adequate, you moved on to brushing your teeth, the tacky taste of bile from earlier in the evening still thick on your tongue.  The sharp zing of the toothpaste made your eyes water and made you gag, but you forced it down until you were able to rinse using the tap.  Then it was lotion, unscented deodorant, and finally clothes.  Dabi had managed to pick out good ones – an extra soft, lightweight set that wouldn’t irritate your sensitive skin too much.

 As you prepared yourself, your mind returned to your realization earlier.

 Dabi’s father was a hero. Dabi had a fire quirk.  Endeavor had a fire quirk.  Endeavor’s eyes flashed in your mind and your eyes widened. They were the same. The exact same.

 It had to be...

 No wonder you’d been scared of Dabi after the night of his withdrawal... no wonder you’d been plagued with nightmares of shifting faces and dancing flames.

 There was the tickling of an old memory in the back of your mind, of years past when you were much younger. Of a warehouse engulfed in blue flames, and the sudden loss of Endeavor’s son... It had played on every news station, the tragedy shaking the hero world.  Pictures of the damage were on the front of every newspaper, and next to it was the photo of a boy...

 What was his name...?

 For whatever reason, no matter how hard you tried to remember, it wouldn’t come to you.  Your mind was too foggy now, exhausting creeping in like vines to choke you, threatening to pull you under.

 You needed sleep.

 With a defeated sigh, you left the bathroom, half expecting Dabi to either be long gone, or waiting with a smug smirk at his recent discovery in your underwear drawer.

 Instead, you found something entirely unexpected, causing you to halt in your tracks.

 Dabi was sprawled out onto one side of your bed, his arm draped over his eyes.  His phone rested on his chest, forgotten.  You could tell instantly by the slow rise and fall of his chest that he’d fallen asleep.  And really, you couldn’t blame him.  It was plenty late into the evening, and you knew neither of you had been getting good sleep lately.

 A warmth spread within your chest as you stared at him.  He’d stayed with you the entire time and never once complained.  He’d checked on you, helped you, and confided in you. It was a monumental shift from the past few days, when he’d completely closed himself off to you. You still weren’t sure what had caused that, or why it seemed to no longer be an issue now... and you had meant what you said – you were going to talk to him about it.  You had a right to know.

 But not tonight. Fatigue pulled on your shoulders, and the bed had never looked more inviting.

 Except one problem – what to do with Dabi.

 You tilted your head as you watched him sleep.  He looked so content, his mouth parted slightly, his body finally relaxed. His shoes were still on, and you debated sneaking over to remove them from his feet but decided against it; you didn’t want to wake him.

 Instead, you settled in next to him on the bed, careful not to disturb him.  There was just barely enough space for you, and you curled onto your side, your arm tucked under your pillow.  You watched Dabi quietly for a moment, waiting to see if he would wake up. He never did, so you carefully took the phone from his hands and placed it on your nightstand before turning off the light.  You curled yourself up with your back facing him, your body temperature finding equilibrium between the natural heat emanating from his body and the cold of the room.

 It wasn’t long before you’d fallen asleep to the steady sound of his deep breaths.

____________________________________________________________________

Part 13

____________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST:

@thesimpsclub @babayaga67 @Leahvengence @sageyrage @emfeon @ladroone @leviscockwarmer @samemec @the-patchwork-ramskull @georgettesand @horsetechie​ @cosmic-rainbow-trash @wlucyw @ajaviary​ @thegratefulbread25​ @raviollirin​ @lovingandenjoying​ @jammakesjam @Poppy2303 @mycynicalsoul @ajdjshei @godcomplex-lightkinnie

In truth, you couldn’t get the thoughts out of your head.  Even as you were gathering your items in preparation for your outing with Compress, as you were collecting the money from Kurogiri, and putting together the grocery list to restock the sad, empty kitchen.  Every time you heard someone enter, you’d turn to see if it was Dabi, and be met with disappointment before returning back to your tasks.

Maybe you were getting too attached.  After all, he wasn’t exactly the type to make friends.  Your mind began scrutinizing all of the events that had happened, and how quickly it all took place.  After all, it’d been less than a week. Less than a week since you started treating him.  Granted, you’d been through far more together than you’d been through with nearly all the other League members combined, but still.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Compress’s arrival as you were reading through your list of ordered medical supplies.

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” he commented, a pleasant smile on his face.  You greeted him with a smile of your own, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly at his calm presence.

“Are you ready to go?” you asked him.

“Sadly, I won’t be able to join you this time.” He replied.  You frowned and a sinking feeling filled your gut.

“Why not?” you asked.  “Is everything okay?”

Compress let out a small chuckle and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.  “You worry too much. Everything’s fine. There’s just something I have to take care of for Shigaraki, that’s all.”

You pouted.  Compress always accompanied you on your outings.  Not only was he the most level-headed of the bunch, but it was easy for him to go unrecognized through the streets, since his face was covered by his villain costume.  His demeanor and good looks provided just the right balance of courtesy and austerity that kept strangers from getting too close or heroes asking too many questions.

“What about the pickup today? I have to pick it up today, Compress.”

“I know.  That’s why Toga will be going with you.”

You froze for a moment.  Toga?  You loved Toga, but her wildness made you hesitant about trusting her to get you to and from safely under the noses of heroes and suspicious citizens.

Compress recognized your hesitancy immediately.  “I understand why you’re nervous.  But she will be in disguise, and she’s gone out in public before and managed to come back without complications.  You’ll be alright.”

You swallowed and gave a nod.  It wasn’t like you had much choice.

“Be safe, okay?” you said.  “I’d hate it if anything were to happen to you.”

“Sometimes I believe you’re too good for this group.” Compress chided. “I’ll be fine.  You stay safe as well, and if you need me, you have my number.”

With that, he gave a quick hug over your shoulders that you leaned into gratefully, and he left.  Not long after, Toga entered, a big grin on her face.

“You ready, sis?” Her excitement was palpable, like a teenager about to go on a shopping spree at the mall.

“Yeah,” you sighed.  “Let’s go.”

When you and Toga stepped out of the dingy, poorly lit hideout, the sun was halfway to its zenith.  It was fine, though... your dealer was expecting you in the early afternoon, so you had plenty of time.  You glanced at Toga, discomfort creeping across your skin in the form of goosebumps.

She didn’t look like herself. Instead, she had taken on the form of a burly man of at least 6 feet tall, heavy dark sideburns framing a steel jaw. No doubt anyone would be afraid of her without even knowing she was wearing someone else’s skin.

“Is that...?” you started.

“The guy who attacked me? Yeah!” she replied bubbly, an odd contrast to her appearance.  “Turns out he ended up being pretty useful after all.”  She scrunched up her nose. “He’s pretty gross, though... I don’t like wearing him.  And his blood tastes nasty.”

You tried to give a sympathetic smile, but it barely reached your eyes.  You wanted to be understanding, to keep the judgment from your voice and the fear from your face, but everything about this situation was just so strange. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were in the presence of a villain, a predator. Toga was an imposter, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She was a killer, and there was no way to gloss over that fact when she wore this man’s skin - regardless of whether or not he deserved it.  

It unlocked an instinctual fear within you, every warning bell in your mind screaming danger.  No matter how much you wanted to trust her, you couldn’t help but watch her from the corner of your eye, hesitating to turn your back on her for even a second.  You weren’t sure if she noticed; if she did, she didn’t show it.  Deep down you were grateful - if she asked why you were so nervous, you weren’t sure you’d be able to give a convincing lie.

The two of you walked down the street together, making your way to the train station.  The neighborhood was dingy and poor, and had you been walking by yourself, you may have been subjected to anything from catcalls and crude remarks to groping hands and petty theft.  But with Toga in her present form, every seedy looking stranger gave you a wide berth.  Slowly your paranoia around her began to dwindle, which gave way to curiosity.

“Toga...” you ventured.  “What’s it like when you use your quirk?”

Toga glanced at you with veiled surprise before a grin spread across her masculine features.  “It’s the best feeling ever.  It’s the only time I feel free, like I’m being myself.”

“By being other people?” you asked.

She gave a small, offended huff.  “Not just anyone...” she replied.  “I want to be the people I love.  Mr. Stainy, Izuku, Ochaco... I love them with my whole being.”

Toga’s face became wistful, cheeks covered in a deep blush as her eyes watered with unshed tears.  “Nothing makes me feel closer to the ones I love than when I become them.  I feel them all around me.  On my skin, in my head... It’s the most romantic thing there is.  And when I drink their blood, I can taste the love there.  It’s sweet, like honey, and I can taste their feelings – their fears, their happiness... It only makes me love them more because I understand them.”

“But... if you don’t stop yourself, it can kill them... then they’re gone forever.”

“Yeah, I guess...” Toga shrugged evasively.  “but once I become them, they’ll always be a part of me, so I never really feel like they’re gone.  Like I’ve never really lost them.”

‘But other people lose them...’ you thought.

The conversation was cut short as the two of you arrived at the train station just in time and boarded the already-full train car.  Even so, the passengers did their best to avoid contact with the two of you, scrunching themselves up against their neighbors in an effort to give you space.

You and Toga both fell silent, unwilling to continue such a private and exposing topic with others in earshot.  But your mind kept going as your mouth stayed still.

She couldn’t control herself.  Or more specifically, she couldn’t control her quirk.  It forced itself into being expressed, mingling her feelings of love with her biological need to drink others’ blood and become them.  You couldn’t help but wonder... what was her life like before?  No doubt her quirk manifested as a child, just like everyone else’s.  How long did she force herself to suppress her quirk before she finally gave up?  You tried to imagine her as a little girl, cute and innocent, lips red with blood, small face devoid of understanding.  

The memory of a familiar young face flashed across your mind.  Dark eyes.  A kind smile.  It brought forth a deep, familiar ache, one better left forgotten. Loss weighed heavy on your chest, forcing the sharp sting of tears to your eyes before you shoved the memory away.

You didn’t want to think about it.  Not right now, not in public where you had to keep your emotions in check and focus on your surroundings.

You looked around at the various people surrounding you and Toga.  Everyone was minding their business, eyes on their phones, some with earbuds stuffed into their ears.  Your eyes glossed over the crowd, when suddenly you felt the strange itch of familiarity at the back of your mind that made you do a double-take.  

There, some guy wearing a black hoodie with his back turned to you.  You could barely see him, stuffed towards the back of the car with swaths of people between you and him, and yet something about him seemed strangely familiar.  Was it his height? His posture? You couldn’t quite place it.  You glanced at Toga to see if she noticed, but she was too busy staring at Izuku’s social media account on her phone to notice much of anything.  You looked back, but the stranger was gone.  The train came to a stop and people began exiting the train car.

“Let’s go,” Toga said, her phone back in her pocket.

With one last glance to the back of the now half-empty car, you followed Toga off the train into the busy streets of Musutafu.  This part of town was much, much nicer compared to where you came from, the streets clean, the grassy areas green and well-maintained.  Another stark difference was the number of heroes out on patrol in the city streets, their capes and flashy colors making them easily identifiable in the throngs of the bustling public.  They eyed Toga’s thug appearance with cautious eyes, but their suspicion faded when they saw you walking with her.  After all, everything about you screamed normalcy, at least compared to the burly man next to you.

The two of you never revisited your earlier conversation, especially now that you were in the enemy’s territory.  You both had to keep alert as you attempted to conduct your business under the noses of every hero you passed by. Most were nothing special – just regular people there to do their job, collect their paycheck, and go home.

But there was always a risk of running into one of the higher-ups, the heroes on the top billboard charts whose keen eyes, raw talent, or years of experience made them notice things others didn’t.

You struggled to keep yourself from clutching your tote bag too tightly with nervousness.  The smallest behavior could get you noticed, and the last thing you wanted was to be cornered by a hero who’s full of questions.

You and Toga made your way through the streets until you reached a tall, modern building stacked high with condos.  You walked on through the glass doors, finding yourself in an open foyer with elevators on both sides. A security guard sat at a counter, his head perking up at your entrance.

“Ah, welcome back, miss.” He commented as his eyes locked with yours. Then his eyes shifted to Toga, widening slightly.  “And who’s this?”

“Just a friend of mine, Yamashita-san.” You replied.  

“What happened to the other fellow?” he asked, his eyes never leaving Toga’s burly form.

“He’s not feeling well today.  This is his brother.”  You lied.

“His brother?”

“Half-brother.” Toga said gruffly.

He still didn’t look convinced, so you brought forth your kindest voice in an attempt to assuage his concerns.  “Don’t worry, Matsumoto-san knows he’s joining me.”

With doubt written across his face, he picked up the black phone on the counter and called Matsumoto’s number.  A couple of minutes later and a few exchanged words, and Yamashita hung up the receiver.  He gave you a silent nod of approval.

As you passed by him on your way to the elevators, you heard him mutter to himself, “…some interesting friends...”

You could feel the murderous desire rolling off of Toga, and as soon as the elevator doors closed on the two of you, she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.  “That security guard is dangerous.”

“Why?” you asked quietly.  You were painfully aware of the security camera positioned behind you, likely able to pick up the audio as its lens faced the elevator doors.

“Because he’s suspicious.  It’s only a matter of time before he files a concerned citizen’s report with the police and the hero commission.  I should kill him.”

“No, you should not.” You scolded with a glare.   “And don’t say that stuff here.”

Toga visibly pouted.  “Why not?”

You lowered your voice even further, your lips barely moving.  “Security cameras. And just because he finds Yatsumoto’s friends odd, doesn’t mean he’s going to report anything.  Besides, having Yamashita suddenly disappear or have his body show up in some dumpster will most definitely get the hero commission and police involved. Anyway, maybe next time you can choose a less... intimidating disguise...?”

Toga’s pout only deepened, but she fell silent in begrudging agreement.  “I’m sure he’d taste gross anyway.” She grumbled.

“I’ll talk to Yatsumoto about it.” You consoled.  “He has a way with people that gets them to trust him.”  And he had money. A lot of it.

The elevator doors opened and the two of you stepped out into an empty hallway with a single door directly in front of you.

Toga looked up and down the hall in confusion.  “Is this... the only condo on this floor?”

“On this side?” you asked.  “Yeah.  The condos are divided into separate wings with the elevators going up the center.  Each condo gets its own floor on its side of the building.”

“What?? That’s so much space!” Toga exclaimed.

“Yatsumoto’s work is very.... lucrative.” You replied.

You gave a small knock on the door in front of you. It was opened not a moment later by a tall and handsome man not much older than yourself.  Sharp, grey eyes framed in wireless glasses looked down at you, his forehead framed in black, curly locks.  Sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin framed his smile as he greeted you.

“You made it! Come on in.” he said.  “Gimme a sec while I get your stuff.”

You stepped into his apartment with a quick glance at Toga.  Her eyes were wide with intrigue, although she managed to expertly keep the blush from creeping across her cheeks – a wise move, considering her current appearance.

As soon as Yatsumoto stepped out of the living room, Toga grabbed you by your arm.  “This is your dealer??”

“And my friend,” you added. “We met when I was in med school.”

“That’s right,” Yatsumoto chimed in as he returned with a paper bag filled with various contents.  “I was going for my pharmacy PhD and she was working on her doctorate in medicine.  Some of our classes overlapped.”

“Yatsumoto was top of his graduating class and works for one of the top pharmaceutical companies in Japan.” You explained.  Toga’s eyes widened in amazement.

“Stop bragging about me.” Yatsumoto teased. “Besides, I only finished top of my class because you were forced to drop out.”

“What??” Toga exclaimed. “Why?”

An uncomfortable silence filled the space for a moment before you answered.  “Let’s just say that the government didn’t approve of my thesis.”

Your tone left no room for questions, despite the curiosity in Toga’s eyes.  Yatsumoto caught on immediately, and with a knowing glance, he changed the subject.  “Let’s go over your order...”

He opened the bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper that had been tucked into it.  “Okay, so we have...”

He began listing off the various prescriptions, taking each item out of the bag and placing it on the table as you cross-checked your list with his.  Pain meds, antibiotics, anti-anxiety medications, birth control... and then there were the other medical supplies – surgical dressings, surgical thread and needles, antiseptics.  You were grateful to see your pills in the lineup, two bottles this time instead of one.  Once the list was done and you confirmed that it was all good, he put the items back in the large paper bag.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Toga asked.  Yatsumoto nodded and pointed to where it was located.  Toga thanked him and left the room, and you returned to the matter at hand.

You opened the bag and glanced at the contents again as the memory of Dabi’s scars sat forefront in your mind.

“Any update on that one painkiller I asked for?”

“Hoping to have it by next week.” He replied.  “It’s a tough one to get, because it’s a class A drug, so usually I would use my less legal connections for it.  But there was an issue with the supply chain – the hero commission intercepted an illegal shipment that was supposed to arrive a couple of weeks ago and there’s been a shortage ever since.”

Well, that would explain why Dabi wasn’t able to find any...

Yatsumoto continued, “I have to order it through the drug administration, which means lots of carefully forged paperwork, especially at the dosage you’re asking for.  If I’m not careful, they’ll come knocking down my door.”  Then as an afterthought, he asked, “is everything okay?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You’re asking for more of your pain meds, and now you want enough of these opioids to take down a man twice your size.”  His eyes pinned you with a concerned gaze.  You fought the urge to shift uncomfortably as your scar itched.

“I’m fine,” you replied.  “The extra drugs aren’t for me.  Let’s just say I have a guy whose quirk leaves him in rough shape.”

“Hm...” he hummed, as he stared at you a moment longer.  But before he could say anything else, Toga returned from the bathroom.

“We ready to go?” Toga asked.  You could hear the undercurrent of impatience in her voice, and you remembered that she could only disguise herself as others for so long, depending on how much blood she had.

Which might have been part of why she escaped to the bathroom.

Either way, the clock was ticking, and you still had more errands to do.

“Almost.” You told her.  You turned back to your friend and handed over a roll of cash.  “Here you go, as promised.  Do you want to count it before we go?”

Yatsumoto gave a wry grin.  “It’d be bad business if I didn’t.”  Toga shifted her stance slightly, her tension palpable.  Yatsumoto noticed, his grin disappearing from his face.  “But I’ll be quick about it.”

He quickly took the bills to the table and counted them with the speed of a machine.  As he counted, you eyed his apartment, taking in the details.  Much was the same as your last visit – clean, organized... Yatsumoto took his work very seriously.

After a few minutes, he folded up the cash and turned to face you.  “You’re lucky we’re such good friends.  You’re the only one who gets such a huge discount.”

“You can afford it.” You winked.  “Besides, you do this because you want to.  You’ve always had a thing for the underdogs...”

“Yeah, I supposed you’re right...although I don’t feel much like an underdog myself, these days.” He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he looked around the condo.

“You’re helping people who really need it, people who wouldn’t be able to get help otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah... don’t start with me.”

Toga was nearly halfway out the door not a moment later.  “Okay, thank you, nice to meet you.” She said quickly as she grabbed for your arm.  

Yatsumoto furrowed his brow in concern – no doubt seeing you being dragged away by a large thug almost twice your age would have that sort of reaction.  But you flashed him a reassuring smile and waved.

“Thank you so much!” you called to him.  You were already in the elevator, the doors starting to close.  “We’ll be in touch!”

As soon as the elevator doors closed, you spun on Toga and glared at her.

“What the hell was that all about??”

Toga wore a frown that fit too well with the face she was wearing and cast a swift covert glance at the security camera. “We have maybe forty minutes left, tops.” She said, her voice low.

You felt a pit form in your stomach, and you swallowed. Forty minutes... well that wasn’t very much time at all, was it?

“How did this happen? I thought you always made sure you had enough, you know... stuff to last?”

“I do! Well, I did... I must have dropped the vial when I was on the train.”  An embarrassed blush blossomed across her cheeks.

You raised a judgmental eyebrow.  “You mean when you took your phone out of your pocket to stare at Izuku’s social media?”

Toga scoffed. “You’d stare too, if you realized how perfect he is...”

You rolled your eyes slightly.  “He’s a little young for me, don’tcha think?”

Toga only pouted and crossed her arms petulantly. You let out an exasperated sigh.  “Well, it doesn’t matter much now, does it? It’s done now, and the clock is ticking. We’ll just have to skip the market.  We can go back out again later once we get you home.”

“I could always grab a snack on our way back...” Toga offered. The implication was clear as day.  If she wasn’t able to wear this face, then she’d just have to find someone else to give her a new one.

You stared at your own stunned reflection in the mirror that made up the elevator’s interior.   “No.” you replied, trying to keep your tone light yet firm.  “Probably not a good idea in a nice neighborhood like this.  It’s crawling with heroes, remember?”

“Then we better hurry.” She replied.  “If we can at least get back to our neighborhood, it won’t matter as much.”

Easier said than done. Ten minutes later, the two of you stood at the train station, mouths agape as you stared up at the giant blaring red letters ‘OUT OF SERVICE.’

“You’ve got to be shitting me...” you muttered.  Immediately your eyes began scanning for alternative routes, trying to speedily do the math in your head.  But it was fruitless... there were no options that didn’t involve Toga transforming back into herself – naked, no less – in the middle of a crowded rail car.

“Looks like I’ll be getting a snack after all...” Toga said almost gleefully.

“There’s gotta be another way...” you whispered.

Toga scoffed.  “It’s not like we have any other choice.” She immediately began scanning the crowded train station.  “Hey, what about her? She’s cute!”

You followed her gaze to a sweet looking teenager in a light blue jacket, her hair drawn back in a ponytail.

“She’s so young...” 

You couldn’t keep the hint of sadness from your voice, but Toga didn’t seem to notice, her eyes predatory as she watched the unsuspecting victim.

“She’s probably around the same age as me...” Toga replied, a faint flush on her cheeks.

“Remember where we live. Looking like that would be asking for trouble for both of us.” You reasoned.  “Street thugs would have no problem harassing a couple of girls.”

“Hmph, okay fine.  What about him?” she pointed at a tall man, middle-aged with stern eyes and a pointed jawline.  He looked like he could be a father. Or a husband.

But even if he was none of those things, it shouldn’t matter, right? He was a person.  

“And how do you expect to even get close to him?” you asked.  “We’re in a crowded train station. Someone’s bound to notice.” 

The moral dilemma you were finding yourself in began to make your hands shake. Your own eyes began scanning the crowd, and you found yourself wishing for a seedier neighborhood, for the option of at least picking someone who likely wouldn’t be missed. A homeless person, or-

Bile rose in your throat.  You fought it down with a heavy swallow.

What were you doing??  Weighing people’s lives like you were weighing oranges? As if one life held more weight than another?  What gave you the right?

And yet, what other choices were there in a situation like this?  If a choice had to be made, how else was it to be done?  

Young or old? Parent or childless? Married or single? Business or homeless?   There was no way to know half of this just by looking at strangers in a train station.

Some dark, part of you began to understand why Toga didn’t trouble herself over selecting her victims. There was no moral way of making an immoral choice.

Of course, there was always the choice of not choosing at all, letting her disguise melt away and likely getting caught.  And perhaps if it were you having to make such a choice, that’s what you would have done.  But Toga was definitely not you.  Surrendering herself was the last thing she’d do. In her world, it was predator or prey, eat or be eaten.

In that moment, you knew... you knew that you had no control over the situation, that Toga would choose a victim.

You could feel yourself drowning in your own helplessness, watching, waiting.

Someone was going to die.

And you were going to let it happen.

If only there was someone else here, someone you could reach out to for help...

Compress. Yes, that’s it! You’d call Compress! Maybe he was close by, maybe he could use his quirk to transport you and Toga safely home...

Just then, you felt a tall presence behind you. You heard his voice before you could even turn around.

“You’re about to do something dumb, aren’t you?”

Dabi.  Dabi??

Relief flooded every inch of your being.  You spun around expecting to see Dabi’s trademark stitched jacket and white tee, but instead you were face to face with a soft, black hoodie.  You stared up into his face, but even that was mostly covered, hidden way behind sunglasses and a face mask with the hood pulled up.  Your heart pounded heavy in your chest as recognition dawned immediately.

 “What are you doing here?” Toga pouted.

“Saving your ass, apparently.” Dabi replied.  He quickly flashed an item in his gloved hand – a vial with dark red liquid in it – before it disappeared in his closed fist again.

She gasped, her face lighting up with excitement.  “Where did you find that??”

“On the coffee table at the hideout.” Dabi replied.

That was lie.  You knew it was a lie.  You were certain, without a doubt, that the unknown man you saw on the train earlier was Dabi.

“Really??” Toga asked. “I could have sworn I had it in my pocket when we left...”

You had a feeling she did too.

“Apparently not.” Dabi replied, brushing off her confusion.

You squinted your eyes at him suspiciously.  “How did you find us?”

“I ran into Compress on his way out, he told me where you guys went.” Dabi replied.  “Then I had to haul my ass over here, which I really didn’t enjoy.”

Lies upon lies.  But why? You stared at him long and hard.  Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew he was avoiding looking at you.

Which means he probably knew that you saw right through him.

“Sorry,” Toga said sheepishly.  “Can I have that vial now?”

Silently, Dabi handed it to her.  Toga grabbed it, and without even thinking - without even checking her crowded surroundings - opened the vial.  Just as she began to drink the contents, your eyes focused on an individual standing in front of a pillar in a brightly colored outfit – a hero, monitoring the train station – and his eyes scanned the crowd, moving slowly towards your direction.

“Toga...” you started in warning, but Dabi was a step ahead of you.  He let out a low curse and knocked the vial from her hand, causing the glass and half of its contents to fall down onto the train tracks.  A couple of strangers nearby looked over in confusion, but the arrival of a train and the shuffling of throngs of people provided just enough of a distraction to drown out Toga’s protest.

“Dabi, what the hell!”

“Don’t say my name, you idiot.  Are you really that fucking dumb??” Dabi demanded with a low hiss. He grabbed Toga by the arm and pulled her aside behind another pillar, out of sight of the hero.  You followed of course, afraid of getting separated from them, your ears barely picking up Dabi’s harsh but hushed voice.

“This place is crawling with heroes, and you’re just having a little drink like it’s nothing. Is that vial even the same guy you’re wearing?  Are you just gonna change right in front of all these people?”

Toga tugged her arm out of his grip.  “Of course it’s the same guy! I’m not an idiot.  Anyway, a lot of good it does me now that it’s all over the damn tracks!” Toga shot back.  “That was supposed to last me for at least another couple of hours, now I’m lucky if I’ll get one!”

A sinister chuckle bubbled in Dabi’s throat.  “Better hurry home, then,” he said mockingly.  “If you take the yellow line to the purple line, you should make it in time.”

“And what about her?” Toga pointed at you, and you stared between the two of them, eyes wide. “She still has to run the rest of her errands. Are you gonna explain to Shigaraki why there’s no food in our fridge when we get back?”

Dabi’s face shifted towards yours, and you could feel his eyes on you as he paused.  “I’ll stay with her.” He finally said.

Your stomach knotted and your heart fluttered in your chest.

A sly grin spread across Toga’s face.  “Ohhh, I see what’s going on here.  Jeez, Dabi... if you wanted her all to yourself, all you had to do ask...”

Dabi’s posture immediately stiffened, hands stuffed into his pockets, and he glared down at Toga through his black shades. “Get fucking lost.” He hissed.

As if on cue, the train for the yellow line rolled in, its doors opening to release a new crowd of people.  Toga skipped into the train car with her arms swinging.  She turned and waved at the two of you with a wink before the doors closed on her grinning face.

A long moment of silence passed as you and Dabi watched the train leave.  Finally, he muttered, “let’s go.”  He began leading you across the platform where another train was due to arrive in a few minutes.

“But the store is-”

“We’re not going to any of the stores here.  Too many heroes around. There’s a place I know in a different part of town.”

So, you sat on the metal bench and waited, watching the people around you.  You felt separate from them, alien – an outsider looking in.  It made you miss your life before everything had happened, before your world fell apart.  To be able to go shopping, sit at coffee shops, meet up with friends.

You glanced at Dabi.

Friends. You had used that word with him recently, and he hadn’t seemed to mind it too much.  And the two of you had started to get closer.  But now...

Now he wouldn’t even look at you.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

His voice cut through your thoughts, and you froze as heat flooded you.  You looked away.  “Sorry.” You mumbled.

You tried to build the courage to ask him what was bothering him, but your train rolled in before the question could even be broached.  Silently, the two of you boarded.  This train had less people on it than the other… a sign that wherever you were going was a less desirable location than where you were. Finding two neighboring seats was easy, and you settled in next to Dabi, your arms touching.  Dabi had his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, while yours clutched your tote bag.

A thousand questions ran through your mind as the train bumped along on the tracks, slightly jostling you in an unsteady rhythm.  Why had his mood shifted this morning? What was he doing on that train? Why did he lie about being there?

Why wouldn’t he look at you?

The questions piled up like snow in a winter storm, but you asked none of them, your tongue frozen to the roof of your mouth.  He was already more distant than usual, and you didn’t want to make it worse.

Minutes passed.  Long, excruciating minutes, each one compounding onto the one that came before it, a heavy weight on your shoulders as you sat unmoving as you approached your new destination.  It was torture, being close enough to feel his warmth, to smell the scent of his clothes, and yet not look at him, not talk to him like you’d grown so accustomed to doing.

So, it was a relief when his voice broke the silence. “You got everything you needed?”

You could feel his eyes on the bag, and suddenly everything clicked. The hope you’d held onto sank like a heavy stone into your gut, and your hand tightened on the strap.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“Did they have my pills?” he asked.

His question was reasonable, yet it was delivered so bluntly, that you couldn’t help the way your next words fell from your mouth.

“Wait, was that why you followed us?”

You caught Dabi’s side glance at you from behind his glasses, ocean blue flashing before disappearing again.

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.” He said dismissively.

You gave him a deadpan look and raised an eyebrow. “Sure, you don’t.”

Dabi refused to take your bait, and you rolled your eyes at him.  

“Fine.  Play dumb if you want, but I know I saw you on the train earlier.”  You crossed your arms over your bag as you sank down in your seat slightly.  “And to answer your question, no. Sorry you wasted your time.”

Now he looked at you fully, his brow furrowed in what you could only guess was confusion.

“You angry, doll?”

Doll. The word sounded like a peacekeeping gesture; a term of endearment meant to temper you.  And you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed hearing it, especially after dealing with his aloofness the entire day.

