Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s been five years, but he still remembers how to get over the garden wall. 

There’s a crack near the northeast corner where he can wedge his fingers and the tips of his sneakers in just enough to find a grip and hoist his skinny frame up until he’s perched on the ledge. He looms over the Todoroki estate like an overgrown crow, an omen, hatred making his eyes burn as bright as the blue fire forever crackling in his blood.

He remembers all the times he climbed up from the other side and disappeared up into the hills, to go run desperate practice drills in the wild, far enough away from home that no one could hear the screams of frustration morph into cries of pain. And he remembers climbing back into the estate every night, his skin still sizzling and the scent of burned hair clinging to him so thick it made him gag. Back when he was still enough of a person that those things bothered him. 

When he drops down into the pristine flowerbed, he freezes up for a second. But there’s no alarm, no gruff voice barking at him to put his hands up, no sound except his sneakers shuffling softly in the dirt and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He still waits a full ten seconds before he dares to move towards the house, pulling the black hood low across his forehead and ducking deeper into his collar. With every step he takes he feels the shape of the knife tucked in his waistband.

The light of a nearly full moon throws his shadow out in front of him, long and spindly as he approaches the porch. He shivers at the sound of his footsteps climbing the steps. Like walking across his own grave.

Five years ago, fourteen year old Touya Todoroki's name was buried here. Today, Dabi has come home to make them all remember. He's gonna make them feel just what it's like to wish for death so the pain can stop. He's gonna destroy the little prodigy that took his place. He's gonna make his father say his goddamn name until he chokes on it. 

It’s easy enough to bust the lock on the front door. It’s harder to actually walk through it. Why does the house still smell the same? He walks through the hallways he remembers so well, runs a finger along the wood-paneled walls to leave singed marks. He’s tempted to leave his name somewhere, too. Perhaps he will, later. After he has killed his little brother.

He knows Enji isn’t home tonight, and he knows there’s no one here to mind the Todoroki children. Fuyumi and Natsuo serve no purpose beyond taking care of little Shoto from a safe distance so as to not interfere with his training. 

Shoto’s room is at the end of the hall, across from what was once Touya’s room. He doesn’t wonder if they kept it the same or if they got rid of the dead boy’s stuff, he doesn’t. It does not matter to Dabi if they tried to chase his ghost out of the house or not. After tonight, there will be two dead boys haunting the Todoroki legacy.

He slides the door open and steps into the room. The curtains aren’t drawn and moonlight splashes in through the window like a spotlight. It glints so pretty on the blade of the knife as he pulls it out. 

He’s sober for the first time in days, but still his head suddenly spins like someone has picked up the room and twirled it. What did he come here to do again? 

Is he gonna cut the throat of his father’s favorite toy and leave him there, bleeding out into his sheets for Enji to find him in the morning? Is he gonna light him on fire? Before or after he kills him? What if he screams? What if someone comes? Does he fight his way out? Does he burn the house down with all of them in it? It would be glorious to rob Enji of his home and all four of his children in one go, but will that be enough? Will they even know it was Dabi who did it? Should he kill the kid and run, or should he stay and wait so he can see the light die in his father’s eyes?

That’s when he hears the sobbing. He takes another step towards the bed and realizes the little hero is awake. He’s curled in on himself and smothering his cries in his pillow. 

Fuck.

Dabi sheaths the knife and tucks it back into his waistband. He didn’t count on the brat being awake. He may just be a kid, but he’s a kid trained by Endeavor and Dabi knows exactly what that means. If he spots the intruder in his bedroom and lashes out, Dabi will have more use for his flames than a knife. And in hindsight, burning the puppet to ash might be more poetic.

He raises his right hand and calls up a small ball of blue fire. The bright flames give a faint crackle when they flare to life and throw writhing shadows over the walls. 

The crying halts abruptly. Before Dabi has time to decide to hurl his flames out, the small figure throws off the sheets and sits up.

He should have burned him before he saw his face.

They look so much alike that Dabi’s flames falter for a moment as a nasty feeling swoops through his stomach. He doesn’t see little Shoto anymore. He’s towering over Touya , small and helpless and shaking. Red hair, no, white. Both? Deathly pale skin marred by an angry dark burn scar. Enji’s blue eyes, the same eyes that stare at him from every mirror and in every nightmare. Rei’s silver eyes, always shiny with tears. 

He comes back to himself when the kid shifts to raise an arm, not to call upon his quirk but to weakly shield himself. That’s when Dabi notices the bandages around his wrists, the taped-up fingers, the split lip, and the swelling under his right eye blooming into an ugly purple bruise. 

And he knows. Instantly, he knows. The prodigy still needs to be molded. Beaten and burned and crushed into the floor of the training room until he gets it right. 

Dabi knows this because that's how Touya died. Not in the way that one dies when they burn to death on Sekoto Peak, but the drawn-out death of a child being lifted onto the highest place in the world, their father's shoulders, only to get dropped into the abyss. 

A death of many years, of disappointments and desperate promises, of staying up night after night to practice despite the agony, and of eventually being replaced. Not good enough, never good enough for the flame hero Endeavor. Every minute of every day must be dedicated to his goal of producing the new number one hero, and damn the consequences for his own child, a kid of…

“How old are you?” he asks before he can stop himself. The kid stares up at him and blinks owlishly with wet, mismatched eyes.

“Who are you?” he replies, barely above a whisper. Dabi flashes him a deranged grin and kneels down. Of course he doesn’t remember. That’s okay. He's more than happy to refresh his memory.

It's only right that the kid knows who killed him in his bed, right? And if Dabi survives the night, his little brother's ghost might come back to haunt him. That'll be fun. There would be no more fitting companion on his final descent into hell. 

“Don’t recognize me, huh? It’s been a while, I’ll admit.” A sound that is almost a laugh and almost a scream tries to fight its way out of his mouth. He leans in close, starts to move his still burning hand towards the bed. The sheets will make for good kindling. What a way to go.

“I’m your dead brother.” Goodbye, Shoto.

“Touya!” 

The gasp is instantaneous and Dabi’s hand freezes barely an inch from the bed. His whole body locks up when the kid reaches for him and closes a small hand around the wrist of his non-burning hand.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

“Touya, is it really you? Where have you been? What…” His eyes race across Dabi’s face, taking in the gnarly patches of long-dead skin, dark purple quirk burns hooked into his remaining healthy skin with rows of gleaming staples. “What happened to you? Did father do that?”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of him, too loud in the sleeping house. “You could say that,” he giggles.

Oh, we're both just warped reflections of the Todoroki legacy. He's hot oil being poured over me and I'm already on fire.

“Is that why you left?” Shoto’s eyes are so