But it wasn’t enough. You bit the inside of your cheek and continued to scowl out the window. You were angry.  Angry, and a bit hurt. After all, he’d given you the cold shoulder all morning.  A part of you had hoped that maybe there was a more friendly reason for his stalking, but instead it was just about his drugs.

“Just disappointed.” You finally said as you stared at your reflection in the window.

You could see him in the scratched-up plexiglass, the bewildered question of ‘why’ written into his posture, in the way he stared at you.  But for whatever reason, the question never left his lips.  Instead, he let out a frustrated huff and faced forward again.

You didn’t want to be mad at him. And if you let yourself think it through logically, it made sense that he wanted his pills so he could stop using yours.  But why the sneaking around? Why not just ask to come along? Did he just not want to be around you?

The fragility of your relationship to him circled in your mind like a bird of prey, ready to peck out your heart.  When all was said and done, when he was healed no longer needed you... what would happen?  Were you only as valuable as your quirk?  As the drugs you provided him out of kindness and concern?

An awkward silence filled the space as you sunk further and further into your thoughts, and Dabi didn’t seem to be faring much better.  He sat next to you, his natural body heat warm as a bonfire, but his posture as cold as ice.  Clearly what you’d said had gotten under his skin the way he’d gotten under yours.

And neither of you knew how to talk about it.

It was going to be a long trip.

As you sat in walled-off silence, Dabi’s hands clenched into fists within the pocket of his hoodie.  A million things he wanted to say ran through his mind.  Yes, he had followed you. Yes, it was partially to see if you had his drugs.  But no, that wasn’t the only reason.

But Dabi couldn’t say any of those things.  Not without exposing parts of himself that he didn’t want to.  To say something as simple as ‘I was worried about you’ spoke of something he couldn’t bring himself to accept yet, even though he was constantly aware of it, an unyielding presence woven through every part of himself.  It made his stomach roil with nausea, his pulse race when he was near you, and his body want when you were apart.  He was already far too comfortable with you, to the point that it was becoming dangerous.  He was dangerous, and you were too kind and caring to realize that.  After all, you’d only ever seen one side of him, a side that he hadn’t realized was there until you’d come into his dark, broken world and shined a light on the parts of himself that he’d forgotten.

He wanted distance. He wanted space. That’s what he’d told himself when he’d retreated to his room after sharing the couch with you the night before, after waking up in fear that his nightmares had manifested into reality at the touch of his hands.

If only it were so simple. If only he could just tell himself how to feel, to force his complicated web of emotions into something simple and understandable, something he could control.  But even in this imperfect moment, he was torn between wanting to flee and wanting to lean closer to you in silent apology. 

He didn’t do either of those things.  Instead, he sat still as a statue, his fingers picking at his stitches within the pocket of his hoodie, a poor distraction to the unsettling energy within the empty train car.  The silence was the only thing left to share between the two of you, a heavy blanket of discontent and unspoken confessions.

When the train finally approached the right station, Dabi stood up swiftly, eager to distance himself from the mess he’d made for himself.

“Come on,” he said.

Without a word, you got up and followed him off the train to find yourself in a much less nice location. Graffiti covered the walls, posters for outdated movies were vandalized, and the trash cans were overflowing with refuse that likely hadn’t been picked up in weeks.  The stale stench of urine clung to the air, trapped within underground space.  You couldn’t hide the wrinkle of your nose in distaste.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked.

“I know it’s not much to look at, doll, but we’ll be much more likely to get in and out without catching someone’s eye.”

He led the way up the stairs into an afternoon sun that offered little warmth in the fall chill.  The streets here were less busy, the presence of brightly colored hero uniforms practically non-existent. Industrial complexes and scrap yards were spaced tightly together, with the occasional liquor store and small hole-in-the-wall business speckled in between. No nice cars drove here; it was old trucks, beater cars, and 18-wheelers hauling warehouse deliveries.

You kept close to Dabi as he led you down the street, turning left at the end of the block.  Up ahead, you spotted the discount grocery store, its sign half-lit and faded with age.

Dabi spoke. “They won’t have any of that fancy shit that Compress likes, but we’ll be able to get in and out without any hassle.”

He had a point there.

It was a strange experience, shopping with Dabi.  He was silent as he followed you around, his posture exuding boredom as you made your way up and down the aisles, collecting what you could off the list.  He didn’t offer to push the cart, but he didn’t leave your presence either. He was a shadow that drifted behind you, waiting with veiled impatience.  Every once in a while, he’d grab something off the shelf and throw it into the cart.  You’d give him a raised eyebrow and the smallest quirk of the corner of your mouth but didn’t say anything as you continued shopping.

Once you were at the register, the energy around Dabi shifted from boredom to irritation.  His hands were shoved even deeper into his hoodie to the point where you could make out the shape of his fists pushing against the fabric. His posture shifted every couple of seconds, the tell-tale sign that your treatment was waning. You picked up on it instantly, of course.  You checked the time on your phone.  It was nearly 5pm now; you chewed your cheek slightly.  Before, your medication and quirk combo could last him until 7ish.  But now, it seemed like the meds lasted for less and less time.

“Can we fucking go already?” he grumbled as you put the change in your wallet.

You eyed him for a moment and made your way for the exit.  “Let’s get you home.”  

You handed him a grocery bag, which he begrudgingly took.

He followed you, back hunched as you made your way back to the train station.  The walk back felt faster than the walk to the store, the path familiar now.  Before you knew it, you were both back on the train, where Dabi sank into the seat next to you.  The train car wasn’t empty this time, the seats speckled with other passengers who hardly looked up from their phones to acknowledge your existence.  In the back corner, a homeless man talked to himself, hands gesturing wildly.  A couple of unsavory looking guys slouched in the seats nearby, watching you and Dabi with dangerous eyes.  You didn’t dare bring out your pills here – it was asking for trouble.

“Can you make it until we get home?” you whispered.

“Do I have a fuckin’ choice?” Dabi replied as he stared ahead.  You could tell he was focusing on the pain, his breaths heavier than before. His knuckles clenched the handle of the grocery bag as he fought through another wave of pain.

Without thinking, you placed your hand over his in silent comfort.  He recoiled instantly.

“Don’t.” he said through clenched teeth.

The men seated nearby snickered and whispered at each other.  You felt heat roll over your skin and took back your hand.  “Sorry, I just... Sorry.” You muttered.

Dabi could hear the strain in your voice, the hurt woven with disappointment.  Fuck.

But he didn’t have the ability to console you now... not with his body slowly sinking into agony while simultaneously keeping a sharp eye on the men watching you.  If they tried anything... pain or no pain...

Thankfully for Dabi, the men kept to themselves.  

The rest of the trip home was held in stiff taciturnity, neither willing to be the first to speak and repair what had been broken.  By the time you’d both arrived back at the hideout, you couldn’t decide if you wanted to run away to the kitchen out of Dabi’s presence and put away groceries or drag his stubborn ass upstairs and give him the treatment he obviously needed.

Toga was the first to greet you as you entered, her disguise now gone.  “You’re back!” she exclaimed, bouncing up.  She hesitated though, as yours and Dabi’s mute discomfort permeated the space.  Dabi didn’t even look up in acknowledgement as he made his way to the stairwell to go up to his room.

“Woah... what happened??” Toga asked.

“A lover’s quarrel??” Twice chimed in.

“What??” you scoffed.  “No, of course not.  Don’t be ridiculous.”  You set the grocery bags down on the bar.  “Can you guys put these away for me please?”

And before they even answered, you were out the door, following in Dabi’s footsteps with your bag of goods still slung over your shoulder.  He had moved quickly, already out of sight and in the sanctuary of his room by the time you’d made your way out of the old stairwell.  You knocked on his door, the familiar rhythmic knock that let him know exactly who it was. A moment of silence passed before you spoke through the hard wood.  “Are you going to let me treat you, or what?”  The silence continued, and you sighed and leaned your head against the door.  “Please, Dabi... let me in.”

A moment later he opened the door.  But this time, he didn’t linger to let you walk past him.  Instead, he returned to sit on his bed, his fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose.  He’d already removed his hoodie and other items, sitting in his white shirt and black pants.

You hoped for some sort of remark, a snarky comment about your stubbornness, or your impatience, something.  But instead, you got silence, a great stone wall that you hadn’t felt since your early days before you’d begun treating him.

You opened your mouth, hoping to find the words to ask the question so obviously written on your face, but the words evaded you, your tongue tied up in the thick rope of Dabi’s reticence.

So, you didn’t ask.  You didn’t even speak.  You silently opened your bag, taking out the package of pharmaceuticals and first-aid materials. The bag was so full of contents that you had to dump them out on his desk to find what you needed.  There it was, your medication with your name on it, mixed amongst the pile.

Dabi watched you silently, his eyes glossing over everything with mild interest. He couldn’t help the curiosity, the demon of addiction still lurking in his blood.  He’d always wondered what other items you had on hand to treat the League.  But there were so many pill bottles, and he was too far away to read any of them. He did, however, catch the unmistakable packaging of birth control pills and his eyes widened slightly in realization.

There were only two girls – well, biological girls - in the League of Villains.  So, there was a 50/50 chance that those pills were for you.  That chance increased drastically, considering Toga was still a teenager and only cared about that green-haired kid.  And Dabi was absolutely sure that that matchup would never happen.

Which only left... you.

Were you involved with someone?  Dabi had never noticed anything with any of the other League members, but then again how much did he really even know about you?  His brain immediately began going down the list.  

Definitely not Shigaraki.  Quirk aside, he quite literally hated being touched in any way at all.  Definitely not Spinner or Twice.  Compress?

Dabi froze on that thought.  You were kind of close to him, weren’t you?  After all, he was the one who brought you into the League to begin with.  He’d seen you two share hugs before, sit next to each other on the couch, laugh together... Dabi had never thought anything of it back then.  Everything about your interactions with him had screamed of platonic friendship.  Almost brotherly, in a way.

But maybe he had it wrong.

Compress was the one who often accompanied you on your outings, and sometimes those outings took hours.  What went on during that time?  Was it strictly business? Or was it more than that, little dates here and there speckled in right under everyone’s noses?

And why wouldn’t you date him? Dabi had seen him without his mask before; he was a handsome guy, and older, more experienced.  By far the most emotionally and mentally stable out of everyone in the League.  More stable than himself, that was for sure, and likely, from your perspective, more attractive too.

The unwanted mental picture of Compress kissing you, holding you, touching you burst into his mind like a hurricane, powerful and destructive.

Dabi felt his temperature rise and his hands clenched into tight fists into his bed sheets.  His vision blurred as an unwelcome feeling settled deep into his gut, cold and heavy like lead.  It weighed him down, immobilized him as he struggled against it, as he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter who you dated, or who you fucked...

But it did.  It did matter.

You caught Dabi’s attention again as you began putting items back into your bag, leaving out the gauze, surgical dressings, and painkillers.  He struggled to get his tangled, wild emotions under control before you turned around and saw the look on his face.  But the heat lingered, the blood in his veins sizzling with barely contained anger.

Your voice cut through his internal battle. “Here.”

Your hand was extended, pills displayed in offering.  Without a word, Dabi took them and swallowed them hungrily, as if they could dissolve the feelings trapped inside himself.

He couldn’t look at you, not without that mental picture of you and Compress together popping up in his head again and again.

Out of his peripheral, he saw you take some pills as well, following them with water from a water bottle you pulled from your bag.

That’s right – you could take your own pills now too.  He knew it’d take time for them to take effect, but even so, amongst Dabi’s inner turmoil, he found the faintest hint of relief that you wouldn’t have to suffer like you have been, at least not for much longer.

You stepped away to wash your hands in his bathroom sink and returned a couple minutes later, hands poised and ready.

“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said quietly.

Dabi obliged, and you began helping him remove his bandages so you could clean and repatch his wound.

“You’re really warm.” You commented, concern laced through your words.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He lied.

You narrowed your eyes and tightened your lips, and he knew you understood the implications of that familiar phrase.  You didn’t comment on it though, instead moving forward with your care.

“Your burn is healing well...” you commented.  “We’ll probably have to only change your bandages once a day, soon.”

“How soon?”

“Maybe a couple more days... if you’re good.” 

The unspoken comment was there – ‘don’t use your quirk.’  A small playful smirk emerged at the corner of your mouth.  Normally, Dabi would scoff and give a wry rebuttal.  But his thoughts choked him in an invisible iron grip, as he grappled with your kind playfulness.  It made his mood even more sour, a taunting reminder of what wasn’t really his, and in that moment it felt as if the two of you were worlds apart, despite the fact that you literally had your hands on his hot skin.

Your small smile vanished in defeat against Dabi’s wall of silence, and you remained silent for the rest of your visit.

Dabi hated it. He hated seeing the hurt in your eyes, hated seeing your body language gradually tense against the overuse of your quirk as you stubbornly insisted on treating his nerve pain despite your obvious offense at his aloof behavior the entire day.

And he hated even more his continued silence, his inability – or was it unwillingness? – to speak to you, to offer at least a crumb of comfort across the vast emptiness.

And what he hated most of all, was letting you walk out the door of his room alone, the connection the two of you had shared up to this point now dangerously fractured to the point of breaking.

------

Part 12

------

Taglist: @thesimpsclub @babayaga67 @Leahvengence @sageyrage @emfeon @ladroone @leviscockwarmer @samemec @the-patchwork-ramskull @georgettesand @horsetechie @cosmic-rainbow-trash​

“I was out running some errands and a thug tried to jump me in an alleyway.” Toga replied cheerfully. She halted in her tracks.  “Oh… aren’t you still sick with the flu?”  She instantly covered her mouth and nose with her free hand, taking a step back.

“Huh? Oh!” you exclaimed. Right.  Crap. You forgot about that little white lie.  “Sorry, hang on a sec.”  You quickly went to your medical bag and pulled out a white disposable mask, placing it over your face.  “Is that better?” You asked, your voice muffled.

The tension in Toga’s shoulders instantly left, her posture easing as her hand dropped away from her face. “Yeah, thanks.  Are you feeling okay?  I could try to do this myself this time…”

You balked at the thought of Toga treating her own injuries.

“I’m fine right now, I promise.” You replied. 

The blonde shrugged and fully entered your space, although her folded hands in front of her body communicated she didn’t want to touch anything.

“So, a guy jumped you in an alley?” You asked.

“Yeah.  He was big, too.  And had a quirk that gave him extra reach on his arms.”  Toga explained.

You weren’t quite sure what sort of errands required Toga to be in alleyways, but you had a feeling none of them were good. The curiosity pulled at you - you could feel the question on your lips, but you swallowed it down.  When you had first joined the League, you and Shigaraki had discussed the importance of compartmentalizing your role from the others.  You were the only one out of the group who was defenseless after all, so as the weakest link within the League, you had both decided it would be best if you knew as little of the League’s affairs as possible, in case you ever got captured and questioned.  You were allowed to participate in general discussions regarding the League’s next moves and what areas were important to you that you wanted to focus on, but the nitty gritty details were kept separate: private meetings with other villains, locations, times, that sort of thing.  So, despite your curiosity, you knew not to pry.

Instead, you asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “but I can’t get this to stop bleeding.”

“Let’s take a look.” You gingerly removed the cloth from the wound to see a deep gash in the skin before new blood filled up. You placed the washcloth back over the wound before it could spill over.  “Hm. Better keep that on there.  You’re going to need stitches.”

“I figured.” She grinned. She took over holding the cloth to her head while you grabbed your medical bag.  You escorted her into your bathroom and had her sit on the toilet seat. Her outfit was speckled with blood, some of it from her wound, and, you suspected, some of it not.

“So…” you started, as you washed your hands in the sink. “What happened to the thug?”

“I drained him.” She replied cheerfully.  The casualness of her statement filled you with a confusing mixture of fear and pity.

“You killed him?” you asked, as you prepped your needle and thread.

Toga looked at you with her yellow feline-like eyes.  “He would have killed me if I didn’t.”

“Tilt your head back.” You instructed.  Toga did as you said, and you carefully removed the cloth before placing your fingers over her open wound. She winced slightly at the contact, but quickly relaxed as your quirk soaked in. 

Silence filled the room as you cleaned her wound with antiseptic and set to work.  The heavy quiet dragged on as your mind mulled over the girl next to you.  You had a thousand questions in your mind, but none of them seemed very appropriate to ask, not without upsetting her.  And despite your good standing with the League, you made it a careful point not to get on anyone’s bad side.  It wasn’t so much that you didn’t trust them, although a part of you was always wary around those who were willing to commit violence.  But you also understood on a personal level that the problems these villains had went far deeper than society was willing to acknowledge.  Mental illness, quirkology, environment… all of it played a role in dealing the hand that these outcast individuals had been dealt.

Minutes passed as you stitched up the cut and cleaned the blood from the sealed wound once more. You were washing your hands when Toga finally spoke, her voice soft.  “Are you mad at me?”

You paused to look down at her.  Her brow was furrowed, her mouth pulled into a sulky frown as she stared at her hands. She looked like a child waiting to be scolded, and in that moment, you could see how young she still was.  You gave a soft sigh.  “Of course not.  He attacked you, right? You had to defend yourself.”

You paused then followed up with, “I’m sorry you had to do it.”

“Don’t be…” she replied. “I liked killing him.”

Your hands faltered as you began putting away your supplies and Toga noticed. 

“You don’t like it, do you?” she asked, accusation lacing her voice. She was defensive, waiting for your judgement. 

You couldn’t blame her. No doubt her quirk was something she likely struggled with all of her life before finally giving in to it.  She had never given you her story directly, but it wasn’t hard to guess.  Everything about her – from her ramblings to her actions - spoke of a caged animal who finally got a taste of freedom and refused to be captured.

Contradicting feelings warred within you, and you struggled to wrangle them.  You had to admit, you hated the idea of her killing.  More importantly, you knew that her victims weren’t always street thugs, villains, or corrupted heroes.  But at the same time, despite this uncomfortable fact, you also understood how strongly quirks affected behavior, how it could act like a poison, messing with the mind and forcing its way into being expressed.  It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it; you understood it intimately.

You looked down at her and a familiar sense of pity unfurled in your gut, snaking into your veins, pulling at your emotions even as your core roiled at the idea of needless violence. She was just like him... a victim in her own way, despite the horrific things she did.

“You think I’m a monster.” Her words cut through your thoughts, and your attention refocused on her. She had her knees hugged up to her chest, her feet propped on the closed toilet lid that she occupied.  You mentally scolded yourself for abandoning her as you got lost in your head and crouched down next to her.

“No.  I don’t think you’re a monster.” You answered soothingly.

“Then why do you look scared of me?” Toga demanded. 

You gave her a smile that you hoped reached your eyes. She was more perceptive than you gave her credit for sometimes.  You had to choose your words carefully. 

“I’m not scared of you.” You explained.  “ But I am a healer, Toga. I see someone who’s hurt, and I want to take that pain away.  It’s what my quirk is. It’s a part of who I am and it’s what motivates me. So, I won’t deny that it’s hard for me sometimes to understand why you do what you do because it’s so opposite of how I am.”

Toga averted her eyes, her body tightening in on itself.

“But…” you continued as you placed a hand on her forearm, “I’m not scared of you.  And even though you do monstrous things, I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Toga slowly lowered her knees, letting her feet touch the floor as she stared at you.  “Why not?” she asked.

“Because,” you replied, “You still care about people.  You and Twice were the first to welcome and befriend me when I joined the League. And the way you take care of Twice… like he’s your big brother… that counts for something.  You even care about Dabi, even though he’s an ass. That was why you checked on him that night, right?  You treat each of us like family.  Now why would a monster do that?”

“But I still want to cut you guys all the time…” she confessed.

“I know.  But you don’t.  That should count for something.”

Toga smiled at you with teary eyes.  “You’re so nice, big sis.”  Her compliment made you smile. 

Toga hopped of the toilet with a nimble bounce, signaling the end of the conversation.  “Am I all done?”

You nodded.  “You’re free to go.” You announced.  Toga made her way to your bedroom door, but she halted when you called her name.  “Toga… don’t forget to change your clothes.”

Toga looked down at the bloodstains splattered across her school uniform.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.  Thanks, big sis!”

She left your room with a jovial wave.  As soon as the door closed behind her, you slumped down onto your bed as you removed the white mask from your face and placed it on your nightstand.  Exhaustion washed over you again, deeper this time than it was before.  It wasn’t even so much due to your quirk since you didn’t have to use very much of it this time.  Instead, your mind focused on Toga, replaying the conversation.  It filled you with a swath of competing emotions; pity, anger, frustration, helplessness, fear.  The feelings swirled in you making a rank stew in your soul, old and familiar.

This was just like before.

You shoved the feelings aside, unwilling to look too closely at them. You already had enough on your plate as it was… you didn’t want to dredge up more of the past.  It would only add more stress and it wouldn’t change anything.

You laid down again in the hopes that this time, finally, your sleep would be nightmare free and uninterrupted.

 * * * * *

The withdrawal-induced restlessness Dabi felt lasted throughout the day, making sleep near impossible.  To keep himself from going crazy, he forced his energy into cleaning up his space, despite his typical disdain for chores.  He straightened up his desk, took out the trash, and most importantly, did his laundry. It was overflowing and stank of mildew, and he was in desperate need of clean towels.  His bed was no better, reeking of sweat and infection and covered in chip crumbs. But while his body appreciated the movement, the lack of mental power the activities required did little to distract from intrusive, obsessive thoughts.

He wasn’t sure which thoughts he wanted to avoid more - thoughts of his family or thoughts of you.  The memories of family were old and familiar, but the emotions in them were raw, threatening to suck him in and shred him to pieces like it’d already done so many times before.  But thoughts of you weren’t much better, at least not to Dabi. He didn’t like the warmth he felt each time he thought of you, and yet he kept going back to that feeling, like opening the fridge to stare at that last piece of cake.  He was at war with himself, and he didn’t know how to fight it.

Somehow, with all of his coming and going from his room, he somehow managed to never run into you. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but like all other uncomfortable thoughts, his forced himself not to focus on it.  It shouldn’t be important.  You shouldn’t be important.  His mouth pressed into a thin line.  The number of times he had to tell himself that were becoming too many to count, and it never did seem to make much difference.  

The cleaning only occupied him for so long.  Towards the end of it he found himself sitting in his room, waiting for his clothes to finish drying so he could retrieve them.  He had laid back on his bed just for a moment, to stare at his phone. He woke up an hour and a half later, his mind muddled with jumbled dreams and memories.  Cigarette smoke, a child’s laughter, the sound of himself screaming in agony…

He shook his head to knock the unwanted fog from his brain and grabbed a smoke to soothe the shaking in his hands.  The cigarette was gone within a minute.  The haze still lingered though as every inch of Dabi’s nerves hummed and his gut clenched in discomfort.  So, he inhaled a second cigarette for good measure and followed it up with an electrolyte drink paired with a couple of antacids.  His laundry was likely done now; no point in letting it sit there and risk another League member touching his things.

With the laundry dry and sitting on his bed in a crumpled heap, he stared at the contents, a frown on his face.  Your towels were mingled with his, and the sight of it filled him with an uneasiness that had little to do with his withdrawal.  It looked entirely alien to him, intrusive in his personal space.  His stomach gave a weird flutter before giving way to a wave of nausea.

Stupid, he thought to himself.  They’re just fucking towels.

He began folding the first towel. It was half-assed in its effort and one hundred percent intentional, as if giving careful care to your items would give away something about himself he wanted to keep secret.  But even as he did so, intrusive curiosity crept into his mind.  How did you fold your towels?

Idiot.  He caught his wandering mind and reeled it back in forcefully, but it did little good. His mind was a master escape artist, running away to explore other unwanted thoughts without his permission as soon as his mental back was turned.

As he folded your items, his hands slowed slightly in their actions, taking in the feel of cotton on his fingers. He watched as he rolled the soft material between his thumb and forefinger while memories bubbled forth, broken and vague.  Waking up in the shower, sitting on the toilet with your towel over his head, feeling of your hands working the cotton over his wet hair. He tried not to think of your face, but of course not wanting it made it appear in his mind.  He remembered your eyes, the concern in them, and the memory filled him with a warmth that he was still struggling to understand, even as he tried to deny its presence. 

It was short-lived – the memory of your tender gaze soon faded away to a terrified one, and now he was remembering your scar.  A new thought came into his mind then, dark and plaguing. The look of fear you’d given him that night - did you wear that same frightened expression on your face when you were burned, marked by whatever asshole laid their hands on you?

Dabi could feel his body temperature begin to rise.

The last towel was folded, and he swiftly grabbed the pile and shoved it on top of his dresser as if were contaminated.  Contaminated with memories, contaminated with you…

He faltered for a moment, his anger disrupted by that strange sense of guilt that gnawed at him.  The unwelcome mental picture of you cowering in fear as flames licked your skin danced in his imagination.  No wonder you had been so utterly terrified of him that night. No wonder you’d been unable to look him in the eyes the next day…

Dabi caught himself staring at your things and forced himself to turn around to finish his laundry. He folded his clothes swiftly, not caring whether or not they were done nicely before shoving them into the dresser drawer. Then, with his clean towels in his arm, he went into the bathroom to give himself that much-needed shower.

 * * * * *

You woke up feeling groggier than usual as the orange-red glow of the late afternoon haze filtered into your room. As predicted, your sleep was restless and riddled with hazy uncomfortable dreams that instantly began to fade away as soon as you opened your eyes.  You sighed in annoyance as dissatisfaction slinked across your tired skin. It was as if you had slept the entire time with your body tensed, ready to run at a moment’s notice, and now you were feeling the effects. 

You got out of bed with a stretch to ease the stiffness in your muscles.  Maybe something to eat and drink could lift your spirits and wake your body up.  You slipped on your shoes and opened the door before remembering to grab your mask off of your nightstand.  Then, you left your room to trudge downstairs.

The smell of pizza greeted you as soon as you stepped out onto the main floor, and your stomach growled in response, your mouth watering.

“Y/N!” Toga cheered. “Did you take a nap?”

You frowned as your hand self-consciously went to your messy hair. Was it really that obvious?

“Yeah, I was pretty tired.” You confessed, as you tried to fix your stray strands.

“Are you feeling any better?” Magne asked.  You could tell she was asking about the ‘flu’ you were supposed to have.

You shrugged. “Yeah, a little…”

“And how about Dabi? You were treating him too, right?” Magne continued.

You felt embarrassment bubble in you, and you scratched at your cheek as a distraction.  “He’s doing okay… I think it’s hitting him harder, though. He’s probably going to need some more time to recover.”

“He came down here yesterday without a mask and everything.” Spinner grumbled. “Then decided to take a stroll.  He couldn’t be that bad, could he?”

You shrugged. “Stomach bugs are weird and vary from person to person.”

Shigaraki’s voice surprised you from behind.  “How’s his burn?”

He knew about that…?  Maybe Dabi said something the day before.  Either way, no point in lying about it now…

“It’s doing well... but it’s not completely healed yet.”

Shigaraki grunted and grabbed a slice of pizza from the open box sitting on the bar.

“Hey, Y/N!  You want some pizza?” Twice offered.

“Yes, that’d be-“

“She can’t eat pizza when she has the flu!” Toga scolded.  “She might throw it up.  She needs something simple!”

Your heart sank.  No pizza??

“No, it’s okay…” you started, your eyes staring at the perfect slice.

“I’ll go make you something, okay big sis?” Toga chirped as she bounded lightly towards the small kitchen behind the bar.

Oh… oh no….

“Oh, um… it’s okay Toga, I’m not really hungry…” you tried to call after her, but she was already gone and out of earshot.

You fiddled with your hands nervously.  Cooking was not one of Toga’s strong suits.  Fortunately, Kurogiri was present, watching the exchange.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t burn down the kitchen.” He commented, as he followed after her.

You stood there awkwardly, strongly contemplating grabbing the entire pizza box and running away with it. But you’d just had that personal exchange with Toga earlier, so abandoning her when she was trying to do something nice for you probably wouldn’t go over well.

Damn it.  You were too nice for your own good sometimes.

On defeated feet, you walked over to the couch and sat down next to Compress who was reading a book. He put the item down as you sat next to him and gave you a smile.  “How nice of you to grace me with your company, little flower.”

You crossed your arms and sulked into the couch cushions, wishing they would swallow you up.  “Toga is cooking for me.”

“Oh dear, so I heard.” He commented.  “However, Kurogiri is supervising her.  Perhaps this time it won’t be so bad.”

“Kurogiri doesn’t eat.” You pointed out.

“True,” he laughed. “But perhaps you set your standards too high.  I never said he’d ensure that the food is good; however, his assistance may ensure that it is edible.”

“Don’t you use logic on me, Mr.” you replied, even as you tried to suppress a smile.

“Then perhaps a magic trick then?” he offered.  “As a distraction.”

“Sure.” You grinned.

A few minutes later, Toga came out with two steaming bowls sitting on a rectangular tray.

“Oh good! You’re still here!” Toga smiled.  “I made you soup!”

You stifled a groan as you stood up and stared at the contents.  It… didn’t look bad…. It looked like it was canned soup at least, which, all things considered, were one of the simplest things to make. Still, it had that a slight burned odor to it when the steam reached your nose.

“Why are there two bowls?” you asked.

“Oh!  One’s for you and one’s for Dabi.”  Toga explained.  Behind her, Magne chuckled at the table.  “He hasn’t come down to eat yet today so he’s probably hungry.”

“It was my suggestion.” Kurogiri stated.  “You are still sick after all, so it would be in the League’s interest if you and Dabi had your meals in your rooms until you are no longer contagious.”

“Maybe it can be like a little dinner date!” Toga added.

You fought the flush of hot heat that seemed to take over your insides.  “A what?”

The last thing you needed was the League thinking you and Dabi were dating.

The blonde girl giggled as she handed you the tray.  Her hands instantly went up to her hot cheeks, her eyes glazed over with infatuation. “What I wouldn’t give to have a private dinner date with Izuku!”

“Oh geez, not this again…” Spinner grumbled.

“Hey!” Toga shot at him.  “It’s rude to tease a girl in love!”

You were grateful that Toga was easily distracted, and you took the opportunity to make your escape. “O-Okay. I guess I’ll go take this upstairs then… Thank you, Toga.” You mumbled.

You walked out of the room quickly, the soup sloshing in the bowls and threatening to spill.  But you wanted to get out of there before things got even more awkward.  Toga wasn’t even the real concern – the real concern was Magne.  Her chuckle had not gone unnoticed by you, and she was a master conversationalist when she wanted to be.  The last thing you needed was more intrusive questions or implied statements, especially with everyone there to listen in.

You took the stairs instead of the elevator, not trusting the old rust bucket to run smooth enough with bowls of hot soup in front of you.

Dinner date.  You wanted to laugh.  Dabi certainly wasn’t the type to do dinner dates.  In fact, Dabi probably didn’t even date. He probably just hooked up with random girls whenever he felt like it.

Your stomach tightened into an uncomfortable knot.

It didn’t matter.  You weren’t his type anyway.  And he shouldn’t be yours, not with all of his baggage. And boy, did he seem to have a lot of baggage.  Besides, he didn’t need the pressure of someone pining over him while he struggled to keep himself together.  He needed someone he could trust.  He needed a friend.

You felt yourself start to calm as you centered yourself on that single fact.  He needed a friend. You could do that.  You’d already committed yourself to it.

You made it to your own room and set the tray on the floor outside your door so you could go in and grab your medical bag.  If you were going to take soup to Dabi, then you might as well treat his wounds and give him his pills.  It was about time for it anyway.  With your bag slung onto your shoulder and the tray once again in your hand, you went over to his door and knocked.

It opened and you froze, eyes wide, as a warm humid air wrapped you up in the scent of shampoo and body wash.

Dabi stood before you in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that left little to the imagination.  Shit. It hadn’t even been a full five seconds and you were already staring at his crotch.  Hot embarrassment flooded you as you averted your eyes, only to get stuck on his glistening, bare form.  You’d seen him shirtless many times, had your hands on his body, even… but something about this moment was different.  Maybe it was the shower.  Maybe it was the simple - yet absolutely sinful - sweatpants.  Or maybe it was how he seemed to be carrying himself in this moment, like he was the king of his domain.  He was a living art piece, every angle of him stunning from the slope of his shoulders to the cut of his lean waist. Even his stitches looked beautiful, the light bouncing off of them like gems.  Whatever it was, Dabi seemed to be a thousand times hotter than you remember him being, and it left your brain feeling dumb as hot desire washed over you.

You were staring.  You knew you were staring but you couldn’t break the trance he seemed to put you in. Your eyes took in the cut of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips.   Aqua blue eyes stared at you in knowing amusement, grabbing you like the tide and pulling you in.  You could feel yourself floundering beneath his intense gaze as you struggled to get a hold of yourself.

“Uh…” you stuttered.

You were still staring.

“Hey, Doll­…” He greeted, a playful grin on his lips.  His voice washed over you, and you felt lightheaded.

This was so embarrassing.  If he had any doubts that you found him attractive before, then he certainly didn’t now.

“Hi.” You said dumbly.

His eyes broke contact with yours to look down.  “Hey-” His hand shot out to quickly grab the tilting tray, soup splashing messily over the sides of the bowls.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry.” You cursed, as you adjusted your hold. You kept your eyes down, unable to stare at him any longer.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” 

Was that a chuckle you heard in his voice?  How dare he.

You crossed the threshold, only to find yourself even more smothered by the clean scent of his recent shower that permeated the entire space like a fog.  Beneath it, the faint hint of cigarette smoke was present, but it was muted.  The light in the room was dimmer than you remembered and you realized why – he had put one of his shirts over his shoddy lamp, reducing its brightness.  The humid warmth in the room was paired with a strange heavy silence.  Your eyes instantly checked his window and there was no billow of the curtains this time, no street noise coming forth.  Your breath froze in your throat for a moment as you realized – he remembered.  All the things that had bothered you this morning were modified for your arrival.  A weightlessness swelled in your chest, intertwining with the attraction you were still grappling with.  You set the tray down with shaky hands before wiping your sweaty palms onto your pants.

Dabi came to stand next to you with his towel on his shoulder, the warm bare skin of his chest brushing against your arm as he stared down at the bowls.  With his proximity so close and your own emotions running amok, it took every ounce of mental fortitude not to hug him right then and there.

“Did you make that?” he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Oh, uh.. Toga did.” You finally said, as you moved slightly away from his bare skin.

“We should have let the tray fall.”  He stated as he stared at the contents with distaste.  You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, and it helped clear some of the brain fog.  He gave you a soft glare.  “Why did you even take this?  You should have just said no.”

“Well, not all of us can be as nice as you, Dabi.” You teased.  “Besides, she wanted to do something nice for us because she thinks we’re sick.”  You explained.

“If I eat that I probably will be.” He retorted.

“Oh, come on… it’s probably not that bad… just a little smokiness to it.  That shouldn’t bother you, right?” You put a spoon into a bowl and handed it to him.

He gave you a deadpan look as you held the bowl against his chest, his hands refusing to take it. “I’m not eating it.”

“Hey, if I have to eat this, then so do you.” You glared.

“Like hell.” He replied. “Besides, I already have food here.”

You set the bowl down and stared at the bags on his desk.  “Yes, chips, beef jerky, and cigarettes!  So healthy.”

“The three basic food groups.” He agreed with a grin. He sat down in his desk chair, his legs spread wide as he slouched back.  It took extra effort to not let your eyes wander.  “Tell ya what, doll… you try it first.  If you don’t throw up or die, then maybe I’ll consider eating mine.”

You rolled your eyes at him and grabbed your bowl.  “Fine, you big baby.” 

You filled your spoon and raised it to him in a mock toast before placing it into your mouth.  He watched the motion in silent amusement, his eyes focused on your lips as they closed around the spoon.

It was awful.  Definitely burnt.  And the parts that weren’t burnt were overcooked, making the textures all wrong in your mouth.  You swallowed forcefully, suppressing a gag.

“Mmm… You look like you enjoyed that.”  Dabi teased.

“Hey at least I’ve actually tried it.” You shot back.  “So, I guess that means only one of us is a little bitch.” 

Dabi’s eyes widened, the light in them dancing in amusement, as a grin spread across his face. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, doll?  You’ve been with the League too long.”

You pointed your spoon at him.  “Don’t try to act like you know me.  And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not dead.  So eat up.”  You picked up his bowl again and held it under his nose. By this point, you knew the soup wasn’t really that edible, but now you were determined to have him suffer with you.

The smell wafted up and he wrinkled his nose.  He pushed the bowl away back towards you.  “I don’t think so.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.  “You said you’d try it if I did.”

“I said I’d consider it.”  He replied. “It’s been considered and denied.”

“You’re an ass.” You pouted. “It really is awful though…” you confessed.  “and she had Kurogiri with her, too.  Like… how?”

“Kurogiri doesn’t eat.” Dabi replied.

You laughed.  “That’s what I told Compress!”

Your conversation was interrupted by a loud, hungry rumble in your gut.

A low chuckle rumbled from Dabi’s chest that made your heart pound and your flesh feel warm.  “C’mon doll, don’t torture yourself.” He said. “Why don’t we just go get a bite to eat. There’s nothing keeping us locked up in here.”

Toga’s words echoed in your head.  Dinner date.  Oh geez, if she or Magne saw you two leaving the premises together, you’d never hear the end of it.  The offer was tempting though, and you were pretty sure Dabi was starting to get tired of his snacks.  Junk food could only satisfy for so long; at some point he needed a proper meal.

But something nagged at you as you stared at the man in front of you.  He seemed to be doing okay at first glance… his recent shower certainly seemed to lift his spirits.  But you had been too distracted by his attractiveness earlier that you hadn’t taken the time to really assess him.  Now, you could see the exhaustion still in his face, could see the small wiggle of his leg and the drumming of his fingers on the table.   You checked the time on your phone – no doubt your quirk and the pills were beginning to wear off.  But how far along that was, you couldn’t really say; it was hard to tell with Dabi; he didn’t show his pain very easily.

You knew your appetite would disappear once you pushed yourself into sensory overload.  But Dabi couldn’t wait, even if he might try to play it off that he could.  More importantly, you didn’t want to try to deal with a withdrawal-suffering Dabi out in public. Your heart sank slightly. Goodbye delicious dinner, for the second time that night.

“…I should probably treat you first.” Your eyes landed on his bag of goods as your stomach rumbled again. “But maybe a snack would be good.” You confessed.  You felt embarrassed for asking, especially after the big show you’d just point on… but pride had to take a back seat before your stomach ate itself.

His blue eyes stared at you for a long moment.  You could feel your skin start to prickle under the weight of them.

“Sure, doll.”  He finally said.  He rummaged through one of the bags until he found what he was looking for under a bag of spicy chips.  “Is this your style?”

He tossed you a prepackaged muffin about the size of a softball.  You couldn’t fight the smile that blossomed across your face.  “Yeah, thanks.”  You opened up the wrapping and began breaking off pieces of it.  “You want some?” you offered, holding the muffin towards him.

He shook his head. “Nah.  Don’t feel much like eating.”

You broke off half of the muffin for him anyway.  “I still need to give you your pills, so you should eat something first.  Besides, this is too big for me to finish by myself anyway.” 

Was it a lie?  Of course. You were starving.  Did Dabi know that you were lying?  Of course.  But he took the other half of the muffin anyway.  You sat on the edge of his bed while he sat in his chair as the two of you ate together in silence for a moment. As you ate, your eyes wandered around his room.

That was when you noticed it.

 “Are those my towels?” you asked. 

Dabi looked over at his dresser as he stuffed the last of the muffin into his mouth.  “Yeah.  They’re clean now.”

“Thank you…” you replied. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details.  “You cleaned up…”

Dabi shrugged. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not a complete slob.”

You stared at him as he began fidgeting with a pack of cigarettes, tapping the box on the table, flipping it over, and tapping the other end.  Over and over it somersaulted, and you wondered if he was craving one right now.  Why didn’t he just take one out and light it up?

Was Dabi… being considerate?

Then again, the action didn’t come as much of a surprise to you as it might have before.  He’d been more willing to do small acts of kindness ever since the night of his withdrawal.  Bringing ramen.  Adjusting his room for your sensory overload.

Now this.

Was it fueled by guilt? Or did he actually care?

He looked like he was waiting for something.  You watched as he rubbed at his scarred arm with his free hand, irritation flashing across his eyes.  Of course. He was waiting for you and your quirk. You ate your muffin faster.  As soon as it had disappeared into your mouth, you reached for your bag and took out the pill bottle.  His eyes were on it instantly, the shaking in his leg stilled by the sight of it, his shoulders releasing some of their tension.

“Here.” You offered, handing him his pills.  He took them and swallowed them dry before opening up a beverage and taking a swig.

Dabi eyed the bottle in your hand as you closed it.  “That’s looking awfully low there, isn’t it?”

You put the container back in your bag, enclosing it in a zippered space.  “It’ll be enough to last us through tomorrow morning.”

“That’s cutting it real close, don’tcha think?” he replied.

You looked up to see his brow furrowed in concern and offered him a reassuring smile.  “It is.  But I’ll be picking up the refills tomorrow before our evening session, so there’s nothing to worry about.  Now let’s take a look at your back real quick.”

He stood up and dragged his chair over to where you sat and straddled the seat with his back facing you. The bandage was still on, but you could tell it had gotten wet in the shower.  You’d have to be careful when changing it this time, since the bits of skin that were starting to heal might reopen.

You applied your quirk first around the bandages, then began to delicately remove the wet gauze and tape. Your fingers were cold on Dabi’s skin and a small shiver ran up his spine at the sensation of your touch.  The wound didn’t show any signs of infection or fresh damage, so you continued business as usual, applying the antiseptic followed by fresh gauze.  As you patched him up, your eyes kept drifting to your towels, thinking about what had happened that night.  There was something important you’d been meaning to ask him.  Something you had to know.

“I… have a question.” You ventured.

“Hm?” Dabi responded, his head turning slightly to the sound of your voice.

“The next day… after I helped you out that one night… was there anything… off?  About you specifically?” you asked.

There was a long pause and you could tell Dabi was thinking heavily, which only made the dread in your gut sink in deeper.

“I couldn’t feel anything.” He finally admitted. 

“I’m not talking about the pain.  I’m talking about… I don’t know.  Anything else.”

“I know.” He replied. “When I woke up, I couldn’t feel anything.”

Your brow furrowed and the dread hardened into a stone.  “…what does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t care about a thing, doll.  Everything was turned off.” He was facing away from you and in that moment, you wished he wasn’t – you desperately wanted to see the expression on his face.  Your hands felt clammy as you processed his words.

“You mean your emotions?” you clarified.  You needed to understand more.  You needed to know how bad it was.  “What… did it feel like?”

“Empty.”

You finished putting the last bandage on him but you barely noticed as your vision became unfocused, your thoughts whirling.  Holy shit. You had turned off his emotions?  You supposed in hindsight it made sense, since it was likely his memories and the emotions attached to them that were torturing him that night.  Why else would he have been blabbering incoherent apologies as if he were desperately trying to atone for something? But still… the severity of that made your blood run cold. Emotions were everything, contrary to what some people might think. They fuel how people think, how they act, how they react… entire personalities – entire identities are built around how emotions are felt and how they are dealt with.  You very well could have entirely erased Dabi as a person. In fact, you likely did, at least temporarily.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat and tried to calm your panicked breathing.  “…How long did it last?”

He was quiet again, and the silence was worse than anything.

“Please tell me.” You begged.  “How long?”

“Hours.”

Your heart was racing and your ears ringing.  Your eyes began to sting but you fought it, focusing on a patch of scarred flesh on his back to distract yourself, memorizing its pattern.  You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again.  And certainly not twice in one day.  You wanted to apologize, to beg his forgiveness, but you couldn’t make the words come out, not without your emotions spilling out with them.  Instead, you forced yourself into action, treating his scars with your quirk. 

There was so much more you wanted to know. How did he get his emotions back?  What did it feel like? Was it slow, or at all at once? Did he feel relieved?

Did it hurt?

But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask those questions, no matter how badly you wanted to know, no matter how badly you wanted to understand.  They were too personal, and you could already tell by Dabi’s growing reluctance that he didn’t want to talk about it any further.

You’d apologize to him. At some point, once your emotions were under control, you’d apologize.

You finished numbing his back and shoulders, even tracing down his triceps a little.  “Turn around,” you instructed.

He did as you asked, adjusting himself in the chair so he was now facing you.  You avoided looking at him, the shame and guilt far too heavy for you to lift your eyes.  Unbeknownst to you, a frown pulled at his brow, his lips.  You wore your emotions so plainly…

You took his hand in yours and continued your quirk as your skin began to prickle and sting. The sound of the shower dripping in the bathroom was louder now. Dabi shifted slightly in his chair and the scraping sound against the floor was like nails on a chalkboard.  The odors in the room went from pleasant to offensive.

“I gotta question for ya,” Dabi suddenly ventured.  “Did you change my clothes that night?”

Your hands faltered and you glanced up at his face before you could catch yourself.  His eyes had a glint in them you couldn’t quite place in your distracted mental state.  You felt embarrassment creep across your skin.

“I did.  I had to get you into the shower before you combusted.” You replied as you continued to treat him, your hands on his collarbone. The feel of it was so familiar now…

“I was naked?”

“Only for a moment!” you replied.  “You were in your boxers for most of it, but I had to change you out of those after the shower.” God, this entire conversation was so embarrassing… why did he have to ask about this of all things?

“…did ya peek?” he asked.

Your mouth struggled like a fish out of water for a moment as you glared at him.  “NO!” You finally exclaimed.  “Of course, I didn’t!  Why would you even…”  but then you saw the grin on his face and you realized he was teasing you. 

You playfully punched his arm.  “You’re an asshole.” You fumed.

He laughed.  “That didn’t even hurt.” He mocked.

“Of course it didn’t, idiot. I already used my quirk there.” You shot back.  “Now stay still so I can get your damn face.”

“So feisty…” he murmured.

Shit.  With your senses heightened, you could almost feel the vibration in his voice, as if he were closer to you than he actually was. For the briefest moment, it distracted you from the growing pain of your scar, from the sound of the drip drip from the bathroom shower.  You wondered what it would feel like to have those words uttered against your skin, his hot breath warming your flesh, the feel of his rough lower lip brushing…

You clenched your jaw until you nearly gave yourself a headache, forcing the intrusive thoughts out of your mind.  You weren’t here for this.  You were here to treat him and get out of his space.  You weren’t his type.  You repeated it to yourself like a mantra, a prayer, a reminder to the illogical part of you that wanted to follow the lure of his voice.  Why did he have to be such a flirt?  It didn’t surprise you, but it certainly left you feeling confused when his actions and words sometimes contradicted themselves.

All it meant was that he was getting comfortable with you again. He was treating you like a friend, and friends teased all the time.  Right?

His eyes watched you closely as your hands caressed his jaw, relieving the ache there.  You seemed lost in your thoughts and while you certainly didn’t look comfortable, you also didn’t look too be too horribly in pain. You were doing better today.  Still, your fingers danced quickly across his skin, skating under his eyes which he instinctively closed, and barely touching his lower lip.  It happened far too quickly before the presence of you disappeared, and it left him feeling empty.  How badly he wanted to grab your hands right then and put them back onto his face. 

When he opened his eyes again, your own eyes were downcast as you stretched your fingers slightly.

“You okay?” he ventured. The question sounded odd coming from him, even to his own ears.

You looked up at him then, and you could see he was concerned. That’s right… he knew about your quirk and your scar now.  You clasped your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.  Shaking from the pain you were feeling, shaking from the fear of your own thoughts and desires.

“I’m fine.” You lied. Did he know you were lying with this too?

He knew.  In fact, you’d given him the same false words he always gave you.  It was like looking into a mirror.

“You don’t gotta do the legs.” He offered.  “I’m not dressed for it anyway.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You chided.  “Of course I’m going to do your legs.  The better I treat you, the better you can rest.  And your body needs rest to heal your burn.”

He noticed that you made no comment on his withdrawal, which a part of him appreciated; it helped him avoid the discomfort of shame that was always associated with it. Still…

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere, doll.  I won’t be needing them.  Besides, the drugs help.” He replied.

You eyed him for a moment, assessing.  “How about I just do your calves then?” you bartered.

He assessed you in return before he gave a small half-smirk.  “Deal.”

By the time you’d treated his calves down to the tops of his feet, you were definitely grateful you didn’t have to do any more.

PING……..PING……

You rubbed at the bridge of your nose, feeling the onset of a headache as you skirted just shy of overload. You closed your eyes, hoping maybe the lack of visual stimulation might make the auditory more bearable.  Or at least bearable enough that you could actually move your body instead of feeling frozen.  But it only made it worse, allowing your brain to hyperfixate on it. You covered your ears against it as you struggled to find your way out of it, to regain control of yourself.

While you lost yourself in your senses, Dabi watched you in displeasure.  He’d made sure to have everything ready before you showed up.  He even made sure not to light up a cigarette, as much as that had grated on him, since he knew the smell would linger long after. But clearly, something was bothering you.  What had he missed?

He watched, waiting, giving you time to figure yourself out or ask for help while he secretly tried to decode the mystery.  Your eyes were closed, your hands over your ears.  Was it multiple sensory attacks?  You flinched again.  And again. There was a rhythm.  So, it was something you were hearing.

Curiously, Dabi closed his own eyes listening for anything that stood out.  Slowly, the quiet sound of water dripping greeted his ears like a whisper.  He opened his eyes just in time to see your flinch match with the sound.

That was it.

“It’s the shower.” He commented. 

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement.  You opened your eyes and looked at him with surprise before giving a nod, your hands still over your ears.  He knew his shower leaked for a bit after he used it, but he’d gotten so used to it that he just tuned out the sound by this point.  But for you… especially after using your quirk on him…

Why didn’t you just get up and leave?  Why stay here if it was bothering you this much?  Obviously, you wanted to get away from it…

Maybe you couldn’t.  Maybe, for some reason, you were stuck in what you were experiencing, unable to find your way out.

Dabi could relate to that.

And he didn’t like it.

He stood up and closed the bathroom door before returning to sit in the chair in front of you, waiting.

You could still hear it. But it was manageable now, muffled. Quieter.  You could feel yourself start to process the rest of what you were feeling.  The pain on your back; the feel of your clothes, your hair; the smell of Dabi’s body wash, fresh linen… cigarettes.  Slowly, your hands lowered from your ears as you focused on each sense, identifying all you recognized.  The world was still loud around you, but at least you could somewhat function again. Slowly, you opened your eyes to see him watching you through an unreadable expression.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.” You replied. “Thank you.  Again.”

“It’s fine.”

A heavy, awkward quiet filled the space, and in that moment, despite Dabi’s kindness, all you wanted was to be back safely in your room.  Maybe it was because you were feeling overwhelmed by your own emotions, unable to properly control how your heart pounded around him, or how you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Or maybe it was the way he kept looking at you, his expression unreadable yet his gaze intense, as if you were all that he was focused on and he was determined to discover all of your secrets.

Either way, you felt an ache grow within you, threatening to drown you. But you couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t dismantle it or bury it, not while your brain fought the senses overwhelming you. You could handle one or the other… but you couldn’t handle both.

You needed the comfort of your room; you needed your safe space.

“I’m… going to go lay down.” You said quietly, as you grabbed your bag.  It felt heavy in your hand.

If Dabi noticed the shift in your mood, he didn’t say so.  Instead, he stood from his seat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Yeah.  Me too.” He replied.

Despite the suddenly aloof atmosphere, he still walked you to his door.  After you left, he leaned his back against the cold wood and ran his hand down his face.

So much for not caring…

________________________________________________

Part 10 ________________________________________________

Taglist (always open!): @lemonfvck​​ @vs-redemption​ @inanabsentia​​ @sheedaabee​​ @toshiuwuu​​ @marydragneell​​ @chillinwithmybakubros​​ @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025​ @redflannel @axerrri​​ @necccomancy​​ @miadraws0​ @hot-pocket01​ @hopelessdisasterr @dummythiccwitch​​ @villainsdeku @aquzairus​​ @officialtrashbusiness​​ @hemdem018​​ @purplesweethart​​ @doebopeepeebbod @ghost-of-todoroki​​ @marvel-philosophy @lysawayne​​ @udontneedtokno​​ @citrussaurus​​ @littleladdty​​ @starsforannie​​ @zunmie​​ @mae-rd​​ @mrsreina​​ @ohh-takuuu​​ @ih8beefnoodles​ @kellyyween​​ @jojoniles​​ @steale24​  @peach-tea-0  @orenjineki​​ @diobrandoatemykids  @minionsexuall @liitlesushi​​ @jojoniles​​ @bilalbambi  @tinitimesims125 @emmappelle​​ @babayaga67​​ @off-brand-overhaul @levenin​​ @exxzy​ @wootato​​

You always made it a point to know exactly how many pills you had of anything you carried, but especially so for these pills.

You quickly put the remaining medication back into the bottle, counting them as they fell in with a tap.  Then, you got up out of your bed and hid the pills inside an unused pair of shoes which you then put into a black duffle bag in the top of your closet.  You only hoped Dabi didn’t come looking for them. At this rate, if he was willing to steal from you, then he’d be willing to rifle through your things.

Betrayal, cold and hard, soaked into your bones.  You tried to reason with yourself, to talk yourself through what you knew about addiction, what you had learned in med school.  But taking what was learned in a textbook, with no emotional attachment, and applying it into this situation did little to assuage the feelings roiling within you.  This wasn’t hypothetical.  This was real.

Even worse than the betrayal was the cold hard fact: Dabi could kill himself.  And all because you left him alone for less than a minute. Did he already take them?  How long ago did he leave your room?  Your brain didn’t have time to do the math as you dashed across the hallway to his door.

You didn’t bother to knock – not this time.  Thankfully, Dabi must have been so out of it that he forgot to lock it.  You barreled in like a fiery chariot knocking down Hell’s gate, slamming the door behind you loudly enough to wake the dead.  You didn’t care.  In that moment, nothing else mattered but getting those pills back.

Dabi sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.  He looked up at you groggily when the door slammed.  His movements were noticeably slower, his pallor a sickly grey and shining with sweat.

“You took my pills.” You seethed.  “Give them back.”

“What?” Dabi slurred.

“My pills, Dabi! Three of them are missing!  Give them to me!”

He looked down at his hands as if confused by what they were.  “I don’t have them.” He replied.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” you shot back.  “I swear to God, Dabi, I will search this room until I find them.”

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.  “I already took them.  And stop fucking shouting.”

“You what???” You gasped.  “What the fuck, Dabi??  Why would you do that??”

He stood up now, angry at your presence, at your justified rage that he knew he was responsible for but didn’t want to face.  He was barely keeping himself together as it was.  His insides felt like a writhing, fiery snake.  His head felt filled with cotton.  And underneath it all, the pain hummed low like a purring beast.  He couldn’t decide if the pills he took were actually working or not.  The relief he thought they’d give him evaded him like a shadow.

“I told you I needed more.” Dabi replied.

“Dabi, you can O.D. on this!” you shot back.

“I’m not gonna O.D.” Dabi scoffed as he swayed on his feet.  He fought the sickness rolling over him in waves, great crests threatening to drown him like a raging sea.  He didn’t need this right now.  Not with you here.  Fuck. When did he get so fucking weak? 

Your body instantly became poised to catch him if he fell.  He needed to throw up what he took. That was the only option.  Your mind frantically tried to assess if he was weak enough for you to overpower him, to try to put your fingers down his throat to trigger his gag reflex.

“Your drugs are weak as shit compared to what I was taking before.  I can handle it.” He continued. “I know what I’m doing.” His eyes were unfocused as they tried to stare down at you.

Suddenly, the wave crested, higher than he could tread.  Immediately his mouth began to water in sickly preparation, his gag reflex kicking in while his gut clenched.  He stumbled to the bathroom, shoving you aside in the process, just in time to empty the contents of his stomach.  It was clear, made of only the water he drank and the partially dissolved pills that he had stolen.

A wave of relief washed over you while Dabi emptied what remained of the drugs into the toilet.  A part of you was still angry, wanting to give him an ‘I told you so,’ but you held back, instead keeping an eye on him from the bathroom doorway to make sure he was okay.

Once he was done, he leaned back against the bathroom wall, a pained grimace on his face, the metal rings pulling along his cheeks.  His breaths were ragged and heavy.  “Fuck.” He muttered.  He should have eaten the stupid crackers.  What a fucking waste.

Once you were sure he was okay for the moment, you paced back into the bedroom to try to calm your nerves.  He threw up what he took.  That was good.  Of course, that also meant there was no telling how long your meds would stay in his system now, and once they started to wear off, he’d continue to suffer through withdrawal since you couldn’t give him more right away. This was just the beginning for him.

A knock on the door resounded into the room, interrupting your thoughts.

“Don’t answer it.” Dabi rasped from his spot next to the toilet.

You stared at him for a moment and waited while discomfort settled over you like an itchy blanket.  You understood his need for privacy, but you also needed help… at least to have someone bring some water and food. It was going to be a long night and at this rate, Dabi was going to become severely dehydrated

Another knock came through, more persistent this time.

“Dabi,” called Toga’s voice. “Are you okay in there???”

Twice’s muffled voice followed.  “He probably wants to be left alone.  Fuck this guy.”

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Twice.  You heard him in there.” Toga replied in annoyance.

Dabi groaned in frustration, his head in his shaking hands in denial.  Why did it have to be Toga of all people?  She was annoyingly persistent, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and not taking hints when her prying wasn’t welcome.  The last thing he wanted was her and Twice standing outside his door while he hurled into the stinking toilet.  They’d probably barge in without permission.  You seeing him like this was bad enough – but at least he could excuse your involvement as the team’s medic, even if the vulnerability ate away at him. But letting them see him like this?  He’d rather light everything on fire.

“Make them go away.” He whispered hoarsely.

You leapt at the opportunity, rushing to the door.  You opened it to see Twice in his usual gear and Toga in a pink pajama set, her hair pulled back into twin buns.  Her hand was outstretched as if ready to grasp an invisible doorknob.

“Hey guys.” You said through a fake bubbly smile.  “It’s okay, I’m in here with him.”

“What the hell is going on??” Twice demanded.

“We heard a door slam, and yelling, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone throwing up.” Toga said crossing her arms.

They heard yelling – did they hear what you had shouted at Dabi?  About him taking your drugs?  You mentally scolded yourself for being so loud earlier.  There had to be some way you could play it off.

You felt your skin get hot with embarrassment.  “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.  I’m helping him out.”

“What’s wrong?” Toga asked nosily.  “Is Dabi hungover?  He sounds like he’s hungover.”

“Stomach flu.” You improvised.  You hoped they believed it.  If they did, it’d give Dabi a reason to be left alone by the other league members for a few days while you helped him out.

Neither of them showed any doubt with your explanation.  Toga made a disgusted face while Twice sighed. “Well, that’s a fucking relief. But keep the damn noise down!”

You smirked at his dual reactions.  “Sorry, Twice.”

“Do you need anything?” Toga asked.  “Water? Food?”

“Drugs?” Twice chimed in.

You froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before you realized he probably meant the kind that wasn’t illegal.

“Water and food would be appreciated.  Something easy on the stomach, like crackers.  And bananas if we have any left.  I already have the other supplies I need.” You commented.  Then, you remembered - Shit.  Your supply bag was still in your room….

“Sure thing, big sis!” Toga replied through a cheery smile, her fangs prominent.  “Come on, Twice.  You can help me carry stuff.”  Twice followed after her and you closed the door with a breath of relief before the sound of Dabi retching again made you go check on him.

His fingers grasped the toilet seat while his body shook, his knuckles as white as the porcelain they held onto.   Spit dangled from his parted lips, his nose running, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his body’s reactions to his poor choices.

After a minute, he leaned back and carelessly wiped his face with his bare arm, the fluids glistening on his skin in the light of the bathroom.

His face was pulled into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, his body slumped against the wall.  “You should have taken Twice up on his offer.” He said with a forced grin through wet lips.

“Not funny, Dabi.” You scolded.  “Drugs are the last thing you need.  Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”

“Well I certainly don’t think water and some fucking bananas are going to fix this.” He replied sourly.

“Better than your solution of taking six of my pills.” You shot back.  “A lot of good that did you, huh?”

He opened his eyes to give you a cold glare, his mouth opening to protest.  But his words were cut short by another round of vomiting, nothing coming up but thin strings of yellow bile from his empty stomach while his gut spasmed and clenched.  You furrowed your brow.  His nausea was getting worse, his vomiting more frequent. You wanted to use your quirk to alleviate his pain, but you couldn’t.  Not for this.  If his body couldn’t register the pain signals his gut was sending to his brain, then there was a chance the vomiting would stop.  Throwing up was what he needed to make sure the stolen pills were out of his system.

Even aside from the vomiting, there was the issue of using your quirk too much, too soon.  You could no longer fall back on your pills to manage your own pain if you pushed yourself too far.  Your lower back itched uncomfortably, as if the very thought woke up the scarred nerves there, old memories threatening to follow in their wake. You pushed them aside forcefully by focusing on the man in front of you.

If you over-exerted yourself too soon, you wouldn’t be able to help him later when things got worse. Once these pills wore off, which you weren’t sure when that would happen, you wouldn’t be able to give him new ones right away.  You were already short three pills after his little stint, and even if you did give him pills, his body might still reject them if it wasn’t ready for them.  That would only make things exponentially worse. It was better to skip a dosage now and get back on track with the remaining medication you had.  You’d pair what you’d allotted for him with your own quirk as an added relief; you only hoped the combination would be adequate until his pills became available for pickup.

Once he was done dry heaving, you handed him a hand towel from the hanging bar next to you. You had no idea if it was clean – he probably used it to dry his hands after washing them - but it didn’t really matter.  It was better than using his arm again.  He took it in silence, his eyes avoiding yours in what you could only describe as shame. Your heart clenched. You knew he didn’t mean for this to happen.  No one ever does.  You wanted to reassure him, to let him know it was all going to be okay, but words escaped you.  How could you even begin to tell him something like that while he’s retching into a toilet in the wee hours of the night? 

Before you could think of something to say, there was a familiar knock on the door.  You forced yourself to step away and answer it. Sure enough, Toga and Twice were there, their arms full of offerings.

“Here you go.” Toga said, her arms filled with six water bottles.  Twice also presented an array of items in his arms – a box of saltine crackers, some canned soup with a pull-top lid, and a couple of bananas.

“Thanks.” You replied, taking the items and placing them on Dabi’s desk.  You were grateful neither of them tried to enter while you unloaded their arms; perhaps they really did believe Dabi had the flu and were too scared of catching it.

“You can go back to bed if you want.  We’ll be fine.” you suggested.

“Let us know if you need anything else!” Toga offered with a toothy grin.  You smiled your gratitude and closed the door as they turned to leave.

Once you heard their footsteps fade down the hall followed by the closing of bedroom doors, you returned to the bathroom with a water bottle in hand.  You knew food wasn’t going to be an option for a while, but at least this might help.  Even if he threw it back up, it was better than bile.  But before you could even hand the bottle to him, he convulsed, hugging the toilet again, gagging and coughing.  You knelt next to him patiently, ready to offer the water in your hand or the towel now forgotten on floor… whatever he needed.

He spit the drool dangling from his mouth and continued to hover over the toilet bowl with a groan. Everything hurt.  His abs, his throat, his sinuses… his head was still muddled from a variety of factors – dehydration, lack of sleep, the drugs. He hated himself, reduced to a useless fucking puddle like the loser he was, and all while you were here watching him.  You, who even though he let you down - even though he stole from you - continued to stay and care for him.  He didn’t want that for you, and he didn’t want the guilt of your presence continuously reminding him of how he failed you while his body fell apart on him.

“Get out of here.” He said gruffly.  “You don’t need to be here for this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You replied. You knew he was pushing you away and you understood why, but that didn’t matter to you. Sure, you were mad at what he had done, but you also understood he couldn’t help it.  His obvious shame was apology enough for now, and his well-being was more important to you than his pride.

“Leave.” He growled.

“I can’t.”  You could feel tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes.  You didn’t want to leave him.  Not like this.

More dry retching overtook him, and guilt began to creep on you like a thorny vine, choking your words from your throat.  He couldn’t fight you on this even if he wanted to; was it really fair to stay when he asked you to go?  He made his decision clear – he wanted to be alone.  Where were you supposed to draw the line between forcing your care on him for his safety versus respecting his need for privacy?

You stared at him as you warred within yourself.  He obviously wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and on the upside, he did throw up some of those pills.  But what about later, when the pills wear off and the hunger returns?  Could you trust that he would come to you, looking for what he knew you had? Or would he go elsewhere, and risk his safety on something potentially worse? You wanted to respect his wishes, but your body wouldn’t move.

Dabi’s world was spinning; round and round he went, as if the toilet had been flushed and he and his rejected pills were being washed away like the trash that he knew he was. He was breathing heavily now, painful groans falling from his lips.  “Get the fuck out, Y/N.” 

The sound of your name on his lips for the first time smacked you, your breath catching painfully behind the lump in your throat.  You struggled to suppress the tears threatening to unleash themselves down your face.  He said your name.  He had never said it before.  You had imagined that the first time he’d say your name would be a sign of trust and intimacy.  This wasn’t that at all.  Instead, it was a weapon, a foul word that stung you like a whip.

He didn’t want you here.  Maybe your presence really was just making it worse for him.  He’d focus more on not wanting you around and fighting your hep than he would actually trying to fight his withdrawal.  You had to leave and hope that he would be able to come out of this on his own.

Without a word, you loosened the cap on the water bottle and set it on the floor next to him as a final offering before getting up off the cold tile to leave.  You left the bathroom, while the sounds of his continued retching filled your ears.  Each cough and gag from his battered throat deepened your guilt, reminding you how your irresponsibility had contributed to him getting into this mess.  Yes, he stole from you.  It still angered you.  But at the same time, you were the one who had all your mental faculties and still left drugs within his reach when he came to you for help.

You placed two water bottles and the crackers on the nightstand for him.  Then, you took the half-full trash bag out of his trash can and made sure it was near his bed, just in case he needed to throw up again later.

With one more glance at him through the bathroom doorway while he sat doubled over the toilet, you made your way to the door. 

Please be safe, please be safe… you silently pleaded.

Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, you heard a thud.

“Dabi?  Are you okay?” you called.

Only silence greeted you. A cold panic set in and you rushed into the bathroom to find Dabi unconscious on the floor, face down in a puddle of water.  The water bottle you had left had tipped over, the cold liquid spreading across the bathroom tile and soaking into Dabi’s clothes.  You pushed your panic aside as you immediately switched into emergency mode.  You knelt by his side and rolled him over onto his back, cupping his face in your hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Dabi??”  You called.  No response.  You checked for a pulse and felt it fluttering beneath your fingers. “DABI??” you shouted as you lightly smacked his cheek.  He didn’t respond.  His color was lifelessly pale, but his chest rose and fell in slow breaths.  He was breathing.  You checked his pupils – dilated.  He definitely still had your drugs in his system.  How much, you weren’t sure.  Once again, you were grateful that he had managed to throw up what he could.

His skin was burning. Was it already hotter than a moment ago? Was it a fever from the withdrawal? Or was it his quirk acting up, going haywire without him being able to consciously be in control of himself? The idea of his cremation randomly unleashing itself in the small bathroom made your throat dry up with dread.

You had to cool him down somehow. Dabi’s bathroom had a walk-in shower just a foot away, and you gave a silent thankful prayer to the universe.  A bathtub would have made this entire fiasco exponentially more difficult.

First, you had to remove his clothes.   They were trapping in his body heat at the moment, compounding his fever.

It wasn’t easy.  Dabi was lean, but he certainly didn’t lack muscle, and what he lacked for in bulk, he made up for in height.  It was awkward in the small space as you pulled his sweatpants off of him, exposing scarred legs with metal staples curving along his thighs.  You left his boxers on.  You couldn’t bring yourself to take them off of him while he was unconscious.  His head lolled to the side while his eyes, now half-lidded, stared with an empty, unconscious gaze.  His shirt was next, wet with sweat, water, and specks of bile. The fresh bandage that you had recently applied fell off as soon as the cotton fabric wasn’t there to hold it in place. The wound was healing, but it was still pink and raw.  The slightest amount of pressure would reopen the sensitive tissue, undoing your hard work.

You needed your med kit.

Once he was undressed, you rolled him to his side.  You didn’t want him to aspirate if he ended up vomiting again.  Then, you ran the shower to let the water warm slightly.  It needed to be lukewarm – cool enough to bring down his fever, but not so cold that it would shock his system and make him shiver.  Shivering helped to increase body temperature, and that was the last thing he needed.

Once the water was running, you took one last look at the man laying unconscious on his side before making a mad dash out of his room and into yours to grab your medical bag by your bed.  There was no time to double check the supplies in it; you only hoped you had what you needed.  You grabbed a couple of clean towels from your own bathroom before running back into his room, thankfully unnoticed in the empty hall.  It took less than a minute.

You bandaged his wound back up quickly, while he was on his side.  It wasn’t the neatest work, but it would do for now.  Already, his body temperature was noticeably higher than when you had left him.  There was no time to check it with your thermometer - it was a race against the clock, now.

You rolled Dabi back onto his back to try and rouse him once again, picking him up slightly so he lay in your lap, while you called his name and cupped his cheek.  His eyes fluttered open slightly, his head shifting at the sound of your voice, before his eyes closed again.  You cursed under your breath and laid him back down the way you had him before while you checked the water temperature.  It was warm enough, or so you hoped, since his own temperature kept rising.  You turned off the water briefly to retrieve the unconscious man.

Finally, you were ready. You tried to grab Dabi from under his armpits, but his skin was almost too hot to touch for an extended period of time.  Definitely quirk related.  You grabbed a spare towel and tried again, this time protecting your hands and arms against his scalding skin.  You wrapped your hands around his chest, your arms under his armpits, and began to drag him to the shower stall.  You tried your best to be mindful of his scars and staples, hoping that dragging him across the floor wouldn’t tear anything.  For a shower that was so close in proximity, it took a painstakingly long time to get him into it and properly positioned before you could step out and turn the shower back on.

Lukewarm water sputtered out of the showerhead, drenching his body from the chest down.  The water steamed upon contact, reacting to the heat rolling off of him like asphalt on a hot summer’s day.  Dabi stirred slightly, roused to consciousness by the sensation and the change in temperature.  He looked around groggily until his blue eyes settled on you.  You waited for him to say something, but no words came as his dazed eyes seemed to lose focus.  The only sign that he was still somewhat conscious was the occasional slow blink while he watched you take a wet washcloth and squeeze it over his head to let the cool water soak his hair and dribble down his face and neck.  The water trickled down his forehead to his brow, and you tenderly wiped it away with the washcloth to keep it from getting into his eyes.  You followed the contours of his face with the cool cloth, along his jawline, across his cheeks.

Dabi closed his eyes for minutes at a time, only opening them briefly as you adjusted the water temperature slightly and again as your ran your fingers through his wet hair, moving the dripping strands from his forehead so you could see his face better. Color slowly began to creep back into his skin, the water no longer steamed.  What you were doing was working, and you were grateful – so grateful – that you hadn’t left him yet.  The rush of time slowed down.  Dabi’s eyes closed again as you quietly hummed to yourself as you cared for him. It helped to calm your nerves and pass the time.

After what felt like ages, you finally checked his temperature, this time with the temporal thermometer you had in your bag.  The number that beeped back at you satisfied you enough to turn the water off.  You gave Dabi’s shoulder a small shake, and his eyes opened to look at you under heavy lids.

“Come on.” You whispered. “I need you to stand up.”

He licked his chapped lips as he braced himself into a standing position with your help and made the two feet distance to sit on his toilet, his wet boxers dribbling puddles of water onto the floor.  You covered him in two towels, one for his head and one for his shoulders, before you stepped out of the bathroom for a moment to get him fresh clothes.

You realized quickly that he’d need to change out of his wet boxers – something you hadn’t considered earlier when you undressed him. You gulped briefly.  Could he even do that on his own right now?  He still was out of it and needed assistance just to stand.

There was no way around it.  You’d have to help him.

You grabbed a pair of fresh boxers, black jersey shorts, and a white tee before returning to the bathroom. He was in the position you left him, the only difference being that he was now leaning against the wall while he sat on the toilet.  His eyes were closed at first but they opened slightly when you nudged him gently.  He still looked completely out of it.

Even so, you talked to him. “Dabi,” you whispered.  “I have to change your boxers so I can put dry clothes on you.  I’m going to help you stand up.”

He gave a slow blink but made no attempt to move or speak.  As you wrapped your arms around his chest to help him up, he didn’t fight you, leaning his weight into you just enough to rise slightly from his sitting position. You weren’t sure how conscious he really was for this.  Was he aware of what was going on, of what you were doing?  Or was his body going through the motions, barely registering his environment?  You hoped it was the latter. 

“I won’t look.” You promised.  You looped your fingers into the wet waistband and pulled it down, before letting him sit back down on the toilet.  With your eyes respectfully averted, you pulled the wet material off the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet.  You quickly dried his legs off before grabbing the clean boxers you had set up on top of his sink, the only dry spot left in the bathroom.  Through the use of touch, you were able to put his feet into them and pull them up just above his bent knees.  His shorts followed until both items were pulled up as high as they would go in his sitting position.

“One more time.” You said. With him braced against you, you grabbed both waistbands and pulled his clothes on.  A moment later, he was sitting back down, properly covered.  You proceeded with your administrations now that the hard part was done. You dried his hair with the towel still on his head, and then dried his torso and arms using the towel on his shoulders.  By the time you were helping him with his tee shirt, he was starting to show some cognizance, pushing his arms out through the holes himself once you got them into position.

Quickly you flushed the toilet he was sitting on, washing away the contents from earlier, and gathered the soiled clothes and towels from the floor before taking them to the laundry hamper in his room.  It was still dark outside, and you wondered what time it was.  3:30am?  4?  You had no way of knowing; you had left your phone in your room.  With the situation no longer critical, your adrenaline finally started to drop.  Exhaustion pulled at you, a heavy blanket threatening to smother you until you surrendered.  You were so tired, that even Dabi’s bed looked inviting at this point.

You forced yourself to keep going. 

You grabbed one of the water bottles from his nightstand, hoping that you could finally get him to drink something now that the vomiting was over and he was starting to gain awareness again.

When you came back to the bathroom, Dabi looked up at you as you entered, his eyes truly seeing you for the first time.

“You’re still here.” He slurred, his voice raspy.

“You noticed, huh?” you gave a small smirk, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

He was quiet for a moment and looked down, confusion on his face.  “I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, well I was going to, but then you passed out on the bathroom floor.” You replied.  “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

He didn’t respond. The fight in him was gone for the moment.  He was placid now, almost childlike.  You opened the water bottle and handed it to him, but he turned his head away.

“Please, Dabi…” you begged.

He looked back at the item in your hand and stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and taking a small sip.  He grimaced painfully.

Of course; after all that vomiting he did earlier, his throat probably hurt like hell.

You pointed at his neck. “May I?”  You hoped he understood.

He seemed to.  He lowered the water bottle from his lips to allow you access to his throat, and gently you placed your hand over it, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed against your cool touch.  Your quirk seeped into him like honey into a cake, coating his throat and washing the burning pain away.

He swallowed again, this time without flinching.  His eyes stared at you, still hazy, but with the hint of something lively in them –a flicker of kindling.  He took your hand from his neck and moved it down to his abdomen.

“Here.” He spoke.

You understood, but you hesitated.  Would you be able to keep your quirk focused on just the nerves of his muscles?  Or would it go deeper than that, impacting the nerves in his gut? That could have its own effects – he won’t feel the burning in his gut, but he also won’t feel hunger for a while, and may not feel that urge to vomit again even if his body needed to later.

“Just a little bit.” You replied.

You felt your quirk trickle into him, like water through cracks in concrete.  Once your quirk felt the resistance of the deeper layers of muscle and tissue, you pulled your hand away.  If you pushed any further, it’d be too much.  He might feel some pain still, but it should be mitigated at least.

“Drink more now. Please.” You ordered.

He obliged, drinking the water in large, thirsty gulps for the first time that evening.  Once he was done, he wiped his mouth and handed the empty water bottle to you.  You set it on his sink next to the faucet, in case it needed to be refilled later on.

“Come on,” you said. You kneeled down and put his arm around your shoulder, helping him stand.  “Let’s get you into bed.”

He didn’t respond; instead, he let you lead him out of the bathroom to the edge of his bed where he fell into it.  You debated on whether or not you could leave him there and finally retreat to your room for much-needed rest, but you decided against it.  The meds that were flowing in his system were going to start wearing off soon.  He will be hungering for more, and you won’t be able to give it to him this time.  If you left him alone here, he’d either somehow end up back in your room hunting for that hidden bottle, or he’d go out on the street to try to score whatever he could, no matter the consequences.

There was no choice. You had to stay.  And when his pain became too much, you’d help out as best you could.  Maybe you could mitigate the symptoms enough to last him until tomorrow evening.  By then, you could start him back up on your pills.

You hoped you could handle it. You’d already used your quirk three times tonight - twice just now, and once earlier when you treated his burn in your room.  Already, the environment seemed a little harsher to you.  Light was brighter, noises louder… It wasn’t too terrible just yet, but all of your senses were heightened more than they were before.  The damaged nerves on your back, always hidden by your shirt, itched irritably. It was still bearable – for now. 

A sense of trepidation filled you.  You’d gone so long without over-exerting your quirk… it had taken only one time to experience it, and you vowed to never let it happen again.  Then again, you never expected to be single-handedly dealing with drug addiction and withdrawal for a man who takes enough opioids to take down an elephant.

You peaked at him in his bed where he lay curled up on his side.  His eyes were closed for the moment, but you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not.  Without disturbing him, you managed to steal a spare pillow from his bed.  Then, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you laid down in front of his door, his pillow your only comfort.  If he tried to leave, he’d have to go through you.  The window was unguarded, but you weren’t too worried – you were three stories up.  The building was an old hotel, so all fire escapes were located at the end of the hall, and he was in no condition to try to climb down the rusty drainpipes.

Despite the hardness of the floor and the coldness of the air, sleep claimed you within seconds, the scent of Dabi enveloping you.

As you slept, Dabi stirred restlessly in his bedsheets, his mind drifting between a vague wakefulness and dreams.

There was humming. Someone was singing.  It soothed him.

He blinked.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words.  Something cool and wet passed across his forehead.  Was this real?

He blinked.

Your face peered up at him, filled with a loving concern as your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his stitches softly.  Was THIS real?

He blinked.

He stared at himself, his scars gone, his hair a deep red.  His blue eyes echoed his other self like an infinite row of mirrors.

He blinked.

He tried to speak, but pills kept falling from his mouth, choking his words.  He couldn’t breathe.  His other self stood before him, hands cupped and outstretched as the pills filled them and overflowed, scattering over the floor like a child’s marbles.

He blinked.

All he could see was a blue sky, but there were sounds.  The sound of children’s laughter, the sound of a ball being kicked. The was a faint smell of dirt in the air.  He was happy.

He blinked.

A woman sat near a window, bathed in sunlight with a white bundle cradled in her arms.  Something about her was oddly familiar, yet he couldn’t place her.  She sang. “My little Shouto.  My sweet, little Shouto…”  A baby cooed.  Her face turned to him, but her features were hazy, hard to see through the dust that danced in the sunbeams.  She reached out a long, slender hand.  “Come here, Touya.  Meet your little brother.”

He blinked.

He saw the woman again, standing at the end of a lake dock in a white dress, her hair billowing like a white flag of surrender.  The lake was smooth as glass, a white mist ghosting over its glossy waters.  He knew her.

Mother.

He tried to call to her, but his words were silent, falling from voiceless lips like birds with broken wings.  She put one foot out over the water and fell silently, disappearing beneath the murky depths without a splash.  A cold dread filled him.  Frantically, he ran towards the water, but before he could dive in, the water on the lake erupted into orange, writhing flames.  The wood beneath his feet crackled and charred, flames licking at his legs, his arms, his face.  The dock broke and suddenly he was drowning, boiling water filling his lungs.  Unseen hands grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down, into the darkness, his flesh turning to ash beneath their touch.

Dabi woke with a shout, his eyes wide and filled with a wild fear.  He felt restrained, his legs unable to move.

“Hold him down.” Said a familiar, gruff voice.  The smell of cigarette smoke choked him.  “I told you this would hurt, kid.”

Suddenly, your face came into view, hovering over him with your hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dabi.  Dabi!” you called.  You stared down at him with worry, dark circles under your bloodshot, tired eyes.

You were here.

The waking nightmare lifted and suddenly he was gasping for air like a deep-sea diver, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he broke through the surface into consciousness.  “Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled to his ears.  His eyes looked around frantically, taking in his room.  A dark twilight was starting to emerge from the clouded, early morning sky outside, dark blue-grey contrasting with the yellow light seeping from the edges of his closed his bathroom door.   The colors framed your face as you spoke to him

“Hey, it’s okay.” You said soothingly.  “It was just a dream.”

His bedsheets were tangled around his bare legs like a snake.  Dabi kicked them off and sat up in his bed with a wince.  “I need some water.”  An open water bottle appeared in front of him, which he gratefully took and drank.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Dabi handed the bottle back to you without looking.  “I’m fine.” He said gruffly; more so than he intended.  But he wasn’t fine.  Everything hurt.  His head was pounding.  His damaged nerves were starting to scream while his body felt as if it had been forced into a box that was too small, aching in places he never thought it could ache. Underneath it all, humming low like a wild animal growling a warning, sat an uneasiness - a dark, nervous energy - threatening to envelop him and wrap him up tightly in despair.  Flashes of dreams – or were they memories? – threatened to drag him back down into the darkest parts of himself.

Dabi grappled for control, but he was losing.

You placed a concerned hand over his and he withdrew from your touch, the affection foreign to him. The heavy weight of shame sat deep in his gut as he took in your weary face.   Somewhere, beneath the noisy din of his mind, a thought occurred to him: this was taking its toll on you too. 

“Why are you still here?” he asked as he laid back onto his damp pillow, his arm over his eyes.

“Because you need me.” You replied.

He clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t.”  The words were feeble and weak in his mouth, not an ounce of truth in them.  You both knew it.

“I’m too tired to argue with you.” You stated as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose. 

“Then go to bed.” He replied.

You wanted to growl in frustration, your own exhaustion making your fuse especially short.  If he could just not fight you every step of the way, that’d be great.

“The last time I almost left, you fainted on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water while your body tried to combust itself.  So no, I’m not leaving.”

Your tone allowed no more room for argument, your words forcing Dabi to sulk silently.  He sat up from his reclined position, his long, scarred legs swinging over the side of the bed to plant firmly on the ground.  His leg began to bounce and jitter, an attempt to relieve the irritated, unfocused energy that swirled inside of him like a cyclone. He felt like hell.  He was a desert, his body and mind parched as the drugs in his system began to dry up. Even the slightest bit of movement set his nerves ablaze, pain coursing over his skin like a wildfire.  He was tired… so fucking tired.

You reached across him, your proximity allowing him to smell the shampoo in your hair as your arm and shoulder pressed against him. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to peace break through his stormy mind like sunlight.  It was short-lived though.  Your closeness left as quickly as it had come, taking the sunshine with it.

“Hey…” you whispered next to him, a pack of crackers in your hand.  You opened the packaging and handed him one.  “Try to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replied.

“I don’t care.  You need to eat.” You replied.

He didn’t have the strength to fight you.  Begrudgingly, he took the cracker and nibbled on it.  There was no pleasure in it, his jaw going through the motions like a machine as he chewed and swallowed.

You continued to talk to him, your voice soft, as you handed him another cracker.  “You’re going into withdrawal again.” You stated.

“I know.”

“It might actually feel worse this time.”

“It does.”

Your face blurred as another wave of fiery pain washed over him, making him double over, the cracker crumbling like ashes in his fist.  He gasped and panted against it, his body shaking from the stress.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me help you.”  You said. “Let me use my quirk.”

For the briefest of moments, Dabi’s pained expression lifted, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. “It won’t be enough.” He replied.

“Let me try.” You begged.

He stared at you.  It was either this, or drugs.

He nodded.

You took his hand in yours and began to trace your fingers along his staples, your quirk seeping in. He inhaled a sharp breath.  The pain dissipated where your touch landed. It soaked into his aching bones like heavy rainfall on a burning forest.  There was a moment of clarity, the sensation so shocking that it distracted him from his suffering.    Slowly you let your hands follow up the length of his arm, following his scars and leaving a humming numbness in its wake.  Then, you took his other hand to continue the same treatment on the other side.

Dabi stared at his painless hand in vague fascination.  It didn’t seem like it belonged to him.  His vision blurred, memory replacing reality.

His hands were smaller now, the stitches gone.  The skin was bubbled and blistered, and he could hear his own quiet sobs as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, sweetie.” A soft voice called.  Pale, white, delicate hands wrapped around his own damaged ones.

He looked up to see his mother smiling at him.  It was a sad smile, full of love, but never quite reaching her tired eyes.

“It hurts.” He sobbed.

“I know.” She soothed. “It’s okay.”  A cool frost began to ghost over his damaged skin, soothing the burning, throbbing pain.

“Why does my quirk hurt me, mommy?” he heard himself ask.

“It’s my fault, honey.” She whispered, tears stinging her grey eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Dabi whispered.

Your touch on his collarbone pulled him back to reality on a thin, white thread.

“What was that?” you asked, your fingers pausing in their work.

“What?” he replied, disoriented.

“You said ‘it’s not your fault.’” You replied with a confused look.  “What’s not my fault?”

“Nothing.” He responded as he turned his head away from your prying gaze.

You didn’t pursue it. Dabi was grateful.  Instead, he felt your cool touch return to his collarbone to trace along the muscles of his neck and shoulders.  While your touch helped initially, the cloud of suffering followed close behind from the places you had yet to reach, a parade of aches and throbs blaring their horns against his brain.  His body focused on the noise and continued to shiver and shake while he struggled to keep himself focused.

His face was next, so you cupped his cheek in your hand and gently returned his averted gaze to you. His blue eyes locked with yours, and you stared into them for a moment, captivated by their beauty, aching with their suffering.  He didn’t deserve this.  Any of this. You could only hope that what you were doing was enough, that it could make a difference.

Your fingers rushed and fumbled clumsily across the lower half of his face and beneath his eyes. You couldn’t quite explain why.  Perhaps it felt too personal, even after all you two had been through so far.  You barely touched his lower lip, the sensation of its roughness sending electric tingles up your fingertips.  You desperately wanted to slow down, take your time, and cherish.  But you couldn’t. Such exploration was far too intimate to happen here, now, under such heavy circumstances.  

You paused for a moment in your administrations as sweat started to break across your brow.  The light from the bathroom felt unusually bright to your eyes and you could feel a headache start to form.  A shiver began to take you as your body became increasingly sensitive to the cool temperature of the room, each soft gust of air from the open window feeling like an icy blast.  Even your hearing was more sensitive – you could hear Dabi’s heavy breaths as his body struggled; you could hear the early morning sounds of songbirds beginning to sing as the sky gradually lightened outside.  The rumble of a car passing by on the street sounded like a freight train. All of your nerves were beginning to tingle, and you became increasingly aware of the texture of the clothing on your skin, the feel of Dabi’s staples beneath your hands.  Most of all, the scarred nerves on your back were beginning their own little dance, sending small shoots of tingling pain up your spine.

It was already happening. The feedback from your quirk was starting to cross the threshold into painful overstimulation.  It was happening far sooner than you had hoped. But then again, you’d already used your quirk three times within the past eight hours, and your body was already at its limits in other ways. Even quirks could be impacted by physical fatigue, dehydration, hunger… it was like trying to run a marathon on zero sleep and an empty stomach. 

Dread settled into your empty gut, making a home there out of wild, thorny weeds.  They tangled themselves in your limbs, slowing your movements as your mind began to race. Would you really be able to help him?

Your worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of multiple ‘dings’ coming from Dabi’s phone that sat neglected on his nightstand, as a series of text messages came through.  Each ding vibrated your inner ear at the loudness. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of bedroom doors opening and closing in the hallway.  Your hands froze over Dabi’s skin as you waited and listened. Muffled voices vibrated on the other side of the thin walls, your sensitive ears picking up every word.

“Why the hell do Kurogiri and Shigaraki have us getting up so goddamn early?” Twice complained.

Spinner’s voice answered. “He said he’ll explain it to us downstairs.  Something about our next mission, I guess.  Something to do with the Yakuza.”

A loud yawn came from Toga. “Couldn’t it have waited?? I still need my beauty sleeeeeep….” She whined.

Magne’s voice soon followed.  “You’re already beautiful, sweetie.”

“You’re the best, Magne…”

Their voices faded as they entered the old elevator at the end of the hall, it’s off-key ding marking the closing of the doors.

A heavy silence followed. You and Dabi were alone now, the entire floor empty.  A confusing combination of relief and anxiety washed over you.  The privacy was good, but then again, there was no one around to help if you really needed it.

You returned your gaze to Dabi who sat in silence while his withdrawal continued to wash over him. If your quirk had helped so far, you couldn’t really tell.  His breaths were still labored and his vision unfocused as his body shook slightly.  He sat there as if waiting.  Waiting for you?  Or was he still falling in his mind, waiting to crash hard across the sharp jagged rocks of his withdrawal before you could catch him?

He had more scars you needed to tend to… on his legs, his back, his left side just below his ribs, and over his hips, the dark tissue disappearing beneath his shorts.  This wasn’t even counting the rest of the pain he felt everywhere else in his body simply from not having any drugs in his system.  You were only able to do damage control on the parts that hurt the most.  What if it wasn’t enough?  It wasn’t a possibility you had considered before.

You swallowed, your mouth and throat dry.  You had to try. 

“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said.  “It’ll make it easier for me to reach your other scars.”

He didn’t respond to you, his gaze unfocused.

Scars… scars….

The word echoed in his mind, and he followed it as it led him down an invisible road to another memory.

“Eww, look at his scars!” a kid said to his friend, his finger pointing. 

The friend wrinkled in disgust.  “Gross!”

“Dabi?” a voice called.  He turned and saw his sister.  His brow furrowed.  Something wasn’t right.  The name didn’t match the movement of her lips…

“Dabi??” your voice cut through, and the memory disappeared.

Dabi looked up at you, confused.  “Hm?”

“Your shirt.  We have to take it off.”

He silently lifted his shirt over his head, while you watched him with worry.  It wasn’t hard for you to figure out what was happening.  He was having long moments of non-responsiveness, getting repeatedly lost in his thoughts.  You didn’t know much about him, but you could hazard a guess that this guy probably did not have a happy backstory. Villains never did. No doubt the lack of drugs in his system was bringing up that backstory for him right now. The concern, however, was that that was something that was completely outside of your scope. Physical pain was one thing. Mental pain was an entirely different beast.  All you could hope for was that your physical treatments could help him enough that he could handle his mental issues by himself.

You took a moment to assess his body and how it was responding to your quirk.  His leg no longer bounced, and the shivering was reduced. He showed no hesitation or pain when he removed his shirt.  It was definitely doing something.

It gave you hope.

You kept going, your hands washing over wherever the scars presented themselves.  Your relief continued to pour into him, but it was impaired now, impacted by your body’s need to limit itself.  It was like holding your hand in increasingly hot water – at some point your body was going to recoil to protect you before you burned yourself.  You were pushing yourself dangerously far, but you didn’t have a choice.  If you stopped now, all of this would be for nothing.

As you struggled to treat every damaged part of him, your heightened senses became worse and worse. And the scar on your back… the one that you always kept covered, the one you never told anyone about because of what it represented… that hurt the most. It burned nearly as fresh as it had when you first got it, a hot searing pain, and panic started to seep into your mind.

You forced yourself to focus on the present, to keep yourself in control.  Your hands were on his legs now.  You counted the staples as your fingers passed over them.

One, two, three, four, five…

This was the reason you needed your meds.  Everything else you could handle on your own.  But the scar… the scar always hurt if you pushed too far, and the memories associated with it were never far behind.  And this was the farthest you had pushed in a long time

Six, seven, eight, nine…

But you couldn’t take your pills.  And you couldn’t cry.  Dabi would see it, and there was no telling how he would respond.  You silently clenched your jaw and hoped that he didn’t notice the sweat across your skin or the way your hands were shaking now.

Finally, your hands reached his feet, and you couldn’t deny your fingers rushed across the staples that marked the end of your journey.  Your touches were done, your quirk spent.  Your body was tensed now, each muscle tightened in an attempt to keep yourself together.

You looked back up at him and watched him intently, hopefully, forcing your eyes to focus on him and only him, as you tried to tune out the rest of the environment that was demanding your attention.  His body no longer shook.  But his eyes were still glazed over and his hands were still wrapped around his core. Was he still in pain?  Or was he holding himself for comfort?

Although the battleground of Dabi’s body was more balanced now with your help, the war within himself was far from over.  His muscles still ached where your hands had yet to reach, and his head still hurt almost to the point of sickness.  But most importantly, while your touch soothed the physical, the mental was left unbarred. The demons of the flesh were replaced by demons of the past, as memory after suppressed memory crashed back into Dabi’s defenseless mind.

“Don’t stop.” He begged in a strained whisper.  “I need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t have any more. You gave everything you could and now you were hanging on by a thread.  

You no longer had the will or strength to hold in your emotions.  Tears slipped down your cheeks, wet roads marking your failure, your failure to subdue his suffering as you had promised.

“I can’t.” you sobbed.

He stared at you foggily, confused by the tears on your cheeks.  Were you crying?

“Are you crying??” demanded a deep, angry voice.

Dabi squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, as memory mingled with reality.  It sounded real.

Dabi knew he was hallucinating from the withdrawal.  Years of dependency had the wires in his brain crisscrossed, and now they were misfiring as it tried to process the trauma he had neglected.  Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was here. He sensed his towering, overbearing presence, could feel the heat of the fire rolling off of his broad shoulders.  He wasn’t ‘Dabi’ in that moment. He was ‘Touya,’ small and weak. He couldn’t suppress the fear that followed, crawling up his skin like a thousand ants.  He wanted to run from it, but he couldn’t. 

This was hell. He was in hell.  He couldn’t make the voices stop, couldn’t make the memories disappear.  He was cornered, with no way out. 

Dabi craved surrender, to satisfy the addiction and let it wash over him. He wanted it drown his shame and agony, leaving nothing but that comforting, vengeful rage he was so used to. It was the only thing that worked, the only thing he believed in.  If he could just get the right drugs, enough drugs, then all of this would go away.  It was his only option.  Earlier was just a mistake, his broken mind reasoned.  He wouldn’t have thrown up those pills if he ate something, after all. This time… this time, he’d be okay.  He ate those crackers, didn’t he?

Desperation fueled him, fear and exhaustion consumed him as he locked his eyes on you with intense purpose. “I need those pills. NOW.” 

You shook your head vigorously as your words fell from your trembling lips. “I don’t have them.”  More tears slipped down your cheeks.

“ARE YOU CRYING??”

A child sobbed.

“Get up.  I SAID GET UP.”

Dabi’s blood went cold. He knew this memory.  No, no, no…

Dabi leapt out of his bed, nearly knocking you over in the process. 

His frantic eyes spotted your medical bag against the wall and before you could even get off the bed, he was dumping its contents all over the floor.  Scissors, gauze, over-the-counter pain medicine, and a variety of other items rolled across the hard wood with a clatter.  You winced.  He threw the bag aside when he couldn’t find what he wanted.

“Where did you put it??” Dabi demanded.  His world spun, but he managed to find the wall with his hand and used it to brace himself up.

“I can’t tell you that.” You replied as you stood up.

“So now you’re keeping them from me?” he seethed.

Now that he knew the drugs weren’t in the room, you knew he would try to leave.  You made yourself stand up, stifling a cry with a bite of your tongue as your shirt rubbed against your back, to position yourself between him and the door.  Fear coursed through you.  Even though he was weakened from all that he’d gone through, you knew he could easily overpower you.

You put your hands out towards him cautiously.  “We either deal with this now and be done with it, or we deal with it all over again later when the pills run out.  You’ve already been through so much.  Please, Dabi, don’t give up. You can fight this.”

“You’re pathetic.  Weak, like your mother.”

He covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking the voices from within.  

He couldn’t.  He couldn’t fight this.  The pain was too much, the exhaustion too heavy, the emotions too raw. He needed the drugs.  His survival depended on it.  Without them, he would go insane.  Hadn’t he suffered enough?  He wanted to scream, to break things, to ignite his cremation and send everything to ash, including himself.  But he didn’t.  Perhaps it was the cowardice of dying, or the dissatisfaction of unfinished business, or even the simple fact that you were here with him.  Instead, he tried to step around you, but you matched him move for move, blocking his exit.  He was trapped.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” Dabi growled.

“No.” you said firmly, even as your body shook in fear and pain. Your eyes were trained on his hands. What if he decided to use his quirk?  He wouldn’t… would he?

His face contorted in rage. Betrayal, his mind seethed. You cared more about protecting your precious stash than you did about him. How could you be so fucking selfish?

“You just want to keep the pills for yourself.” He spat.

His accusation shocked you. “W-what?”

“Admit it.  You’re a fucking addict just like me. THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY!”

“I’m not!” you protested.  “Dabi, I’m trying to help you!”

“I’m sorry!” Touya begged.  “Let me try again. I just wanna be like you!  I wanna be a hero, too!”

“You’ll NEVER be like me! You’re a DISGRACE!  A failed experiment!”

“No, no, NO!” Dabi shouted as he squeezed his eyes shut, his fists pounding his head.  He opened his eyes, a wildness in them that terrified you. He grabbed at you then, his long fingers wrapping around your biceps with shocking force as he prepared to physically move you from his path.  You cried out in pain, his touch like knives against your sensitive skin.

“Dabi, stop it, you’re hurting me!” you cried. 

Your frantic words cut through his crazed mind.  He stared at you, bewildered, taking in the terror in your eyes, the tears on your face. He saw his hands gripping you, your arms bent up in front of you defensively in fear. 

In fear of him.

He let you go, stumbling back a step.  He stared at his open palms in horror, his chest heaving.  He’d grabbed you.  Hurt you. It was his worst fear come to life.  He really was like him.

His hands morphed before his eyes, the scars and staples vanishing, and suddenly they were bigger, rougher.  They were his father’s hands.  And as he looked up, he no longer saw you.  Now, he saw his mother, her eyes holding the same fear yours did a moment ago, a fear he’d seen countless times as she tried to defend her children.  Those eyes were now trained on him, and it felt as if his soul was being ripped to shreds.

“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. He needed her forgiveness.  Did he even deserve such a thing?  He fell to his knees with a choked sob.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated.

You stared in shock as you watched him fall apart before you, rambling apologies and broken words falling from his lips.  You whispered that it was alright, but he couldn’t hear you, too far lost in whatever nightmare he was stuck in.  You knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles in the space between his shoulders.

He could feel it… his mother’s touch, cool on his back and warm on his soul.  He was falling and no longer knew where he was.  He only knew that this touch between his shoulder blades was an anchor to a place he couldn’t reach, a place he longed for but never believed existed for him.  It was an exoneration, made of mercy and love, sewing together his broken pieces with a golden thread. He wasn’t worthy of it.  He cried.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bore witness to his agony, this unknown monster that haunted him as he sobbed, completely dismantled and unaware of your presence. There was nothing you could do, no way you could help him through this.  All you could do was be here for him.  You wouldn’t let him go through this alone

You wrapped your arms around his head as you buried your face into his black hair, your own tears running down into his dark strands.  His body responded, lean, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed himself against your stomach and suddenly the two of you were entwined, with him halfway in your lap, gripping you like a child would his mother as his body shook and his tears ran hot into your clothes.

With every inch of you on the brink, your body screamed at his iron-like grip around your waist. Even so, you twined your fingers into his thick hair, bracing the palms of your hands against his sweating skull. With one last surge, you drew what you could of your quirk, scraping the dredges of your ability, and pushed, deep into his brain where the pain still sat like a bullet in a wound that couldn’t heal.  A choked sob escaped your lips as your body was pushed passed its threshold, your world exploding in color, sound, and pain.  Dabi’s own sobs fell silent and his body went limp in your lap, his arms around your waist going slack.  He was unconscious. 

A deafening silence fell across the room, slowly replaced by the sounds of daily life from outside – the bustle of traffic, someone’s radio blaring, people laughing.  It felt out of place in contrast to all that had transpired and clashed harshly with your ears.  The sun was completely up now, the grey haze of morning burned away.  It seeped past the cracks in the curtains, a beam of light streaking across the floor to kiss the face of the man now passed out in your lap. The brightness of the sunlight made you squint against it, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.  You watched the tension in his face disappear, furrowed brows and wrinkled forehead smoothing over, his lips parting in a relaxed breath.  It was the first time you’d ever seen him look so peaceful.

You watched as your tears fell on his pale cheek to slip down and catch onto a metal ring. Suddenly, you were doubled over him, sobbing violently into his shoulder.  The rollercoaster of all that had happened crashed over you in unrelenting waves as your body screamed at the entire loudness of the world around you.  As you cried, the broken man beneath you slept. There was no waking him now; his own exhaustion had claimed him once you hit his withdrawal at its source. 

After what felt like ages, your sobbing subsided, and your tears dried up.  Your body and soul were spent.  They screamed for relief, for silence, for sleep.  Slowly, you removed Dabi from your lap before finally staring at him, asleep on the floor.  There was no way you could get him back into his bed, but you’d do what you could to make him comfortable.  Even the slightest bit movement was agony, but you forced yourself forward with painstaking slowness.  You managed to get the pillow you had borrowed under his head and draped his blanket over him before you grabbed a water bottle for yourself and downed its contents.  You followed it up with a banana, although your stomach roiled slightly, the pain in your lower back bringing forth a wave of nausea that you fought with clenched teeth and deep breaths through the nose.

Every movement was stiff and calculated to try to mitigate your own suffering as you gathered the items Dabi had emptied across the floor earlier.  When you finally left his room, it felt like entering another dimension, the hallway oddly quiet and peaceful.

On tired, aching feet you crossed the hallway to your room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind you, you dropped your bag and headed straight for the bathroom.  As you passed your closet, you eyed the duffle bag stashed up high in your closet, your mind longingly thinking of its hidden contents. You did your best to ignore it.  The idea of having to go through it all again because you couldn’t exercise self-control was enough to keep you from giving into temptation.

Instead, you pulled your over the counter pain relief pills from your medicine cabinet and took four of them; they might not work as well as what you were used to, but it was better than nothing.  Your body screamed for sleep, but you knew that sleep would elude you as long as your senses were going haywire and your back burned.

So, you closed your bathroom door to plunge yourself into darkness and turned on your bathtub, adjusting the temperature to an equilibrium that matched with your own body.  You undressed yourself, slowly, grateful to no longer feel the itchiness of the cotton on your skin while the soles of your bare feet complained about the cold hardness of your bathroom floor.  Once the tub was full and the faucet turned off, you entered the water slowly and submerged yourself until only your mouth and nose were above water.

Immediately, a familiar, comfortable silence fell over you as the water entered your ears and muted your hearing, your closed eyes blocked out any remaining light that the bathroom door couldn’t eliminate, and the water caressed your skin in a gentle, numbing embrace.

This was what you needed – sensory deprivation.  Or, at least the best you could do with your current situation.  A heated pool was more ideal of course, but clearly not an option right now. You could feel the edges of the tub press on your skin where you couldn’t quite fit or where the water wasn’t quite deep enough to fully support you with its buoyancy.  But still, it was far better than anything else you had at your disposal.

If it weren’t for the fear of water getting into your nose and lungs, you would have fallen asleep right there in an instant.  Instead, you lingered, your mind filled with memories and thoughts of the gauntlet you had somehow managed to survive.  You wondered if Dabi would remember all of it when he finally woke up, or if some of it would get lost or buried.

Will he be okay after you used your quirk on his mind?  You hadn’t thought about it when you did it – your instinct took over, fueled by desperation and emotional turmoil at seeing him fall apart in front of you against his will.  You’d never used your quirk like that before, and it scared you.

There was nothing you could do but wait.  Wait and see what happened.

You left the bathtub once the water started to get cold and dressed yourself in your softest article of clothing before falling into bed.  Your blackout curtains did their best to block out the daytime, but nothing could be done for the noise, the old windows made of thin glass.  But fatigue pulled heavy, its weight stronger than your quirk’s feedback.  Time lost its meaning as sleep finally found you, pulling you into its gentle arms while visions of Dabi filled your dreams. __________________________________________________________________

Part 7

____________________________________________________

The night dragged by slowly, painfully.  Every inch of Dabi was restless and aching.  His scarred legs screamed a discordant song through his veins, muffled under the influence of the pills you had given him.  The aches he still felt were just annoying enough to make sleep impossible, despite the exhaustion that pulled at him.  There was no comfortable position, nothing to ease the physical stress.

Still, the pain was bearable.  Your treatment was working.

It had its limits, though. Despite the pills you’d given him, he was still functioning on an opioid withdrawal.  A jittery energy consumed him, forcing his leg to beat like a jackhammer, while his mind raced. Dabi could never stay in one spot for long, switching between his bed to his desk chair, to his bed again.  Sitting.  Lying down. Standing.  Sitting again. It hadn’t taken him long to break into his cigarettes, dragging long puffs into his lungs to ease his tattered nerves. It helped to ease the physical distress, but his mind continued to jump from thought to thought, no longer encumbered by a drug-filled haze. 

The headache relief you’d provided him was proving to be a double-edged sword, allowing his sporadic thoughts to come through clearer without the sharp, throbbing ache as a distraction.  Your conversation hung over Dabi like a vengeful ghost.  He tried to run from it, distracting himself with various forms of entertainment on his phone.  Music videos, books, TV shows, memes…

Did you like memes? Of course, you did.  Who didn’t?

Damn it, there you were again, in his brain.

He didn’t want to think about it.  He didn’t want to think about you.

But he did anyway.  Obsessively.

It wasn’t long before Dabi was sitting on his bed, his phone forgotten in his hand while his mind turned over every nuance of what was said, every detail of body language.  It honed in on the fear in your eyes, the way you had wrapped your arms around yourself, the way you had frozen against his harsh tone. His mind chewed on it like a dog with a bone, a dog he couldn’t fucking train.

It shouldn’t matter.  It shouldn’t fucking matter.

So, you were scared of him. That was to be expected.  It wasn’t like he needed you to like him.  This was all temporary anyway.

So, he had grabbed you. Big deal.  It wasn’t like he really hurt you, right?  It could have been so much worse.

The thoughts the did little to comfort him, his new-found conscience finding little of value in his weak excuses.  The guilt sat in him like a stone, too heavy for him to move.

It mattered.  It mattered a lot.

And he hated it.

Dabi still couldn’t remember actually grabbing you, but his mind filled in the blank space regardless, taking what he could remember and embellishing it into a brightly colored oil painting.  It hung front and center in the castle of his mind, joining the tapestry of memories that wrapped around Dabi like a cage.  And from it, it forced him to follow the threads of his life, drawing parallels to past wrongs, to things said and things done…

…To things better left buried.

“I hate you.”

The words echoed in Dabi’s mind, an old memory with his voice attached.  Young, hot-headed, angry.  He closed his eyes tight, resting the bridge of his nose on his interlaced fingers as he tried not to remember.  He didn’t want to remember.  But his mind was freed now, healing from the poison he’d been feeding himself for years, and it didn’t give a fuck what he wanted or didn’t want.

“This is all your fault.”

So, this is where his mind wanted to start first.  He knew this memory, and he knew where it would eventually lead. 

The memory came into focus with such clarity that it was as if he were there again.  He could see her, clear as if she were there in person, white hair framing broken eyes as wet tears trailed down her hollow, pale cheeks. He could see himself too, younger, around thirteen years old, with red, wild hair like his father, his blue eyes filled with angry tears. 

He watched, a prisoner in his own mind, as the memory unfolded before him.

His head hung low as his eyes stared ahead of himself, unfocused. Why?  Why was this happening to him?  His father’s harsh words wrapped around him like chains, restricting him, choking him, forcing him into submission.

‘YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A FAILED EXPERIMENT.’

Why was he cast aside so easily, as if he didn’t MATTER?

His father promised.  He PROMISED that he’d help him become a hero.  He’d trained every day, no matter how hard his father pushed him, no matter how much his quirk burned him. His father had called it the cost of greatness. It was all meant to mold him, to beat the weakness out of him and make him stronger, to prepare him for the greatest test of his life, the UA entrance exams.  It was the ONLY path to becoming a pro hero.  Not just any pro hero, but the BEST.  His father insisted on it.

But now, with less than a year before he would apply, his father abandoned him.

“I tried so hard, mom.  I did everything he ever asked, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he… he…”

His mother wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “I’m so sorry Touya.”

His voice shook with the force of suppressed sobs. “If I’d been strong enough… if I was more like him, then maybe he’d have been proud of me. Maybe… maybe he would have wanted me.”

“Touya…” his mother whispered consolingly.

He stared at his bandaged hands, watching through blurred vision as his tears broke free and fell onto the strips of cloth.  They soaked in, exposing the red blood beneath. He stared at it.

His fathers voice echoed in his mind.  ‘You’re WEAK!  Just like your mother!’

Tainted blood.

HER blood.

His father was right.

Touya’s pain transformed into anger. “This is all your fault.”  He whispered.

Her embrace vanished as his words smacked her.  Her eyes began to fill with tears.  “What…?”

“This is all your fault!” He repeated, pinning his angry eyes on her tear-filled ones.  “I HATE YOU!”

Dabi rubbed at the bridge of his nose, unable to get his mother’s facial expression out of his head. He had been such an idiot. A young, stupid kid.  He’d destroyed her with those words.  Maybe… maybe that was the start.  The first crack in her mental fragility.

Her face faded away, and now he was in an office. His father’s office.

“I’m going to apply to UA.” He announced.

His father looked up at him from the newspaper he was reading. “No you’re not.  I forbid it.”

“You may have given up on me, but I haven’t.”  Touya said stubbornly.

Enji put the newspaper down.  “If I thought you were capable of getting into UA, then we would be training right now instead of having this conversation.”

“But dad-“

“I FORBID IT!” He shouted as orange flames erupted along his face and shoulders.  “I’ll not have you bring shame on the Todoroki name all for a childish dream.”

“It’s NOT a childish dream!” Touya shouted.

Dabi scoffed at the memory, noting his father’s hypocrisy about “childish dreams.”  He knew the rest of this story…  He’d applied behind his father’s back and failed the exam.  His father was furious.

As if summoned, the memory burst forth, tying together with the previous.

He lay in the hospital bed at the UA Health Center, wrapped in bandages, nursing his failure.    He’d lost control of his emotions during the exam, consumed by anger and a desperate desire to prove his father wrong.  In turn, he lost control of his quirk.  Not only had he injured himself with his recklessness, but he’d accidentally injured two other applicants with his wild flames – an automatic disqualification.

The school nurse, Recovery Girl, was treating the other’s wounds first, and then she would treat his.

Or so he thought.

Just as she was about to use her quirk to rapidly heal some of his injuries, his father burst through the door in a cloud of barely contained rage.

“Don’t treat him.” He ordered.

“Excuse me?” She replied.

Touya stared at his father, realization starting to dawn on him.  He wouldn’t...

Enji narrowed his eyes.  “I said don’t treat him.”

“But Mr. Todoroki, if I don’t use my quirk to help him then he’ll be left with scars.  Worse than the ones he already has.”

“I know.”

“It will take him many weeks to heal.  He may feel pain for the rest of his life.”

“He must suffer the consequences of his actions.”

“But sir, if I may-“

“You may not!”

“…very well, sir.” She mumbled.  She left the room, muttering her disapproval under her breath.

After she was gone, a cold fear gripped Touya as his father stared at him with fury in his eyes.  He waited for his father’s barrage of insults and accusations, waited for the lecturing on family honor and being a ‘man.’

But the attacks never came.  Instead, his father cooled his expression, fixing him with a cold, emotionless glare.  “You brought this on yourself.”  He turned on his heel to leave, but paused to glance at him over his shoulder.  “Remember this day, Touya.”  Then he left.

Tears streaked down Touya’s face as he sobbed alone. No one could hear him.  No one came.

Dabi stood up and made his way to his desk, pulling out another cigarette before sitting down in the metal chair.  He lit the cigarette with the blue flame dancing on his finger and took a long drag of it as his free hand slowly spun the whiskey bottle in circles in front of him.

He didn’t want to think about this.  Any of this. There was no fucking point to it, nothing to be gained.  It only brought up the same pain he’d lived with for years, the pain he’d learned to ignore in place of vengeance.

He wanted to drink the entire bottle.  He wanted to move his desk aside and seek you out, have you turn off his emotions like you’d done before.  He could do it… the desk wasn’t really going to stop him.

But it served as a reminder. A reminder of what he had committed himself to.  Why did he decide to go through with this?  What the hell was he thinking?

He thought of you.  He thought of the past few days.  And once again, he was back on his thread of memories, following the tapestry down to its source.

The source of what?

He wasn’t sure.  But it was as if someone had strapped him down and was forcing his eyes open.  It wouldn’t stop.  His thoughts continued unfettered, memories organizing with a clarity he hadn’t felt in years.

Touya sat alone in his room watching the rain pour outside as he nursed a black eye.  Outside his second-story window, his father trained in the courtyard with his youngest brother. His quirk had manifested earlier that day – a perfect combination of fire and ice.  Enji had been ecstatic.

Touya had punched the wall in anger.

Now he sat here, alone, watching his father train his replacement.

His replacement.

No wonder his father had abandoned him when Shouto was born.  He was placing all of his chips on him once he realized that Touya’s body would never be able to handle his quirk.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding, and his mother stepped in, disappointment already on her face.

“I heard you got in another fight today.” She said, as she closed the door behind her.

“They were picking on Natsuo.” He said.  “I couldn’t just let that happen.”

“They’re talking about expelling you.”

He looked away from her, his eyes looking back out the window.  “So what.” He replied.  If anything, he welcomed it.  Anything to thwart his father’s plans of making him go to college and get a business degree, only to work under his father’s thumb at his agency for the rest of his life.

“You can’t keep doing this, Touya.” She said, concern heavy in her voice.

“Doing what?” He looked back at her. 

“Destroying your life like this.”

He glared at her accusation. “I didn’t destroy my life.” He looked away, watching the courtyard again.  “He did.”

His mother walked over to join him at the window.  A gust of wind blasted raindrops onto the glass.  Outside, Shouto’s flames died away on his skin as he collapsed to his hands and knees.  Enji grabbed him by his small arm, forcing him back up to his feet.  She watched it with a sadness in her eyes.

“He’s too young.” She said quietly.

Jealousy soaked into Touya’s heart.  “And I wasn’t?”

His words stabbed her, and she hung her head in guilt.  “I’m sorry, Touya.  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Now he was confused.  “Like what?”

She didn’t respond, and he looked at her to see her eyes glazed over in silent introspection.  She’d mentally retreated within herself, to a place that Touya couldn’t follow.  It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her do this.  If anything, it was happening more frequently lately.  Normally, when this happened he wouldn’t press it, allowing her to escape within herself, to protect whatever part of her she felt needed protecting.

But now her words trapped him, and his heart began to pound at their unspoken meaning.  “LIKE. WHAT?  How was it supposed to happen??”

His words cut through her mental isolation, and she stared distantly at the floor as her eyes began to brim with tears.

“If only one of the others had been strong enough… of only I’d given them better quirks…” the tears broke free, landing on the hard floor.  “Then maybe… maybe you wouldn’t have had to suffer so long.  I’m so sorry, Touya.  It’s all my fault.  Everything is all my fault.”  She covered her face in her hands.

Given them better quirks?  Who? 

His body went cold.  Suddenly he was outside of himself, watching the history of his life fly by.

The birth of Fuyumi.  Then came Natsuo.

Now Shouto.

Touya did the math in his head. He was 17 now.  Fuyumi was 14, and Natsuo was 9.  Shouto was 5.   A four-year gap between each of them.

He’d always thought that his siblings came along as a natural process of a growing family, born from love despite his father’s harsh, obsessive nature.  Why else would Rei have stayed with him all these years? But the age gaps were too uncanny, too similar.  It was just enough time for each of their quirks to manifest.

Shouto wasn’t the only one who was intended as a replacement.

Which meant his father had given up on him long before he’d ever let on.

Touya’s chest heaved, as his world was up-ended.  “It was all a lie…”

The intensity of his tone forced his mother to come back to the present, her hands falling from her face to stare at him.  “What?”

“It was all a lie!” he repeated, his voice raising.  “All these years…”

He stood up and began pacing his room, his hand in his red hair.  “Tell me it’s not true.” He demanded.  “I already knew that Shouto was meant to replace me.  But Natsuo?” He paused and stared at his mother.

She looked way shamefully. 

His breaths began to come out in ragged gasps as he fought the tears coming to his eyes. 

“Fuyumi?”

“No, not Fuyumi.  Not initially, at least.”

Right.  Because his quirk had just manifested when she was born.  His father didn’t know yet how weak and limited his body was; he’d still believed it was something that could be worked past, that it was something Touya could control.  Which meant that Fuyumi was wanted.  Lucky her.  No wonder his father seemed to favor her over everyone else.

He sat on his bed, his head in his hands.  “What the FUCK.”

All these years, he’d assumed his father had believed in him, and only gave up on him right before he was set to apply to UA.  Even then, he’d thought that his father only abandoned him as a way to protect Touya from hurting himself, or even worse, killing himself.  That was why his father hadn’t let him get healed back then, right? That was the lesson he was supposed to learn?  To accept his weakness and take his mortality seriously?  Sure, there was the whole thing about ruining the family’s reputation, but he’d always hoped that deep down, there was more to it than that. There had to be.

But no. None of it was true. It was all about HIM.  His father and his stupid, obsessive goal to beat All Might, even if it was only through his progeny.  Touya was nothing but a tool to him, a means to an end.  And when he couldn’t meet his father’s needs, he became nothing more than a contingency plan.  In the meantime, his father kept trying to make the perfect hero.  The perfect quirk.

And he’d finally succeeded.

Touya stared at his scarred hands. “Did… did he ever even love me?” The words fell from his mouth, a forbidden, broken whisper.

His mother’s arms were around him then, cradling him to her chest.  “Of course, he loves you.  I swear it.”

The warmth of her embrace made him turn his attention on her, and suddenly a revelation hit him, cutting into him like a thousand knives.  His body went rigid, his eyes wide.

“You knew.” He whispered.  He forced her arms off of him and stood up, towering over her with his height.  She took a step back, her eyes wide.  “You knew and you never told me.”

He turned his back to her, unable to look at her.

“Touya, please...” she begged, her voice quivering.

He didn’t want to hear it. There was nothing she could say that could fix this.  His father was one thing… he’d accepted that he was an abusive, shitty father.  But his mother?  His mother who he’d confided in?  His mother who was supposed to protect him?  His mother… who he trusted?  Why didn’t she ever tell him?

The betrayal was too much. It cut too deep.  His entire childhood was a lie, years wasted by those who were supposed to love and support him.

Disgust filled him.  He wanted her gone.  Out of his room, out of his life.

“Touya!” she said desperately.  She reached out to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at bridging the growing chasm between them.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He shouted. 

Flames erupted across his body, uncontrolled, as his arm shoved her away from him.  She stumbled back with such force that she collided into the wall before slumping down against it.  She didn’t get up.  Instead, she sat there with her knees drawn up like a child, her body wracked with sobs.

He stared at her, horrified, as his blue flames died away on his skin.  He wanted to go to her, to reach out and help her, apologies falling frantically from his lips.  He took a cautious step forward, one hand outstretched towards her.  But she shied away from him, her arms wrapping protectively around her head.

“No! Enji, please!”

Her words stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he lowered his hand and stared in stunned silence as his mother babbled incoherent apologies.  Something shattered within himself, sinking away to leave a hollowness in its place.

He ran.

Dabi was drowning, as the weight of his past washed over him, choking him.

That was the longest one yet.  And the most painful.  It ripped at the exposed tender places in his heart, places he’d thought were long-since dead.

Dabi’s vision blurred and he wiped at his nose.  This was what he did.  He lashed out, hurting those close to him, those who didn’t deserve it.  It was the same with you. It was who he was, it was who he was made to be. It’d only be a matter of time before it happened again.

He lifted his cigarette to take another puff but stopped when he realized that it had burned down to the filter, leaving a trail of ash in its wake on the desk.

He unpacked another cigarette and lit it.  His hand began to unscrew the whiskey bottle.

She had avoided him after that, and he avoided her.  It wasn’t long after that rainy day that his mother had her mental breakdown, scalding Shouto in an attempt to burn away the image of her husband.  Or was she trying to burn away the image of Touya? Was there even a difference in her mind?

The news had shocked him, and he ran as fast as his legs could take him.  He burst into Enji’s office, forcing himself into his father’s presence.

“Where is she?” Touya demanded, his chest heaving from exertion.

Enji frowned at the intrusion, looking up from his paperwork at his desk.  He was dressed professionally, in a white button-up shirt with a blue tie.

“Who?” He demanded.

Touya clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ground together.  God, did he hate him…

“My mother. You know, your wife.  The one you knock up every four years and the ignore.”

Enji menacingly rose from his chair, his blue eyes carrying the threat of violence within them. He towered over Touya, his presence casting a shadow from the wall sconces behind him.

“You watch your tone with me, boy.” Enji said coldly.  “I will not be disrespected in my own house.”

Touya knew if he pushed it, he’d never get what he came here for.  So, he sucked up his anger and pride, bowing deep in apology. “Yes, sir.” Touya muttered with downcast eyes. “Forgive me.   I just want to know where she is.”

Enji paused for a moment, staring down at his son before returning to his seat and picking up his pen.  “She’s been admitted to the Musutafu Mental Institution.” He replied as he marked his paper.

A pause filled the space before Touya asked his next question.  “Can I see her?”

“No.”

Touya’s breath stopped, his mind unable to wrap around the simple word that fell like a judge’s gavel. His father’s answer was cold and final, said with such heartless ease.  He stared in disbelief.

He thought he had time to mend things, to finally overcome his cowardice and atone for his actions.  But there was no atoning now.  He’d lost her.  Tears began to sting in the corners of his eyes, but he fought them back; his father always hated it when he cried.

“So that’s it…? She’s gone?”

“It was for the best.” Enji replied.  “She attacked my son, almost made him useless.  Now I can train him without her interfering.”

“Is that all you care about?”  The words fell from Touya’s mouth before he could stop them, covered in bitterness.

Enji’s pen stopped scribbling.  An agonizing ten seconds passed before he set it down and looked up at Touya, pinning him with his sharp eyes, dark eyebrows pulled down into an angry frown.  “Excuse me?”

Touya steeled himself against his father’s wrath as the rage he’d been keeping to himself burst forth against its creator. 

“Is that all you care about?” he repeated.  “Your wife is in a mental institution and your son is scarred for life, but all you can think about is surpassing All Might?”

Enji pinned him with a look that was almost akin to pity.  “How small-minded you are.  This was always your problem, Touya. Your mother too.  You both lacked vision, an inability to see the bigger picture. That was why you were never able to push past your limits.  But Shouto… Shouto will be different.”

Enji’s accusations made Touya’s lips curl into a snarl.  “Do you even hear yourself?” he spat.  “No wonder she went crazy.  She wasn’t attacking Shouto, she was attacking you!  This is all your fault, and you don’t even care. You’re a shit father, and a worse husband.”

The pity in his father’s eyes turned to ice, and the man quietly set his pen down before standing up from his desk.  “Shouto said the same thing.” He grumbled.  “I excused it coming from him, because he’s young and doesn’t understand yet.  But you… you should know better.”  He loosened his tie and began to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves.  “I’ve been too lenient on you.  It looks like there are some lessons I still have yet to teach you.”

Touya took a step back at the obvious gesture.

Enji stared down at him in disgust.  “Look at you. Already scared.  You’re just as pathetic as before.”

Touya went into a defensive stance, his blue flames igniting across his skin.

His father scowled. “You dare raise your flames against me, boy?” His own flames erupted along his body.  “Very well.  If you’re going to talk like a man and fight like a man, then you will learn to accept your consequences like a man.”

Dabi took a drag of his new cigarette, already burned halfway from neglect.  He inhaled deeply, wanting the toxic fumes to fill the gaping hole in his chest.  It didn’t.

He picked up the now-open whiskey bottle and poured it to the halfway point of the plastic cup.  There was no ice to chill it, but it would have to do.  He took a swig, letting the fiery taste coat his tongue, burning away the taste of ash.

Enji had taken him outside into the courtyard, where he received the worst beating he’d ever gotten. His father’s blows lacked the restraint he typically exercised, fueled by a dark rage.  It had left Touya gagging and coughing, crumpled on the floor in a heap. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to think. 

The beating may have been five minutes or it may have been five hours. He couldn’t really tell. All he did know was that no one came.  Just like all the times before, no one came to say something, to stop him, even though the sound of their conflict shook the Todoroki grounds, incinerating nearby bushes and damaging the exposed framework of the surrounding buildings. And after his father had left, removing his tie and his shirt to clean the blood from them, Touya had laid there alone in the dirt, staring up at the cold, lifeless, star-studded night sky as an unforgiving universe stared back.  He wanted to die.

It felt like eternity had passed before two sets of hands gently grabbed him and helped him up, each of his arms going around familiar shoulders.  His siblings had finally come for him, now that his father was out of sight and they knew they were safe from his wrath.  They had helped Touya to his bed, where Fuyumi tended to his wounds in silence and Natsuo sat beside her, his mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.

Dabi took another couple of decent gulps of his whiskey, resisting the urge to down the entire contents and pour another cup.  How much did he pour?  Four shots worth?  Five? He needed it to kick in.  If he was going to be forced to relive every bad memory he ever had, then he’d be here all night. 

His body was worn down, his spirit tired.  He really didn’t want to feel anymore.

But the alcohol wasn’t working fast enough; his brain wouldn’t stop.

It was late at night, the moon high in the sky, the air cold with the hint of rain as clouds rolled in from the distance.  It had been a few days since Touya’s beating, but despite his sister’s protests, he decided to leave the confines of his room and take a walk on the family compound.

That was how he ended up here, six feet away from the training room.  The light was off, but he could hear the sound of fists hitting, and every now and then the room would light up with bright orange flame.  But there was no lecturing, no young voice crying.  Touya knew Shouto wasn’t in there this time.  He was still in bed, recovering from the burn his mother had inflicted. Enji was furious, pacing the grounds like an angry bear, snapping at staff and family and locking himself away in his training room to work out his frustrations, constantly striving for a goal he’d never be able to achieve.

Touya inwardly scoffed.  If anyone should be admitted to a mental institution, it should be his father. The man was literally driven insane by his inability to surpass All Might.  But of course, that would never happen.  His father was the number two hero.  He was “untouchable.”  There was no one brave enough or strong enough to make that man face his own demons. It made Touya curl his nose up at the hypocrisy.

An odd silence drew Touya out of his thoughts.  The sounds of fists impacting dummies and training equipment had stopped, the flames no longer bathing the ground in light through the open door.  Then he heard it – an unfamiliar sound, one he’d never heard before. He furrowed his brow in confusion and inched closer to the open door before risking a peek inside.

The moonlight spilled in just enough for him to see the hulking form of his father, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.  His great shoulders shook, and finally Touya realized the sound he was hearing.

His father was crying.

Disgust filled Touya, sour and bitter.  For all of his father’s posturing, for all of his grandiose lectures about strength and commitment, here he was, sobbing like a baby.  And for what?  For his inability to reach his dreams, while his family fell apart around him?

Or was he crying FOR his family?

Touya pushed the possibility away, burying it deep, deep down where he refused to give the idea any chance of blooming into a belief.

No.  This man didn’t feel for his family.  He wasn’t ALLOWED to feel for his family.  He was the reason his family was as broken as it was, every single one of them able to tie their scars back to him and his selfish actions.

Touya hated him.

And yet he loved him.  How fucked up was that? He could feel it in his irrational urge to go to him and offer support, a support he’d never once received.  And that just made him hate him more, because despite all that his father had done to him, Touya still fucking cared.

His father wasn’t worthy of it.  He didn’t deserve Touya’s love, or his mother’s love, or anyone’s love for that matter.

And he certainly didn’t deserve to cry.

Touya fled.  He fled from his feelings, he fled from his fears, taking only his righteous anger with him and riding it like a hellhound. He ran as fast as he could, ignoring the pain that sliced through him from his father’s abuse.  His lungs burned. His ribs ached.  As he ran, his thoughts followed, chasing him and swooping on him like a flock of crows, pecking at his sanity.

He ended up in an abandoned warehouse, a quarter mile from his house, across the railroad tracks that marked the separation of ritzy upper-class life and industrial city complexes. He fell to his knees, his palms landing hard on the dirt-strewn floor inside the old building, as sobs ripped lose from his throat, harsh and painful.

He hated him.  He hated him more than anything.  How could he have ever idolized him?  How could he have ever loved him?  His father was selfish.  He was destructive. He was cruel.  And now his father cried like a baby, as if he were a victim in all of this.

He wasn’t a victim. And he certainly wasn’t a hero.

What kind of hero saved civilians while simultaneously destroying his family behind closed doors? That wasn’t a hero.  It was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And it was devouring his family.  His helpless, innocent family.

They deserved justice. They deserved saving.  Where was hero society in all of this?  Lining his father’s pockets, placing him on a pedestal to be worshipped.  His father always preached about Touya accepting the consequences of his actions.  So where were Enji’s consequences?

As long as his father continued to reign supreme, his family would never be safe.  His family would never heal.  His mother would never recover. Natsuo would never be freed of his anger. Shouto would never get to decide who he is and who he wants to be. Fuyumi would be weighed down by her obligation to her family, foregoing her own dreams to take care of them all.

His father needed to be gone.  Permanently.  Only then would his family be safe.  Only then would they be free.

But Touya… Touya would never be free.  He understood that now, even as his hatred and anger consumed him.  He was just like his father, a proverbial chip-off-the-old-block.  He’d managed to take all the worst parts of him and make them a part of himself. His obsessive nature, his anger, his jealousy… his violence.  He could feel it in his blood.

If his family wasn’t safe with Enji, then what made Touya any different? He’d already played a hand in his mother’s mental demise.  How could he be sure he wouldn’t hurt the rest as tie went on?

He was just like his father.

He hated his father.

He hated himself.

He wanted to die.

So then, who better to take on the Behemoth?  Who better than his father’s son, the monster he’d made?

Touya had to kill Endeavor.  He had to kill his father.  His father, who he couldn’t even beat in a fight.  He was stupid.  A fool. But there were no other options.  No other paths to justice.  And Touya was tired of waiting for justice.

Touya’s sob turned into a dry laugh.  Was this what it meant to be heroic?  To bear the weight of this responsibility, even if it cost him his soul?  Even if it killed him?

His dry laugh grew into a series of laughs, wild and hysterical, as tears ran down his face, while the reality of what he was committing to tore him asunder.  As he heaved and coughed, a heat began to overtake him, building so quickly that by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.  Searing, blue flames blasted out of him in such magnitude and such intensity that the windows of the abandoned warehouse exploded, glass shards melting from the intense heat as they rained down.  The flames roared outward, reaching for the night sky through the now-glassless windows, groping and writhing, their fierceness never waning.

Touya couldn’t stop it.  The flames scorched through him and consumed him, the sound of it raging in his ears, his body devoured by agony as his quirk ate at him, destroying him from the inside out.  Above him, the heat of the flames began to melt the structural metal beams.

But his hysterical laughter and tears couldn’t stop, even as smoke left his scorched lungs with each exhale and his mouth tasted ash.  A screeching sound filled the space, the sound of metal bending and breaking.  The beams gave way, the roof caving in as destruction rained down around him, silencing his laughter.

…..

Nothing but bright blue fire and broken remains filled his vision.  Slowly, a dark form began to take shape amongst the flames, tall and towering.  It was him. He’d come for him.

The flames parted, and he saw himself as he was now: black hair, dark scars, staples glinting in the firelight.  The sound of a funeral bell tolled and his mouth opened, forming a single word.  A name.

A gentle knock caused the image to begin to fade away like mist, even as the funeral bells still rang in Dabi’s ears.

“Dabi?” He knew that voice. It was you.

Groggily, Dabi opened his eyes to find himself still in his chair at his desk, his head resting on his arm. His forgotten cup of whiskey sat unmoved, inches from his fingers.  It was a dream.  He’d fallen asleep.

Another knock at the door, slightly louder, made him sit up.

“...Dabi?” you called again.

“Yeah.” He grumbled. He rubbed at his face.  “Yeah, yeah.”

His body felt stiff and his neck had a horrible kink in it.  He checked the time on his phone.  5:45am.  Why in God’s name were you up so early?  And why were you knocking on his door?

He stood up and stretched his back, and that was when he felt it – a sharp itching pain that ran along his spine, chased by the agony in his legs.  It was worse than he remembered it being before he’d passed out. Your quirk was starting to wear off.

It looked like you were right on time.

He grabbed the end of his metal desk with one hand and pulled, dragging it slowly away from the door. The sound was grating, like nails on a chalkboard.  If people weren’t awake before, they definitely were now.

As if on cue, three harsh bangs resonated from the wall next him.  “What the hell, Dabi???” Spinner’s voice yelled through the wall.  “People are trying to sleep!”

“Bite me.”  Dabi snapped back before opening the door for you, and stared, giving you an obvious once-over.  You were completely dressed, in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, as if you’d been up for hours.  Dark circles framed your tired eyes. “Hey, doll.” He greeted.

Your heart did a flip before you even knew what hit you, leaving you standing there like a deer in headlights.  It’d been a cool minute since he’d called you that; you didn’t realize how much you’d grown attached to it.

It took you a moment to realize that he was holding the door open for you, inviting you in.  Once you were across the threshold, Dabi closed the door behind you.

“Sorry… did I wake you?” You asked, as your eyes took in the room.  His desk was haphazardly pulled away from the door, covered in plastic bags. The room stank of cigarette smoke and alcohol.  A bottle of whiskey sat incriminatingly on the desk, some of its contents missing.  You picked up the bottle and stared at it before pinning Dabi with a glare.  You knew he knew better.  For someone who was so experienced with drugs, he certainly did do some stupid shit.

“Really?” you scolded.

“Don’t start with me.” Dabi grumbled as he rubbed at his neck. He pulled out an electrolyte drink and downed its contents, wiping his mouth with his hand once it was empty.  “There, you happy?”  He moved on to a bag of chips, crunching loudly as he chewed in annoyance.

Normally, you would have been more diplomatic, navigated the waters a little bit more when you saw them getting choppy.  But you slept like shit again last night, waking up repeatedly from bad dreams only to worry about this idiot while he decided to try to self-medicate by drinking his problems away.

“Don’t get mad at me for calling you out on your bullshit.” You replied.  “If you act like an idiot, then I’m gonna treat you like one.”

“How’s it look up there on your high horse?” Dabi retorted.

“What?”

“It must be exhausting being so fucking perfect.  Makes everyone else around you look like such fucking failures.”  He turned his angry eyes away from you as he sat down on the end of his bed, running a hand through his messy black hair.

His words slapped you, and you stared at him for a long moment, taking in the sight of him.  His eyes looked tired, his cheeks sallow.  His hair looked tangled and unwashed.  When was the last time he took a shower?  His hand kept rubbing at his neck, no doubt nursing a sore spot.  He must have fallen asleep at his desk after a rough night.  You recalled the night you’d helped him through his withdrawal, and the breakdown it had culminated in.  No doubt he was up all night battling his inner demons.  Alone.  Without your help this time.  Guilt soaked through your frustration.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. “You’re right, I shouldn’t judge. It’s just…” You sat down in his desk chair.  “I’m trying so hard to help you.  And… well…”

“What?” Dabi prodded. “You think I’m not trying?”

Your eyes fell on the desk, which sat askew in his room, and the bags full of various items that were obviously intended to help Dabi get through the night.  “No…” you replied.  “I know you are.  I just wish you took better care of yourself.”

“I take care of myself just fine.”

Your brow furrowed. “I mean it, Dabi.” You rubbed at your face tiredly, letting your fatigue finally show.  “I’m worrying about you, probably more than I should.  I’m pushing my body to its limits, I can’t sleep, and when I do, I dream about you.  Then I wake up, and I worry even more because I can never be entirely sure that you’re okay.”

You felt your body flush with heat at your sudden confession, and you looked at your hands in embarrassment. You weren’t supposed to say that. You weren’t supposed to say any of that.  Stupid, no-good, tired, foggy brain.

A shit-eating grin spread across Dabi’s face, his eyes lighting up in amusement.  “You dream about me, eh?”

“Shut up.” You grumbled. You grabbed a crumpled-up napkin and threw it at Dabi’s head.  It fell pitifully to the floor, three feet from where he sat.

Dabi stared at the failed attack and gave a laugh.  “That was pathetic.”

You tried to suppress a grin.  “I said shut up.  God, you’re such a brat.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you before Dabi finally spoke.  “Gotta solution to your problem… Stop worrying so much.”

You gave a small half-smirk. “Sorry, not gonna happen.” You replied.  “I worry about my friends.  That’s just how I am.”

Something did a flip in Dabi’s chest, and he averted his eyes.  “Friends, huh?  You don’t even know me.”

“I know you better today than I did a few days ago…”

He gave a dry laugh. You weren’t wrong…

“If we’re not friends when this is all over, then I will be greatly offended.” You teased. “Besides… like your company.”

Dabi stared at you like you grew a second head.  You liked his company? For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.  Most of the time you’d spent together so far was him either feeling like shit or being an asshole.

But he liked your company too even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, and for the moment he didn’t feel like fighting it.  He’d argue with himself later over it for sure, but for right now… he enjoyed feeling your presence, enjoyed how your words wrapped around him like a warm blanket, safe and secure.  His memories still sat upon his shoulders, lurking like crows, but they were silent for now, and he was pretty sure that it had something to do with you being here.

Your voice broke through his thoughts.  “Let’s change your bandage.  Are you okay waiting until I’m done treating you to get your pills?”

“Why, are you punishing me for drinking?” he replied. It took you a moment before you caught on that he was teasing.

You grinned and raised an eyebrow at him.  “No, but now that you mention it, we should probably wait until after we’re done since I don’t know how long ago it was that you drank.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.  Now you were just doing this on purpose…

You sat behind him on the bed and began unpacking your materials while he removed his shirt.  When you removed his bandage, you stared at the healing burn for a moment.

“How’s it look?” He asked, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“It’s healing okay, but it’s still going to take some time until you don’t need the bandages.”

Regardless of the status of his burn, he still needed to see you twice a day for your quirk treatment and pills.  It was exhausting, and you were grateful that so far the others only returned with minor injuries.  But that could change at any moment, and you needed to be able to handle it; otherwise, Shigaraki would start to question your value.

You could only hope that your seller could find a way to expedite Dabi’s medication.  And your own too.  You’d counted what you had left before you’d arrived, and you were getting low. Dangerously low.  You could get through today and tomorrow morning, but if you didn’t have your refills by then…

You tried not to think about it.

You changed his bandages easily and began applying your quirk to his scarred skin just as you’d done the night before.  When you adjusted your position to handle the scars on his front half, the fear crept up again.  But this time, you were able to wrangle it successfully, only hesitating for a moment before you continued.  You broke the silence with words, a helpful distraction from your increasing discomfort and wandering thoughts.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” You commented.

He eyed you for a moment, waiting for another lecture.  But it never came and when your eyes met his in a quick glance, there was no judgment in them.

“Only once in a while.” He replied.

You read between the lines of his answer. “Does it help?”

“A little.”

Silence fell again as you became increasingly focused on your quirk.  Your back was itching painfully again, and your heightened senses were making the light in the room seem far too bright.  Still, your fingers traced along his neck, taking special care to make sure no space was left untouched.  Dabi watched your face, inches from his own.  That was when he noticed it.  Something was wrong.  Your smile was gone, your lips now pressed into a firm line.  You took your breaths in through your nose, and your brows were pulled together as you focused.  Your hands were starting to shake.  Were you scared again?  Or was it something else?

Just as your hands began to reach his face, he grabbed your hands in his own and pulled back slightly out of your reach.  “Stop.”

Your eyes focused on him. “What?  Why?”

“Your quirk.  Does it hurt?” his tone was stern.  

You stared at him, your expression caught like a deer in headlights before looking away abashedly.

“Yeah, sort of.” You replied.

Dabi held your hands, as he waited for a better answer than what you gave him.

Finally, you slowly pulled our hands out of his grasp, his touch leaving electricity on your skin, and sat on the bed next to him with your hands clasped together.

“So, you know how when I use my quirk, it numbs your pain?”  Dabi waited silently for you to continue. “It sort of has an opposite effect on me. The more I use it, the more heightened my senses become.  And if I use my quirk too much, then it becomes… uncomfortable.”

Dabi stared at his hands as you spoke, his brow pulled down into a dark frown.  All this time… he knew you were pushing yourself to your limits; hell, you even said so earlier.  But he had assumed it just caused fatigue.  He never knew that it caused you pain.  How had he never noticed?  How many times had you treated him?

How much did you use your quirk on the first night of his withdrawal?  How far did you really push yourself?

A car alarm went off outside of his open window, and your hands immediately flew up to cover your ears against the assault, your heart pounding. Once the pain and panic dissipated, you lowered your hands, embarrassment hot in your blood.  It was the first time Dabi saw this part of you, and it made you feel weak and vulnerable.

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

Dabi hated those words.  He especially hated hearing them from you.  What the hell did you have to be sorry about?  Anger bubbled in him, old and familiar.  But he forced it down, aware of what his anger did to you as the memories flitted across his mind like a warning.

“It’s fine.”  Dabi replied, keeping his voice even.

Dabi’s mind began turning over this new piece of information, fitting the missing puzzle piece into what little he did have. He became acutely aware of how little he really knew about you.

“Is that what those drugs are for?” he asked.

You paused for a moment, contemplating if you should spin your truth to fit his theory.  But it didn’t feel right.  Earlier you said you considered him a friend. Did you keep secrets from friends?

How much did you really trust him?  How much did he trust you?

He was already trusting you more than you were, letting you help him through something very personal.  You’d seen him vulnerable far more than he’d seen you vulnerable.  So how would he feel if he learned you were keeping the truth from him? 

You wondered how he’d react.  If anyone would understand the pain you went through, it’d be him.  If anything, it might make the two of you closer.  You couldn’t deny that the idea of that resonated with an unspoken need within you.

“Sort of.” You replied, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.  “I can’t use them for my sensory overload.  It’d take too many to really have an impact, and I’d probably O.D. if I tried.”

“So, what are they for?”

Wow.  He really wanted to know.

Your heart pounded in your chest, as your words got stuck somewhere between your mouth and your insecurity.  It’d been so long since you’d talked about it, since you’d acknowledged it with another person.  What if he laughed?  After all, how ridiculous did you look complaining about a single scar compared to Dabi??  Or worse, what if he didn’t care at all?

But he’d asked, and now he was waiting for an answer. 

The words still wouldn’t come, so you positioned yourself with your back facing him and lifted your shirt slightly, exposing the damaged flesh beneath.

Dabi’s eyes widened.  He knew a burn scar when he saw one.  And not just any burn scar.  There was a pattern to it, a story in its twisted, marred flesh.  This was done by a quirk.  It spread across your lower back, the edge of it dipping beneath the hem of your pants.  His hand began to reach out, fingers twitching with the urge to touch it, as if his touch could take the hateful mark off of you.  But he caught himself, his fingers inches from your skin, and clenched his hand into a tight fist.

A long, heavy silence begin to fill the space between you while a thousand questions perched on the edge of his lips as he grappled with this new information and the emotions that erupted from it.

The silence dragged on, and you lowered your shirt, as heart-pounding anxiety smothered you.  It filled the dark spaces in you, the weak places where confidence had abandoned you. It settled into a could dread that made you unable to turn around and face him.  Why wasn’t he saying anything?  You squeezed your eyes closed as tears pricked at the corners.

Did you make a mistake?  You shouldn’t have shown him.  You should have just brushed it off or lied when you had the chance.

Tears began to slip down your cheeks, and you struggled to stop them.  But they wouldn’t stop, and you wiped away at them angrily, sniffling as you struggled to contain yourself.

The sound of your distress snapped Dabi out of his obsessive thoughts.  You were crying.  Why?

Was it something he said? But he didn’t say anything.

Was it something he did? But he didn’t do anything.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He had no words of comfort, and he certainly couldn’t hold you, not without crossing a boundary he’d set for himself.  You had called him a friend.  How did friends comfort each other?  He had no fucking clue.

He scratched at his head awkwardly before standing up.  He bit his cheek from the pain in his legs.  Your pills had worn off, and they were in desperate need of attention.  But he forced it into submission, instead making his way to his desk to retrieve a clean napkin and handing it to you.

The small gesture seemed to help, as you gave a small chuckle and accepted the gift, wiping at your eyes as you averted your tear-stained face from him.

“I’m sorry.” You said with a sheepish laugh.

There was that fucking phrase again.

“Don’t be.” He replied.

That answer seemed to help, too.  You finally turned to face him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“I know guys typically freak out when they see a girl cry.” You commented.  “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Your emotional reaction embarrassed you, and now you were struggling to save face.

“It’s fine.” He grabbed the bag of chips from earlier and grabbed a couple for himself before holding the bag out to you in offering.  You shook your head, keeping your eyes on your lap. 

“It’s just… it’s been a long time since I’ve shared this with anyone.” You tried to explain.  Not entirely truthful, but not entirely a lie either.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” He replied.

“No, it’s fine.” You replied.  “I understand why you wanted to know.”

Silence followed for a moment, filled only by the sound of Dabi’s crunching.  It grated on your ears, but you didn’t want to say anything, glad that he was at least eating something.  Instead, you tried to cover the noise of his chips with your voice.

“It doesn’t hurt all the time…” you explained.  “Only when my quirk gets overused.  That’s what the pills are for.”

 “What about your sensory overload?” Dabi asked.

You were grateful that the conversation was progressing forward, leaving your mini breakdown in the past.  

 “Usually it’s a matter of reducing exposure.  Turning off lights, quieting noises, that kind of thing.” You replied.

 As you spoke, Dabi watched you. He watched the way you never seemed to look up from your lap for very long, your eyes avoiding the light of his lamp.  Your shoulders were hunched against the cold (or was it the pain?), and he recalled how the car alarm before had made you cover your ears.  

 He grabbed another chip as his mind analyzed all the things that he’d missed before.  As soon as it crunched under his teeth, he saw your hands squeeze tightly on the hem of your shirt before loosening again.

 He stared at the bag, before holding it up to you.  “This bothers you?” he asked.

 You averted your eyes, embarrassed.  “Just a little.”

 He slowly put the bag down on the desk, careful not to have it crinkle too loudly.  “Why didn’t you say something?”

 You shrugged.  He scowled.  Then, he stood up with a wince, and closed his open window, drawing the curtains closed to block the brightening daylight.  As he walked back to sit on the bed next to you, he turned off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness that faded to a comfortable dim light once your eyes had adjusted to the change, morning light seeping into the room at an acceptable level.

 You could feel the relief immediately, and you stared at him, bewildered not just by his kindness, but by his awareness.  Was he really paying attention to you that closely?  It made your blood rush in your ears and your heart do somersaults.

 “Thank you.” You said softly.  

 “It’s not a big deal.” He replied as he leaned back and stared at the light dancing on the ceiling. It was the least he could do, he thought.  This discomfort you were feeling was because of him, after all.  Besides, after all you’d done for him – were still doing for him – he figured you’d earned a little bit of kindness in return.

 But only for you.

 Dammit.

 He really was a lost cause.

 “I’m feeling better now…” you said.  “I can finish treating your scars.”

 “It’s fine.” Dabi lied.

 You stood up and faced him. “Let me at least treat your legs. I wasn’t able to get to them last night.”

 “I said it’s fine.”

 “Dabi…” he looked at you and was met with a knowing look on your face.  “Trust me.  I know my limits.  Besides, this is literally my job.”  

 Dabi frowned at you. “No, your job is to treat injuries, not help drug addicts.”

 “My job is to make sure everyone is able to function to the best of their ability.” You countered. You crossed your arms with a smug look. “Don’t make me go tell Shigaraki that you’re being a bad patient.”

 He scowled and looked away. You took that as a surrender and sent him into the bathroom to change into shorts to make your job easier. When he came back out, he was still frowning.

 “You play dirty.” He complained.  “And not in a fun way.”

 You grinned but didn’t respond as you focused on running your hands along his scarred legs, starting at above the knee.  By the time you were done, your quirk was riding the brink, your back on fire again. But you gritted your teeth and bore it, even as sweat beaded across your face.

 You went to your bag and began to rummage through it, wincing as you bent over.  Your back was facing Dabi, your butt in the air, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the view.  A subtle smirk tugged at his lips.  But the grin was short lived; it fell as soon as you stood up, holding the familiar pill bottle in your hand.

 “No.” Dabi said adamantly.

 “Give me a break.” You replied, as you opened the container. “What other options do we have?”

 You held out the three pills towards him, but he stared at them.  “I can’t take these.” He said.

 You took his hand in yours and placed the pills into his palm, closing his fingers over them. “You can, and you will.” You replied. “Besides, it’s temporary, remember?”

 He opened his mouth to protest, but a ding sounded within the room that made you nearly jump out of your skin with your sensitive hearing.  You clumsily pulled your phone out of your bag and opened up your text messages.  Your eyes lit up, and a smile spread across your face before you put the phone away in your bag.

 “Good news,” you said. “Looks like the refills for my pills will be ready for pickup tomorrow.”

 “What about mine?” Dabi asked.

 Your expression fell slightly.  “He didn’t mention them, so I’m guessing they’re not ready yet.”

 “Well that fucking sucks.”

 “It’s not all bad… once I get my refill, there will be enough for both of us.  I asked him to double up the pills so there’d be enough. Then I can really start treating you properly until your pills arrive.  See?  I told you it’d be temporary…”

 Dabi looked up at your happy face and couldn’t deny the relief he felt knowing you weren’t going to be hurting yourself for him for much longer.  “Fine.” He replied.  He swallowed the pills before he could change his mind.

 You picked up your bag with another wince and made your way to the door.  Dabi stood up to follow you, relishing in the painless effort of walking.  He felt like he could run.

 Before you opened his door, you half-turned to him.  “Get some more rest.”  You wrinkled your nose at him.  “And maybe take a shower.  And brush your teeth.”

 Dabi rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

 After you left, he paused for a moment before sniffing his armpit.  He didn’t really smell that bad… did he?

________________________________

Part 9

________________________________

Dabi stared around his room, noting the time of day from the light through the window – mid-afternoon. There were items scattered around his room.  Water bottles everywhere, a box of crackers on his nightstand, a ripe banana on his desk that was covered in little brown spots, and cans of soup.

Hunger hit Dabi like a truck, the need for food primal.  He pushed himself up off the floor and opened one of the cans of soup, drinking straight from the container.  It was lukewarm, but it didn’t matter.  He followed it up with the banana, gone in a matter of seconds.  There was no joy in the food; just a basic need to quell the emptiness in his gut. He grabbed a water bottle and quenched his thirst

Then, he sat on the edge of his bed, and did… nothing.  His eyes stared ahead in a dead gaze.

Time lost its meaning. Existence meant nothing.  He sat, unmoving, his mind frozen, thoughts empty. 

Minutes passed into hours.

It wasn’t until dusk began to fall that something began to shift in him.    Awareness slowly crept on him, his consciousness dragged out of a grey bog.  Time gradually returned, and a single thought surfaced in his mind.

Something was wrong. Something was… missing, but he couldn’t place it.

He looked around his room with empty eyes, seeing everything but observing nothing.  It was his room.  He knew that.  But nothing in it mattered.

He stared at the box of crackers on his nightstand.

Something… happened.  Last night. He tried to recall what it was.  Half-formed images floated to the surface of his mind, hazy and blurred.  Pills swirling down a toilet, a lake dock, sitting on the floor of his shower, your face.

He looked down at his clothes.  Was this what he was wearing before?  It didn’t seem right.

More images drifted to the surface. His bathroom door framed in yellow light.  A water bottle. Your hands.  It was like having mismatching puzzle pieces, with half of the box missing.  Nothing quite fit together, and he couldn’t remember what the picture looked like.

Before he could dwell on them, deeper, more ingrained images came to his mind.  His mother’s face.  His father’s eyes.  Dabi’s mind paused, focusing on them, waiting for a reaction that never came.  For the first time, they stirred nothing in him.

Realization slowly dawned.

He just didn’t care.

Dabi felt nothing. For anything. He was dead inside, his soul a black void where emotions were supposed to be. Even his rage was silenced – the one thing he never let go of, the one thing that defined him.  But now, he felt not even that.  He had no purpose, no intentions, no motivation.

He sat silently, aware of what was missing, and yet the severity of his predicament eluded him without his emotions to guide him.  His mind was intact, but it was a barren wasteland, devoid of color and meaning.  Thoughts still ran through his mind, but they were only facts, script on a page.  Perhaps he should be concerned. Or maybe even elated, no longer weighed down by his demons. But instead, he felt what could only be described as a gaping maw of emptiness.  He could feel the pull of it, a heavy gravity that needed to be filled with something he didn’t have and couldn’t find.

Why?  Why was he not feeling anything?

Had he finally gone insane? His mind so broken that he’d officially shut down?  He’d gone through withdrawal before, but nothing as severe as last night.  But even despite all he’d been through, he’d never been able to completely turn off his feelings like this, especially without drugs.

No, this was something else entirely.

Dabi sat there in silence, taking in every sensation, every aspect of his physical self.  It had been probably over twelve hours since he threw up the pills he stole.  He should still be struggling with the pain of his scars and the withdrawal.  But there was nothing.  There was no pain at all.  He stared at his hand as his eyes followed the staples along the bottom of his palm.  A vague memory of your fingers brushing along his skin drifted up from the cloudy depths. The faint echo of your voice followed.

‘Let me help you.’

This…emptiness…must have something to do with you.  It was the only explanation that made any sense.  Maybe if he talked to you, perhaps you could explain it to him.  Maybe then he’d understand.  Maybe you could fix it.

Then maybe… this emptiness would go away.

But Dabi couldn’t find the motivation to get up.  Instead, he stayed rooted to his bed, his eyes taking in his surroundings a second time.

His bathroom door was open, and he could see the toilet and sink from where he sat.  Flashes of memory flitted through his mind before he could barely register them.  The sight of the toilet bowl filling his vision, partially dissolved pills floating in yellow bile.  Pills falling from his cupped hands, clattering across the floor.  The memory of sitting on his shower floor returned, this time accompanied by the sound of someone humming.

So many broken pieces…

He spotted the hamper, filled with dirty towels; some of them weren’t his.  Another memory trickled forth, clearer this time – sitting on the toilet, a towel over his shoulders while someone – no, you – dried his hair for him.

‘I won’t look.’

Another piece of the puzzle. But where did it fit in the twisted, spotty timeline of last night? It must have been after the shower.  And the humming… did you sing to him?  Or was that part a dream?  Some of them had to have been dreams, or maybe hallucinations. His mother, for example, wearing a white dress.  His mind began sorting fact from fiction, and slowly the story started to take shape.  The vomiting was first; he had stolen your pills. That much he could remember – it was the clearest.  Then came… the shower, perhaps.  Then you must have dressed him and treated his scars.  What happened after that? He couldn’t seem to remember.  All that kept coming to mind was his father’s eyes.

Dabi sat with the stillness of a statue while his mind continued to dissect what he remembered, his original plan of seeking you out momentarily forgotten.  The more he thought about it, the more he realized – you were there through everything.  You were there for the vomiting. You had showered him, dried him, and dressed him. You cleaned up after him, and made sure food and water were brought in for him.  You even used your quirk to help with his pain.  Each piece of the puzzle somehow connected back to you. You were there for every moment, every step.

You never gave up on him.

Something deep within him began to stir, a part of himself that was normally kept under lock and key by the dark parts of himself.  It was something he had very little experience with, an emotion that hadn’t seen the light of day since he was a young boy.  A… warmth.  It came slowly, timidly, barely recognizable at first, disguised as a gentle ease in the set of his shoulders and the smallest curve of his stoic lips. 

Whatever you had done with your quirk was starting to wear off.  Dabi was starting to feel again.

The warmth trickled in, the only thing that could fill that empty chasm in himself, and he clung to it in desperate need. Life was beginning to have meaning again… he had meaning. Before, nothing mattered.  Now, everything mattered.

When was the last time someone had looked out for him so selflessly the way that you did?  How long were you with him?  The entire night?  His mind played over the memories of you that he could recall.  You were gentle.  You were patient.  You stayed because you cared and because despite what he’d done, you knew that he needed you.

The warmth continued to grow, bringing a sense of safety that he didn’t know was absent before.  It settled itself comfortably upon his heart like a dove, as if it had always belonged there, the soft gentleness of it stunning him to the point of breathlessness. 

For the first time in forever, he felt… loved.

The trickle became a stream, and the stream became a river. His heart tightened, his breaths coming out in heavy gasps.  He was so consumed by the impact of what he felt, that it wasn’t until he felt the droplets falling onto the backs of his palms that he realized he was crying.  He welcomed it, letting the waves crash over him, the turbulent force of this single emotion reaching every dark crevice that ever existed in his labyrinthine heart.  It consumed him in its purity, unfettered by the darkness that normally lurked in his soul.

A heavy need forced itself to the forefront of his mind, to seek out the source of this emotion, the reason for its existence.  He knew it instantly – it was you.  He wanted to see you, to be in your presence and hear your voice.  He wanted to see you smile.  He wanted to feel your touch, not for your quirk, but simply to feel the softness of your hands, to feel wanted, to know that he was worth touching.  He wanted to touch you too, to wrap his arms around you and feel your warmth, to press his forehead against yours and…

Dabi hesitated, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as his tears dried on his cheeks.  What is this??

He wanted….

He wanted you.

When did that happen?

Had it always been there, lurking, going unnoticed in the noise inside his head?  Or was this new, something bred from a single night of hardship and selfless dedication?

In that moment, it didn’t matter.  Dabi stood up from his bed.  He needed to see you, to talk to you.  What would he say?  For the first time, he didn’t know, words failing him for an emotion he’d never felt before.

Something on the floor under the edge of his bed caught his eye.  It was just barely visible, but he noticed it immediately, its whiteness contrasting with his dark wood flooring.  He bent down and picked it up, staring at the item. It was a white pill bottle, medication for insomnia.

A new memory – the sound of items falling onto the floor, crashing and clattering loudly.

Did you spill your bag last night? 

‘You just want to keep the pills for yourself.’

Dabi froze, his eyes wide. That was his voice.  Did he say that to you? The words were sharp, dripping with contempt and barely contained rage.  It was a jarring contrast to what he was feeling now.

He dropped the pill bottle as if it burned him.  It clattered loudly on the floor, and the sound of it rattled loose another piece of the puzzle.

‘where did you put it??’

His voice again.  Demanding.  Angry. Threatening.  He saw your face, exhausted, wet tears on your cheeks, eyes wide with fear.

What had he done??

Something snapped inside himself, a realization.  Nausea washed over him, sinking deep into the pit of his stomach.  It flooded the warmth he had felt before, tainting it.

Shame.

Shame at how his addiction controlled him; shame that you had to suffer because of him; shame at his affection for you, as if he had any right after what he did.  It began to consume him, morphing into a towering black cloud of guilt, its dark shadow beckoning other emotions from the depths like haunting creatures.

Dabi grabbed his head in his hands and collapsed to the floor on his knees as more emotions were set free, released by your fading quirk like guard dogs freed of their chains. The emotions came and trampled over him with sharp claws and heavy paws.  With jagged teeth, they ripped apart at the happiness he had felt minutes prior and tore into his vulnerability.

Humiliation. 

Humiliation that you had to baby him, wash him and dress him like an infant, and scold him like a child.  Humiliation that he needed you simply because he wasn’t able to handle this on his own.

Disgust.

Disgust with his lack of self-control, disgust with his own fragility.  Disgust at his feelings towards you, and the vulnerability they opened up in him, a vulnerability he couldn’t afford and didn’t want. He had cried just minutes before, overcome by emotion and all because of you.  He didn’t even know he had the capacity for tears anymore.  He recoiled from it, a sour taste in his mouth. 

Finally, anger.

Anger at your sacrificial ways, at how willing you were to put yourself in harm’s way for a man you didn’t know, a man who didn’t deserve it.  Anger at himself for giving in to your kindness and letting you get close. And anger… anger at everything. This fucked up situation, his fucked-up life, his fucked-up family and the fucked-up world they were all a part of. His mind rolled over the dark thoughts like a hard candy melting on the tongue.  It was bittersweet.  Tainted.

Addicting.

Even as the sinister emotions destroyed him, he welcomed it, embracing them for their familiarity, donning them like an old suit made just for him.

Dabi was himself again.

His eyes roamed around his room, taking it all in – the food on the desk, the makeshift bed, the pile of towels in his hamper, the abandoned white pill bottle on the floor.  You were everywhere he looked. Now, all he could think about when he thought of you was that last and final memory he could recall - your exhausted, scared, crying face – and all he could feel was the maelstrom of negative emotions tied together by the thick chain of guilt.  It weighed heavily on the newfound feeling of affection that hummed stubbornly under his skin, ever present.

Dabi closed his eyes against it.

He had to get out of here, far away from the presence of you and the cage of memories. He needed to clear his head so he could think.  He quickly stood up and dressed himself, before grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and rushing out of his bedroom.  He shrugged it on as he passed your door, forcing himself to keep his eyes in front of him.  

His feet carried him down the indoor stairwell, old and reeking of piss.  His boots pounded quickly down each step until he came out into the old lounge and bar, the only common space for the old, run-down hotel building. There, the other League members sat, watching the news over a game of cards.

Shigaraki glanced up at him as he entered.  “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you too.” Dabi replied.

Twice chimed in.  “Shouldn’t you be in bed??  We don’t want your germs!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dabi grumbled, halting briefly as he grabbed an energy drink from the fridge.

“You were sick as a dog last night.” Mr. Compress explained.

“Yeah. We all heard you.” Spinner chimed in. Magne and Twice nodded in agreement.

Dabi scoffed. “I’m fine.” He opened the can and took a swig.

Toga stood up and got uncomfortably close into Dabi’s personal space, feeling his forehead with her hand.  “Are you sure?  Y/N said you had the flu.”

Dabi felt annoyance bubble in his veins at the invasion. “Yeah, you know what, I am feeling a little nauseous.  I think I might throw up.”

Toga visibly paled and instantly backed away; she hated vomit. 

“Hey!” Spinner interjected. “Take it somewhere else!  You already got Y/N sick, we don’t need you spreading it to the rest of us.”

“What?” Dabi demanded.

Toga returned to her seat at the table.  “She hasn’t come out of her room all day.  I texted her to see if she was okay and she said she was sick too.”

Magne folded her cards down on the table and peered at Dabi over her sunglasses.  “You two sure have been spending a lot of time together…”

“What is this, high school? She’s been helping me with an injury I got on the job.” Dabi replied.  “No different from the rest of you.”

Magne reclined in her seat and took a sip from her glass. “I think she has a crush on you.  She gets flustered every time I bring you up.”

“Ew! On Dabi??” Toga scrunched up her nose. 

“What’s the matter, Toga? Jealous?” Dabi mocked.

“Why would I be jealous when I have Izuku and Ochako?” Toga said with a dreamy sigh. 

Dabi rolled his eyes at her. She was completely delusional.

Dabi’s scars on his ankles began to itch and burn.  While the others wasted his precious time with their blathering, your quirk was gradually wearing off.  It’d only be a matter of time before he’d have to come seek you out again for your help. He clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind from the pressure.  It was the last thing he wanted.

“I’m outta here. I got better shit to do than listen to your shitty gossip.” Dabi commented as he made his way towards the back entrance.

“Keep a low profile.” Shigaraki ordered.  “We’ve got a meeting with the Shie Hassaikai coming up soon.  We don’t want to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.”

Dabi didn’t even bother to turn around as he gave a half-assed wave, the door closing behind him.

“Someone’s a little touchy…” Mr. Compress commented in amusement.

Magne let loose a huge grin. “He didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?” Twice asked.

“That she has a crush on him.”

“Aww, do you think he likes her back?” Toga asked dreamily.  “That’d be so sweet.”

“The man could use a little love in his life.” Twice chimed in.  “He should totally hit that.”

“Dabi doesn’t like anyone but himself.” Compress commented.

“Nah, he’s just super committed to Stain’s mission.  The man’s got dedication.  I respect that.” Spinner replied.

“Of course you do.” Compress replied.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean??” Spinner demanded.

“You’re the biggest Stain fanboy I know.”

While the others continued to bicker and laugh, Shigaraki stared at the back door in silence.

 ------

Dabi inhaled a deep breath of cool air as soon as he stepped out of the building.  He hadn’t bothered to don a hoodie this time, since it wouldn’t make much difference for this seedy, poor neighborhood.  Heroes rarely patrolled here, and the ones who were assigned to this area were lower level heroes and newbies.  It was a steppingstone towards more “respectable” hero work, where the neighborhoods were less impoverished, and more money could be made.

Dabi let his feet carry him down the sidewalk, sticking to smaller side streets and dark alleyways. He didn’t care where he went, only that he needed to move his body; anything to distract from the creeping fade of your quirk while he dealt with the whirlwind of thoughts in his increasingly aching head.

Magne’s teasing words floated in his head, bouncing around like mosquito that needed to be squashed.

You had a crush on him.

Dabi hated how the words made his heart pound faster, the suggestion blossoming the smallest seed of hope in his chest.  Dabi crushed it with a scoff.  That might have been true before, but after what transpired last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if you slammed the door in his face.

The energy drink in Dabi’s hand lost its flavor, and he chucked it into the nearest trashcan. 

It was for the best.  He didn’t need any attachments, especially now that he’d finally managed to find a place where he dreams could finally be realized.  The last thing he wanted was to be diverted by something he couldn’t have; and even if he could have it (yeah fucking right), it wouldn’t last.  What would be the fucking point?

That was what he tried to tell himself, but the thoughts rang with an empty hollowness.  Instead, the only response he could find was the itchy discomfort of guilt mingling with his desire to be near you.  It filled him with a painful longing that he couldn’t control, not without his drugs to numb them.  The more he tried to ignore it, the more it nagged at him until a new emotion began to creep out of hiding.

Fear. 

Fear at losing you.

Dabi nearly faltered in his steps.

Lose you?  He never even had you to begin with.

There was no undoing what he’d done; he’d hurt you, that much he was sure.  He’d stolen from you and spewed his anger at you… and that was just from what he could remember.

A new fear, heavier and darker, blossomed like fire in his gut as his mind focused on that single thought.

What he could remember…

How far did he go?

Toga’s voice played in his mind.  ‘She hasn’t come out of her room all day.’

He knew you weren’t sick, because he wasn’t sick.  So, if you truly refused to come out of your room, was it because you were just exhausted? Or were you scared of running into him?  Were you tucked away in your room, nursing wounds that he was responsible for, wounds that others could see? 

Did he hit you? Burn you? The uncertainty made Dabi’s blood run cold. He didn’t know.  He couldn’t remember. 

Dabi knew he wasn’t a good person.  He walked a thin line between ruthless vengeance and vigilante justice, casting judgment on others and killing without shame.  He was fueled by his anger, keeping it in check by the thinnest of morality – don’t hurt children. 

Even when the Vanguard attacked the training camp, he never directly hurt any of the kids, even if they were training to become heroes.  Sure, he led others with more violent tendencies than his own, but that wasn’t his responsibility, right? He focused his efforts on distracting the teachers so they could get their targets.

Dabi gave himself a dry scoff.  Who was he kidding… if push came to shove, he would kill them; sure they were technically kids still, but they were swiftly entering adulthood, and just as responsible for the choices they made as he was at that age. They chose to be a part of that life; auditioned for it, even.

But children?  Small kids, who had yet to figure out the world?  He drew his line there.

Don’t kill kids.  But everyone else… everyone else was fair game, because everyone was guilty. Everyone had their hand to play in supporting the lie that was hero society and the damage it wrought – they were all culpable.

But you were different, right?  You weren’t a part of hero society, not anymore. That’s why you were with the League. So, you should have been safe.  But if his rage became unchained, his delicate moral center muted by desperation and pain, then there was no telling what he would do.  He already knew he had that capacity for violence.  It had never bothered him before, not once. 

Not until now. Now, it scared him.

Too many missing pieces.

He knew his rage was a wild beast and wasn’t easily tamed, yet he saw no evidence of its destruction.  On the contrary, he’d woken up on his floor with a pillow under his head.  Nothing in his room was burned, and even more telling was the fact that whatever had transpired, you’d somehow managed to make sure he was comfortable, tidied up his space a little bit, and collected your things.  If he was that angry, that desperate, how did you manage to calm him down?

Maybe you had knocked him out before he reached that point.  He wasn’t sure… he couldn’t feel any lumps or bruises on his head, but then again, your quirk was still in effect.  Or maybe you’d used your quirk somehow.  Could it even be used for that?

Or maybe it never happened at all… maybe those things he said to you weren’t real, and that image of you that was ingrained in his mind was nothing more than a nightmare.  He could only hope...

One thing was certain…

You’d stayed.  You stayed until he was unconscious, only leaving when you knew he was safe from himself.  If he really had hurt you like he’d feared, the evidence he woke up to would have shown a different story.  But there was nothing, no indication of violence.  The slightest bit of relief washed over him.  Maybe he wasn’t a complete monster after all.  Still, he wanted to see you, just to be sure.  He needed to make sure you were alright.

This brought forth a fear of a different kind. He was now painfully aware of how much he cared for you, and it scared him.  Agony was slowly creeping over his body, his legs now burning and stinging as if covered in fire ants, yet all he could think about was whether or not you were okay.  He could tolerate the physical pain, at least for the moment. What he couldn’t tolerate was the cyclone of emotions that stirred in him, some of them new, some of them old. Some of them about you, some of them about him… and some… some of them about his family.  After all, when was the last time he felt cared for?

Dabi didn’t want to think about it.  All he wanted was to tune it all out like he’d done for years.  Except this time, tuning them out was proving to be especially difficult.  Dabi normally had his drugs to help him with that part; they let him float in an almost euphoric numbness, letting only the most powerful of emotions through, most typically anger, but sometimes glee, particularly if he was finding his work especially satisfying.  This time though, he was on his own, with your quickly fading quirk and his own self-control his only tools.

A new wave of pain began to overtake him as he began to feel the pain of his scars along his sides. He faltered for a moment, ducking into an alleyway to clutch his core with his arms, as he sucked in sharp breaths through his clenched teeth.  His muscles began to ache as well. 

He was already out and about.  Maybe he could find someone during his walk… a dealer.  The streets were rife with them at this hour.  There had to be something out there that would be strong enough to fix his predicament, right?  Something that didn’t involve you.

The idea died as quickly as it had sprung up.  Dabi had already betrayed your trust once.  Doing so again, after all you’d done for him, would be the nail in the coffin. He was desperate, but not that desperate.

Not yet, at least.  If he took too long getting back to you, then that could easily change.

He was running out of time. He’d have to go back soon, but he didn’t want to, not yet.  He didn’t want to show up at your door, with only weak apologies in one hand and shame in the other, pitiful gifts compared to what you’d given him.  He was shitty with words when they really mattered, and he knew there was nothing he could say or do that could remedy the damage he’d done.  But he needed you, and deep down, despite the conflicting emotions he struggled with, he cared what you thought about him – a fact that wasn’t easy for him to recognize let alone admit to himself.  He wanted you to know that even though he was an asshole, even if you might not want to have anything more to do with him, he was still grateful for what you’d done.

Dabi needed to find a solution.  He wouldn’t return without one. 

 ------

You felt like crap. Exhaustion pulled at you from every angle, your body weak.  At least your scar no longer hurt.  Sleep had descended on you quickly, but it was anything but restful; the pain of your scar had made you drift in and out of consciousness, with no relief to be found. When you did sleep, the pain brought forth confusing nightmares made of mixed memories.  Two pairs of angry, ocean blues eyes haunted you in your dreams, melding together into a single menacing glare, burning you from the inside out.  Orange flames licked at your skin, and you had woken up panting, covered in sweat.  Nausea washed over you, forcing you from your bed to throw up in the bathroom, your body wracked with shivers.

The rest of the day was spent in and out of bed, trying to rest and forget everything but not being able to.  Nausea gave way to hunger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your room.  Your nightmares were too fresh in your brain, and you were afraid of running into Dabi, to see his blue eyes and see someone else, an angry, harsh face wreathed in flame and red hair.  Instead, you ate the granola bar that had been in your bag and drank the bottled water you always had on hand.  It helped for a little while, and you lingered in your room, answering your texts from Toga on your phone and trying to find something, anything to distract you.  You knew it’d only be a matter of time before Dabi came to knock on your door needing your help, and you didn’t want your trauma to get in the way of helping him, not after all you’d been through.

Of course, that was even if he decided to come to you anymore.  There was no telling how much he remembered or what he thought or felt.  You had heard his door open and close earlier in the day, heard the sound of his quick footsteps pass your door.  Your heart had pounded in trepidation, afraid he’d come to you before you were ready, and you couldn’t help but feel somewhat ashamed at being scared of him.

You didn’t want to fear him, but you did.  You had found yourself in the crosshairs of his anger last night, and for the briefest of moments you were genuinely afraid for your safety.  Your hands rubbed at where he had grabbed you.  There were no bruises thankfully, but you could feel the ache where his fingers had wrapped around your arms and squeezed. 

A part of you was angry, too.  Angry that Dabi had let himself get to that point, angry that he had lost control. You tried not to be – you knew you couldn’t really understand the level of suffering he was going through, and he quite literally wasn’t in his right mind when it happened.  But you couldn’t help it; you felt wronged.  You’d given so much of yourself, and each step of the way you were either met with betrayal, resistance, or anger.

Your anger wasn’t just with him, though; it was with yourself.  Why did you even let yourself get wrapped up in this?  Treating his wound is one thing; but helping him with his addiction?

You sighed.  The answer was simple: you hated to see him suffer.

Maybe it was your savior complex.  Or maybe it was the unspoken attraction you had for him. It wasn’t just physical… that part was obvious.  But there was more to him, a complexity beneath his cocky, sarcastic exterior that kept pulling you in like a moth to the flame. You could see it in his eyes when he had moments of silence, moments when he thought you weren’t looking or thought you couldn’t read his body language.  He was guarded and isolated, fueled by a motivation that was slowly destroying him. And yet… for whatever reason, he had decided to trust you, to accept your help and let you in, to help guide him through something incredibly personal.  Perhaps it was just out of desperation; it wasn’t like he had a lot of options.  But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it.

Maybe Dabi was lonely.

Your anger slowly reduced from a boil to a simmer.  This wasn’t over; you couldn’t turn your back on him, not after all you’d both been through, not after he put his trust in you. You knew that if he knocked on your door that you’d answer it.

The fear, however… the fear lingered.  You still had to see if tonight was any better, if the hybrid treatment of your quirk and your meds were enough to help him endure his suffering until he got what he really needed.  What if it didn’t work?  Your stomach dropped at the thought.  You couldn’t survive another night like last night.  You knew you couldn’t.  Not with your own trauma lurking over your shoulder and your inability to fall back on your own medications to help you through it.  You were a giving person, but even you had your limits.

It wasn’t until dark blue dusk quickly began to surrender to evening that you finally decided to brave the confines of your room.  Your stomach was eating a hole in itself, and you knew your body needed energy if you were going to treat Dabi again tonight.

You pulled yourself out of your bed, slipping your feet into your slippers before making your way to the door.  You opened it up and nearly jumped out of your skin as Dabi’s unexpected presence filled your exit, one hand stretched out to knock, the other holding a white plastic bag that smelled suspiciously of food.

Your eyes locked with his instantly, and for the briefest of moments, the fear you had been trying to bury sprung forth, freezing you in place.  His eyes really did look like Endeavor’s.  How had you never noticed it before?  It was almost uncanny.  But before you could dwell on it further, Dabi’s voice cut through your mind.

“Hey.” He said. It was just a single word, but something in his tone made it lasso around your soul and pulled you back to the present.  It didn’t hold its usual taunt, and the anger that you’d heard last night was now complete absent.  If anything, he sounded… contrite.  Fear melted away for the moment, slithering into the back of your mind like a snake where it planned to make a home for itself.

“Hey.” You replied, lowering your eyes to focus on the details of his jacket.  Anything to not look him in the eyes again, at least not yet.  The cerulean blueness of them was too intense. 

Dabi noticed instantly, of course, and even though he expected as much, he was surprised at how much it stung him.  “I brought ramen.” He stated, holding up the bag as evidence.

Ramen.  Of all the things he decided to bring you.  The humor of it wasn’t lost on you, and you could feel your wariness melt away slightly, replaced by warm amusement.  It was a peace offering.  It obviously wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a start, and oddly perfect.

A small smile teased the corners of your mouth.  “Thanks.” You replied.

Dabi’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, a wave of hope and relief hitting him unexpectedly. The strength of the emotions caught him by surprise, and he tried to tamp them down.  Damn, he really did miss his drugs.  Everything was so much more… sensitive right now.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you continued your standoff in the doorway, before Dabi finally spoke.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” You replied with a hesitant breath and opened the door enough for him to enter. You gave him a wide berth, avoiding contact even as your heart pounded in your chest. Dabi was in your room.  Again.  This time though, it felt completely different.  He seemed different.  And you knew you were different too.  You’d lost some of your warmth, your openness. 

He entered your room and seemed… lost, which was so uncharacteristic of him.  Dabi never looked lost about anything.  He always carried himself with a casual confidence that you envied.  Before, he would have easily found a spot for himself, kicking his feet up intrusively on your furniture and fixing you with a cocky, lazy grin.  This time though, there was none of that.  You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched him stand awkwardly in your space, unsure of where to sit or what to do.  Once again, you couldn’t help but wonder how much he remembered from the night before.

“Here,” you offered, shoving aside the pile of papers and books on your desk to make room for the bag in his hand.  He set the item down on the surface and began to untie it. You bravely moved to stand next to him, watching as he took out the chopsticks and the napkins.  You were close enough to smell the broth in the containers, making your mouth water and your stomach rumble.  Loudly.

“Hungry?” he teased as he kept his eyes trained on the bag.

“I haven’t really eaten all day.” You confessed.

“I know.” He replied.

“You do?”

“Toga told me.”

“Oh.”  You watched as he took out the containers, setting one of them in front of you with chopsticks and napkins set on top of the lid. “What kind did you get me?”

He peered at you with keen amusement. “The same kind you got me.”

“That’s fair.” You replied as you opened the lid, the steam caressing your face.  You opened your chopsticks and were about to dig in, when Dabi pulled out a third rectangular container from the bag and opened it. “You got gyoza too?”

“And mochi.” He replied.

You stared at him for the first time, and his eyes locked with yours.  This time, no fear came forth.  Instead, you felt surprised.  His eyes, usually dulled by his drugs, were now lively and swimming with emotions. He seemed… guilty. Ashamed.  He genuinely felt bad.  Some of the anger you had stored in your veins slowly began to evaporate.  So, the man had a conscience after all.  Not that you ever really doubted it, but you were glad to see he cared; and not just that… he was showing that he cared.

You gave him a soft smile. “Thanks, Dabi.  I love mochi.”

He blinked at you but kept his expression neutral before averting his eyes back to his container. “I didn’t get any drinks.” He said.

“That’s okay.” You replied.

Dabi took the mochi and the gyoza and placed them on your nightstand before making himself comfortable in your desk chair next to your bed, slurping up his noodles with his chopsticks.  You joined him, sitting comfortably on your bed while you blew on your noodles before eating them.

The two of you ate in silence, the sound of your mutual enjoyment of the shared meal filling the room. It was a heavy silence, filled with unspoken words and awkward glances. You watched Dabi as closely as you could without being invasive.  He was showing the telltale signs of pain again – back hunched, a sheen of sweat across his brow, his hand clutching his chopsticks with enough tension to show the tendons in his fingers.  But he hadn’t said anything about it yet.  He was withholding, choosing to share this meal with you instead.  You wondered why.   Was he trying to give you time to adjust to his presence, aware that you were on edge with him? Or was he scared, afraid that if he asked for your help that you’d deny him?  Or maybe he didn’t even want your help; maybe he planned to try to rough it out on his own.

Yeah, you weren’t going to let that be an option.

Despite your curious thoughts, it wasn’t until you finished your mochi and had cleared the empty containers off of your nightstand and back onto your desk, that the silence was finally broken.

“So…” you started. “How are you feeling?”  You knew it was a loaded question.  He knew it, too – you could see it in how his eyes caught yours and darted away again.

“Fine.” He replied.

“Is that why you’re sweating?” You countered.  “Please don’t lie to me, Dabi.  I deserve that much.”

He was silent for a moment, his jaw muscle twitching with tension, before he finally answered. “Everything hurts.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

You weren’t sure if he was being literal or not.  Had your quirk worn off completely?  Or were there still traces of it left, a frayed, tattered rope his only lifeline from falling full force into his withdrawal again? 

You didn’t want to wait and find out.

“Well, let’s take care of that.” You said lightheartedly, even as your heart raced with anxiety.  What if you weren’t ready?  Was your body recharged enough to be up to the task? The pain would be back, you knew that much.  And what if you failed?  

Dabi sat silently for a moment, unmoving, his mind clouded in anger as he stared at you.  He could see the fear in your eyes, plain as day, even as your tone remained casual.  He was angry at your selflessness, angry that he couldn’t say no to you.   Because even though he wanted to deny your help, he knew he couldn’t.  Pain was coursing through his body now, unrelenting, and all he wanted was for it to stop before it tore him apart, stitch by stitch.  You had everything he needed to get him through this. 

He needed you. He needed you, and it grated on him, because he knew he was a burden, even though you would never say so.  You were kind and giving, almost to a fault, and he was a selfish bastard who didn’t have the strength to cut you free and face this alone.

He looked away, defeated. “What do you need me to do?”

“Take off your shirt. I need to change your bandage anyway, and I’m going to use my quirk to numb your scars.”

He did as you said, removing his jacket and draping across the back of your chair.  The shirt followed as he slowly, painfully, pulled it off over his head.

“I won’t be able to do much for the rest of your body… but I’m hoping my drugs will be able to help with that.  The rest will be up to you.” You explained.  Dabi gave a small nod in understanding.

You had him sit on your bed where you could more easily navigate around him.  Numbing his back and changing the bandages was the easy part. It was familiar and it brought back memories of a simpler time.  Had it really only been a few days since you started treating him?  It felt like ages.

There was no conversation as you worked, Dabi in too much pain to say much of anything, and you… well, you were doing your best to hold yourself together.  You’d finished the bandaging, and now you were running your hands along his shoulder blades, your quirk seeping deep into his muscles.  Already, you could feel your senses once again begin to sharpen.  You moved your hands down the scar on his side, numbing what you could reach, the rest of it disappearing beneath his pants.  Your own scar started to itch, and the writhing snake of fear slunk out of its den, hissing a warning

You did your best to push it away.  You weren’t at your limit yet.  You could keep going.  ‘It’s okay. I’ll be okay…’

You adjusted your position until you were sitting in front of him on the plush comforter of your bed. He waited, blue eyes watching you in silence.  You were going to start at his hands and move up his arms like you had done before.  You stared at the staples on his hands, willing yourself to move, to reach out and touch him.

But you couldn’t.  You were frozen as your heart began to pound in your chest like a drum and the memories began to flood back.  The exhaustion, the nightmares, the pain… You were caught in the event horizon of your fear, unable to break free of its hold.

You couldn’t do this. You weren’t ready, you weren’t strong enough. You…

“Hey.”

Dabi’s hand covered yours, and you realized your hand was shaking.  His long fingers curled around your palm gently, and you stared at the connection, focusing on the warmth of his touch.  Your heartrate began to slow, and you watched as your fingers slowly curled around his in response.

“It’s okay.” He said. His tone sounded… tender.

You looked up, your eyes locking with his.  Sea blue stared back at you, open and raw, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze.  You could see it – the concern, the hurt… the anger; a storm of emotions surging beneath the surface of his neutral expression. Guilt gnawed at you and you looked away.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Dabi let go of your hand, and it felt like a great wall had been thrown between the two of you, unscalable.

“It’s fine.” He said, his tone now as neutral as his expression.

“No, it’s not.” You sighed guiltily.  You clasped your hands together, missing his warmth. 

Dabi watched the gesture, longing creeping into his chest like an unwelcome guest.  He clenched his own empty hands into fists and shifted his position until he was half turned from you.  Maybe if he didn’t look at you, all of this would be easier.

Dabi leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor in contempt. “You don’t have to do this.” He said, even as his body screamed for more of your touch, to be freed from the agony he was feeling.

“Yeah I do.” You replied.

Something in Dabi snapped. “Stop it.  Stop being so fucking nice.”

You froze at the harshness of his tone, and you could feel your heart begin to pound again.  You wrapped your arms around yourself protectively, your hands covering where he had grabbed you the night before.

“Don’t do that.” You begged. The quiver in your voice made Dabi look at you again, and he was shocked to see your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Don’t be angry.

Dabi stared at you as he recalled what he had said to you last night in his withdrawal-induced rage. Looks like it wasn’t a hallucination after all.  He looked away ashamed, unable to bear the sight of you scared of him.  He took a slow breath and spoke calmly.  “I’m not angry.  I just don’t understand why this is so important to you.”

A long moment of silence passed as he listened to the shuffling sound of you drying your eyes with your hands and take a steady breath.  Each sound drove his guilt deeper and deeper into him like a splinter that would never leave.  He really was a piece of shit.

Your voice broke through his self-loathing, the quiver in it gone.  He couldn’t bring himself to look at you just yet, but he listened.  “If I give up now, then everything we went through would be for nothing.” You explained.  “And I made a promise to myself that I’d never give up.”

“Give up on what?” the words fell from Dabi’s mouth before he could stop them, hope sneaking past his lips without his permission. He regretted it instantly, but even so, he waited, hanging onto the moment, ready to drink in every word.  He wanted to hear it – to hear why you were trying so damn hard to help him.

He nearly jerked in surprise when he felt your hand take his, his eyes returning to watch you.

“Give up on you.” You replied. 

Your eyes glanced up to look at him before bashfully ducking away beneath your lashes.  Dabi felt his chest constrict and suddenly the moment took on a surrealness as a lightheadedness overtook him.  Slowly, gently, you turned his hand until the palm was facing up and began to trace your fingers along his staples.  Immediately he could feel the coolness of your quirk begin to seep into him as his chest pounded with such force that he was sure you could feel it through the veins in his wrist.

“So…” you continued.  “Let me do this.  Please.”

He stared at you, caught in breathlessness, as you returned to numbing his scars along his hand and up his arm.  He had no response as the power of your words washed over him, fulfilling a need in him he had never bothered to pursue. How could he deny you and your gift after something like that?  To do so would be an insult.

Silence blanketed the room, both of you lost in thought as you continued to work.  Your sensitivity gradually increased as you completed one arm and then moved onto the other.  The scar on your back began to transition from an itch to a stinging sensation, and you set your mouth in a thin line.  You needed a distraction.  But before you could open your mouth to start a conversation, Dabi spoke.

“Did I… hurt you?” he asked.

Out of all of the things you expected him to ask, that was definitely not it.  The question shocked you so thoroughly, that your eyes shot up to look at him as your hands stopped in their administrations.  He wasn’t looking at you; instead, his eyes seemed unfocused and in pain.  He seemed slightly worse off than a moment ago, and a sense of urgency began to surge in you.

“What do you mean?” you replied cautiously, as your hands began to move again.  Up the arm, to the shoulder.  The collarbone would be next, then his neck…

“Last night.” He clarified, as his eyes focused and looked at you.  There was still alertness in their depths, and it gave you the slightest bit of relief; you weren’t losing him just yet.

You paused for a moment, pursing your lips.  You needed to tread carefully here.  “What do you remember?”

“Not much.” He admitted. Dabi tilted his chin up slightly to give you easier access to his collarbone as he trained his gaze over your shoulder. “I know I threw up.  A lot.  And I told you to leave, which you didn’t.”

“You’re welcome.” You teased.

“I think I remember you using your quirk on my scars… just like this.”

You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.  “Anything else?” you prodded, as your hands moved along his shoulders.

Dabi narrowed his eyes in annoyance.  He grabbed your wrists in a gentle yet firm grip, halting your touch before it reached his neck.  “You’re avoiding my question.”

You froze, realizing you’d been caught, and you could feel your body flush hot with embarrassment. You eased out of his personal space slightly, and he released his hold on you.

You began to speak, choosing your words wisely.  “You did say some harsh things.  You wanted my pills and you were mad that I wouldn’t give them to you.”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment, watching your body language closely as you once again wrapped your arms around yourself protectively.  There it was – just like before.  “Anything else?” he asked, as he stared at your posture.

You wavered, but his words cut through your hesitation.  “No lying.” He said.  “I deserve that much.”  Just like that, your own words were thrown back at you.  You lowered your arms slowly.

“You… grabbed me.” You answered. You glanced up to check his face and were met with a neutral expression. “You were trying to leave but I got in your way to stop you, and you grabbed my arms to try to move me.”

Dabi’s face was an emotionless mask.  “…anything else?”

“That’s it. You stopped yourself, and I helped you by knocking you out with my quirk.”  You couldn’t bring yourself to say more than that.  If he didn’t remember breaking down into a crying mess in front of you, then you wanted to keep it that way. 

Dabi didn’t know whether to feel relief or shame.  The two emotions warred within himself.  On one hand, he was relieved that he’d caused no serious injury to you and that he hadn’t lashed out purely out of rage, with the intent to hurt.  On the other hand, the fact that he had forcefully grabbed you melded with the mental picture that haunted him of your fear-stricken, tear-stained face. That combined with the nasty words he had yelled at you… it was no wonder you were afraid of him when he first showed up, and especially why you reacted the way you did when he got frustrated earlier.

A wave of pain washed over him and he hunched over, gritting his teeth against it.  It felt like wildfire, washing over every part of him except for those you had touched, leaving an aching chill in its wake.  His head was beginning to pound unbearably, as nausea made his gut roil.  Gradually, the symptoms subsided enough that he could straighten himself back up.  But his head felt slightly foggier than before, the throbbing ache lingering, and he couldn’t get the image of your terrified expression out of his mind.

“Are okay?” you asked, your voice forcing away the image like a gust of wind upon sand.

Dabi looked up at you, grounding himself in your eyes.  The room around him slowly sharpened back into focus.  “I’m fine.”

“Where did it hurt?” you questioned, hoping maybe it was something you could treat.

“Everywhere.”  Immediately he could see the crestfallen expression on your face, and he struggled to correct it.  “Don’t worry about it, I can handle it.  Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Is it helping?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

“Yeah.” Dabi replied.  “It’s helping.”

“No lying?”

“No lying.” 

You returned to where you left off, your hands now on his neck as your delicate touch sent shivers down his spine and goosebumps along his unmarred skin.  Your hands moved from his neck to his jawline, slowly tracing the angle of his jaw to his scarred ears.  His face would be next – his cheeks, his eyes… his mouth.  Your heart began to pound wildly like the running of wild horses, and you could feel yourself start to falter in nervous anticipation.  But as soon as your hands cupped his cheeks, Dabi’s hands covered yours, halting their advance. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, his troubled eyes downcast.

A soft smile formed on your lips.  “You’re forgiven.” You replied.

You returned to cupping his face, palms across his cheeks and thumbs on the scars under his eyes. You let your quirk flow in a gentle trickle, careful not to go too deep.  But you lingered, dulling the ache behind his eyes and beneath his temples. Dabi felt his headache recede slightly, the throbbing now reduced to a dull hum.

Surprise filtered through him as his thoughts came through slightly clearer.  “You didn’t have to do that.” he said.

“I know.” You replied. “But it helps, doesn’t it?”

Dabi didn’t respond.  Instead, he stared at you while he struggled to wrangle his emotions.  He’d come here with the intention of making sure you were okay and getting the treatment he needed, while keeping his feelings in check.  He knew he couldn’t dismantle them completely, but he could try to build a wall against them, muffling their presence under the weight of his darker emotions.  But the longer he stayed here and talked to you, the worse it got.  Any sense of control he thought he had was a joke. His wall was flimsy against your gentle assault, the watchdogs of his soul chained and muzzled.

He hadn’t even intended to apologize a moment ago; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d uttered those words.  He had always viewed apologies as useless, an empty afterthought after the damage was already done. But this time the words had stuck in his throat, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t release them.  And, as you did with all things, you met those words with compassion and understanding.

Dabi drifted out of his heavy thoughts when he noticed the absence of your touch.  You sat before him, a slight sheen of sweat along your brow and your eyes unfocused.

You were starting to reach your limit, the light in your room too bright, your clothes scratchy on your skin.  The pain in your back was growing ever worse. You could tolerate it, but it definitely hurt now, and you could feel that familiar precipice approaching.  You had managed to tackle every scar on his body except for his legs.  Did you have enough in you to finish the job? You honestly weren’t sure.  You should have gotten more sleep, eaten sooner… maybe then you’d have more in you to give.

Apprehension of a different kind suddenly crashed through your thoughts.  He was wearing pants.  He’d have to remove them to let you treat him. 

He was already sitting in front of you shirtless, and your mouth suddenly felt dry at the idea of another article of clothing missing from him. This was entirely different compared to last night… he was much more cognizant now.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Dabi began to pull his shirt back on, signaling the end of the session.  Even so, you pushed your own inhibition aside.  “Do you need anything else?” you asked.  “What about your legs?”

“It’s fine.” Dabi replied. “You’ve done enough.”

You hoped that he was right. Something crucial nagged at the back of your mind until suddenly, you remembered.  “I still need to give you those meds.  You can start taking them again, now that we’re back on schedule.”

You realized, however, that the pills were still hidden in your closet.  You chewed your lower lip; he obviously couldn’t see where you kept them. You knew better now.

“Um… I’m gonna to need you to step outside for a second, though.”

Dabi raised a curious eyebrow.  “You hid them?”

“I did.”

“Wise move.”  He got up from his spot on your bed and quietly stepped outside your room, closing the door behind him.  You tried to move as quickly as your body would allow.  You reached up to retrieve your duffle bag, your back screaming at the motion as your shirt rubbed against your scar.  Your eyes began to water reactively, but you gritted your teeth and forced them back.

Soon the pills were out of their hiding place, the duffle bag back at the top of your closet, and hopefully Dabi would be none the wiser.  You opened your door to find him leaning against the wall to your left.  He turned to face you, making no motion to enter your space again.  You were grateful… you felt exhausted, your body at its limit, and you didn’t want him to see how much pain you were really in.

You handed him three pills, like before, placing them in his palm.  He stared at them, both hating them and wanting them.  “Thanks.” He said simply.

“Do you… do you want me to stay with you tonight?” you ventured.

Dabi’s eyes shot up to stare at you, and you couldn’t mistake the slight bit of color that returned to his cheeks.  “What?”

“In case you have a rough night again.  Do you want me to stay and make sure you’ll be alright?” even as you asked, you began mentally kicking yourself; what more could you possibly do for him in your current state?  Still, you wanted to extend the offer, even just to let him know that he wasn’t alone if things got too tough.

He stared at you for a moment, mouth slightly open before he composed himself and looked back down at the pills in his hand.  “No.  I’ll be fine.”

You were learning quickly that that phrase in Dabi-speak meant ‘I’m going to suffer horribly but I’ll figure it out on my own.’  You sighed at his stubbornness, but at the same time, deep down, you felt relieved. Maybe tomorrow would be better, once you got some real sleep.

“Okay.” You replied.  “But you know I’m here if you need me.”

“I know.” He replied, as he pocketed the pills.  It was the first time he didn’t take them as soon as you handed them to him.

“Okay.  Well, good night then.”

“Good night.”

____________________________________________________

 Part 8

____________________________________________________

Taglist (always open!):

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose in frustration as he tried to steady his pounding heart.  The nightmares were coming back.

Dabi’s head pounded.  Every muscle in his body ached, his damaged nerves on fire.  A wave of nausea overtook him, and he rushed to the bathroom, retching and gagging in the darkness.  Once he was sure there was nothing left, he flushed the toilet and sat down on the lid with his head in his hands while his dark world spun around him. He was a celestial body, knocked off its axis and careening into the burning sun of reality.  There was no soft curtain between himself and the harshness of the cold floor under his feet, the sour taste in his mouth, or the loudness of the crickets outside his window.  There was no comforting haze to cocoon himself in, his chrysalis torn from him before he could finish his transformation.  He felt incomplete, broken, hungry.

Your pills weren’t enough.  They had helped a little at first, but his body was already burning through them and adapting, wanting more.  The addiction was a raging beast that couldn’t be satiated, and right now, in the stink of his bathroom with his sweat drying on his skin, he could feel its familiar pull.  It was a siren’s song, played on the strings of his nerves in an off-tune melody that only he could hear.  It sang of old promises, a promise of freedom from pain and suffering, a promise to protect him against his nightmares like a faithful guardian, a promise of sleep… if only he could pay the price.

He needed more.  More of your pills, more of his own… just more.  Anything to make this feeling go away, to put this beast to rest.

There was no peace for him when he was like this.

He thought of you.  You had said he could come to you at any time.  Did you really mean it?  If he knocked on your door at this hour would you let him in?  Would you give him what he needed?

Would you understand?

Desperation made Dabi pull himself up from the toilet, and he stared at himself in the mirror.  Disgust filled him.  In the dark of his bathroom, the shadow of his face looked downright terrifying. Would the sight of him late at night cloaked in shadow scare you?  Would you scream?

You said it would be okay.

Another wave of nausea hit him, and he leaned over, his forehead pressed against the cold porcelain of his sink as he forced deep, long breaths into his aching lungs.  He didn’t have a choice.  He quickly rinsed his mouth with water to rid himself of the taste lingering in his mouth and made his way out of his room and down the hall.

Dabi stopped outside your door, hands in his pockets, his eyes trained on your doorknob. 

He hesitated.  A vague memory of your wounded expression drifted into his tattered mind. He had forgotten that he had hurt you, and he wondered if that would make a difference now. Were your words just words?  Empty promises to be abandoned as soon as you got stung?

The beast of addiction growled threateningly.  If you abandoned him, it would take what it needed by any means necessary.  Its survival was paramount.

Not a lot scared Dabi.  But in that moment, the thought of him hurting you to feed his addiction made him almost turn around and go back to his room.  Or leave the building all together.  Anything to get himself away from you.

But his feet wouldn’t move.  They were rooted into the ground, his body poised like a blood hound who’d caught a scent.  The beast knew where the drugs were and wouldn’t let him leave.

Maybe he’d apologize. He hated apologizing; he never apologized for anything.  But in this case, it’d be worth it, if only you’d open that little bottle to alleviate his suffering so he wouldn’t have to do it himself.  Shit, maybe he’d even mean it, if it meant seeing your smile again.

Just as Dabi was about to take his hands out of his pockets to knock on your door, a familiar grating voice cut through his mental fog like high beams on a dark road.

“You’re up late.” Shigaraki commented.

Dabi clenched his hand into a fist within the pocket of his sweatpants and turned to face the pale man staring at him in the hall with as much boredom as he could muster.  “So are you.” Dabi replied.

“I’m always up late.”  Shigaraki commented.  He cocked his head to the side curiously, a glint in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Dabi couldn’t tell him.  Wouldn’t tell him. It was none of his business. Anger bubbled in his chest, a raging dragon threatening to spew fire. He bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood, feeling a metal ring clink between his molars. The pain cleared his head, but only slightly.

“Nothing.” Dabi replied.  “I was about to head downstairs for a drink.”

Shigaraki stared at him for a moment longer, his gaze calculated. Dabi knew he didn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t give him the luxury of confirming his suspicions.  Finally, the hint of smirk turned the corner of Shigaraki’s chapped lips, and he began to turn to leave.  “Make sure you wash your whiskey glass this time.  I hate hearing Kurogiri complain in the morning before I have my coffee.”

As Dabi watched his back disappear into his room at the end of the hall, he let out the breath he was holding.  He stood there a minute longer to make sure he was gone. It was the most he could handle before his hand, with a will of its own, knocked softly on your door – loud enough to hopefully wake you, but not loud enough that others could hear it.

No response greeted him, and Dabi stared at the door, his blue eyes burning holes into it in anger.

You had said you’d be there for him.  Why didn’t you answer?

He resisted the urge to pound on your door, waking everyone in the process.  Instead, he leaned his forehead against your door, desperation filling him like an overflowing cup.  “Open the door.” He whispered, as if his words could reach you in your sleep. The phrase repeated, over and over, like a chant.  “Open the door, open the door…”

Did you lock your door at night?  Or could he just open it and walk in?  What would he do then?  Would he wake you up, or just take what he wanted?

Just as his hand was about to reach for the doorknob, he heard shuffling on the other side, and he watched as light spilled out from under your door into the hallway where his own feet waited like tree roots.  Sweet relief filled him and he mentally thanked whatever God existed.

You opened the door a crack, eyes bleary as you rubbed the sleep out of them. Light flooded across Dabi’s features and he closed his eyes against the brightness, his arm going up defensively.

“Dabi?” you sleepily mumbled.  “What are you-?”

“Kill the light.” Dabi gruffly demanded.  His tongue felt dry and heavy.

You closed the door, so it was open just a crack, and he unshielded his bloodshot eyes in time to see the light in the room go out.  A moment later, the door opened again, and you stood before him, dimly lit by the hallway, in a tank top and pajama pants.

Your grogginess had dissipated like fog on a windy day, you senses on high alert to the man in front of you.  Dabi braced himself against your doorframe as if to keep from falling, his tall, lanky frame filling the space.  He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, which clung to him with sweat – he hadn’t even bothered to change it before seeking you out; you wondered if it even registered for him.  His breath coated you, a staleness to it that was unmistakable and made you want to hold your breath.

Your pills must have worn off already, and he was quickly descending deep into the throes of withdrawal.

Without hesitation, you grabbed him by his hand, taking note of the hot clamminess of it, and pulled him into your room.  As you closed the door behind you with a click, darkness fell like a blanket, and all you could see at first was the outline of his tall, black form as his ragged breaths rattled from his chest.

You guided him to the edge of your bed, pushing him down gently by his shoulders. “Just wait here.” You said softly, your words just above a whisper.  You retreated to your bathroom and closed the door to keep the bathroom light from blasting into your room where he sat.  Immediately, you grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the cold water of your faucet.

You weren’t in there long. You came out a moment later, leaving the light on and the door cracked to let some of the yellow glow filter into the room without being overwhelming; you needed to see what you were doing, after all.

You should have known better; as you made your way to Dabi, you realized he had your supply bag at his feet, your pill bottle in his hand. In your grogginess, you had forgotten that you kept your bag next to your bed, to keep it within reach in case of emergencies. Of course, he’d be tempted by it in his current state.

Your heart pounded in your chest.  “Dabi,” you warned.  “Don’t.”

Dabi didn’t respond to you; his eyes stared at the bottle in his hand, his eyes reading over the name on them, realization rising slowly like a hazy dawn.

“These have your name on them.”  Dabi stated.

“Dabi, give me the pills.” You ordered, your tone firm.

“Why do you have these?” Dabi asked.  You knew the question was probably rhetorical – he was in no condition to really listen to your answer.  Still, you bristled, the question too personal.

“Dabi.  Give. Me. The. Pills.”

“I need them.” He replied, his grip tightening around the bottle.

You kneeled in front of him, and you got déjà vu of your visit in his room just a day prior.  How quickly the addiction takes hold…

You placed a hand on his forearm, noting the texture of his scars under your fingers.  “I know.” You said softly.  “I’ll give you some.  Just give me the bottle.  Please.”

His grip tightened as your hand touched the lid of the bottle. “Trust me.” You whispered, trying to capture his downturned eyes with your own.  His eyes finally caught yours, and you placed your other hand over his hot fingers and gently pried them open until he relinquished the plastic container. Once it was safely in your own hands, a breath of air escaped your lungs in relief.

You opened the bottle and handed him three pills.  He stared at them.

“I need more.” He said.

Your heart throbbed painfully. “I can’t.” you replied.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” His eyes shot up to glare at you in betrayal.

“I have to make them last.” You replied.

“It’s not enough.” He said.

“I know.” You replied sympathetically.  “Take these for now, and we’ll see how you feel in a little bit.  We’ll keep a close eye on how long they last this time.”

You could tell he wasn’t satisfied with that, but he swallowed the pills anyway.

“Come on.” You said. “Let me change your bandages for you since you’re here.  It’ll give the pills time to start working.”

Dabi didn’t have the will to fight you in that moment.  His world was spinning, and his stomach was roiling against the drugs hitting his empty stomach.  As if you could read his body like a book, a bottle of water magically appeared in his field of view.

“First, drink this.” You instructed.  “And I have crackers I want you to eat.”

“I’ll drink the water, but to hell with your crackers.” Dabi grumbled.

You raised an eyebrow at him.  “Well, at least your personality is still intact…” you commented dryly.

You watched him like a hawk as he drank as much of the water as he could; about half of it remained. You wanted him to drink more, but you knew that his nausea was probably keeping him from finishing it.  You really hoped he didn’t throw up the pills he just took; you had counted your pills and set a schedule.  There was just enough to make sure you didn’t run out before your refills arrived in the next day or two.

Once you were sure he was done, you stuffed the pill bottle into the pocket of your pajamas.  Dabi’s eyes followed your every movement.  “We need to take off your shirt.” You said.

Dabi pulled the damp white tee over his head and letting it drop on the floor.  Your pulse pounded shamefully in your ears; you couldn’t help it. Even with all that was going on, it felt surreal having him here on your bed of all places.  You were still mad about what he had said earlier, but when he arrived on your doorstep looking two steps away from death, none of that mattered.  You had promised him that you’d be there for him. 

You watched him for a moment, taking in his shallow breaths and the way he gripped your comforter against the pain he was enduring.  His suffering tortured you; all you wanted to do was to put your hands on him and pour your quirk into him, to caress the rings along his chest and follow your touch with gentle kisses… or to take his head into your arms and hold him close, to whisper that he’d be all right and you’d help him through this…

You pushed the ache away as you averted your eyes.  No point in tormenting yourself over something that wasn’t even yours.  Besides, right now certainly wasn’t the time for such thoughts.  You had to let the drugs do the work… or at the very least, wait until he asked for you. He was vulnerable right now, not really in his right mind.  He would go with anything you suggested, if it promised to alleviate his withdrawal. How would he feel later on once he got back to normal, knowing that you did things for him that he might not have normally wanted?  Touching him outside of what he explicitly requested was a line you refused to cross.

“Lay down on your stomach.” You instructed.

He did as you asked without comment or complaint, his long body easily filling up the space, the bottom half of his legs hanging off the edge.

You placed the wet washcloth on the back of his neck, and a low, muffled groan fell from his parted lips into your comforter.  You applied your quirk to his back before removing the bandages.  It was supposed to still be active, lasting until late morning, but there was no way to be certain with his body reacting the way it was.  You pushed a little extra into it, to make sure it would last a bit; he was already suffering enough as it was.  You paused momentarily to see if he would ask for you to do more, but he never did; his eyes stared listlessly in the direction his head was turned, not really seeing; his body seemed to be in conservation mode.  The bandages were starting to come off, losing their stickiness from his sickly sweating.  They peeled off easily, like skin off a baked chicken.  You scrunched up your nose as you threw the soiled items in the trash.

As you worked carefully, an odd silence filled the room, the kind that only seemed to exist late at night when all of the city was asleep.  It was a time when noises were quieter, but shadows seemed louder.  A time when everyday life felt muted while the ethereal danced in the streets, the streetlamps their spotlights. 

Small sounds filled the silence. Dabi’s steady breaths, the shift of your body on your mattress as you reached for fresh bandages, the sound of paper tearing as you opened a new gauze patch. 

You and Dabi were a liminal space, where neither of you lingered.  It was a place of impermanence, a space to pass through, filled with brief visits without the intent to stay.  Despite that, even now with all that had happened in the past 24 hours, it felt private… intimate.  It filled you with an unspoken longing, a desire to capture the beauty of life’s fluidity like a painter captures a landscape.  You wanted to take the impermanent and freeze it in time so you could appreciate its nuances in the shape of dark rugged scars and piercing blue eyes framed in wild hair.  To be able to stare openly instead of stolen side glances, trying to catch a ghost in your peripheral vision.  How did you end up being so drawn to him of all people?

His harsh words from the night before echoed through your mind, a rude reminder.  You swallowed the lump in your throat.  How cruel it was to be needed by someone but not wanted.

Despite that hurt, you knew wouldn’t abandon him; not like this.  You had a responsibility.

“Dabi,” you whispered, checking the face of the man spread across your bed.  His eye shifted to look at you, but he didn’t move.  “You can get up now.”

Slowly, he sat up, and you handed him his shirt, the sweat on it cooled.  You watched as he pulled it back on over his head, his back muscles rippling.  A slight shiver passed over him as the damp shirt made contact with his sensitive skin. He paused for a moment, assessing himself.  His body aches were lessened, and the nausea was milder.  But it was still there, and his head still hurt. And the hunger… the hunger was there too.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

“Better.” He replied. A half-truth.  Or was it a half-lie?  But weren’t all half-truths just lies in disguise?

“Good.” You breathed with relief.  “Do you want me to check on you in a few hours?  Or do you want to come to me when you’re ready?”

Dabi turned to look at you, really seeing you for the first time since he arrived.  You seemed so kind, so pure… so trusting.  A guilt nagged at him, but he couldn’t place it.

“I’ll come to you.” He replied.  “I’m gonna go lay down.” He admitted.  Why did he feel the need to tell you that?

“Of course.  Get some rest if you can.” You replied with a nod.

Dabi stared at you for a moment, taking in your patient face, trying to place the feeling within him. Or was it feelings? Some good, some bad…

His head hurt too much to sort it out.  Without a word he left your room, you following him to the door to give him a small wave and a “goodnight” framed in a gentle smile.  Something about it seemed off - were you sad?

It was his fault, but he couldn’t remember how. Memories were too heavy to hold right now. Rest. He needed rest.

As you closed the door behind him, Dabi put his hands in his pockets.  He felt something in them that wasn’t supposed to be there, and he pulled his hand out to stare at the contents.

Three pills sat in his hands, the weight of them strangely heavy.  Or was that the weight of his conscience?

How did he get these? He stared at them blankly.

He couldn’t remember.

But Dabi knew for certain you didn’t give them to him.

A voice in his head told him to turn around and give them back.  To apologize for breaking your trust, for violating the fragile agreement you had both mentally signed.

But there was another voice. One that swam in his blood like demons and controlled his muscles.

More, more, more.

He swallowed the pills.

_________________________________________________________

Part 6

_____________________________________________________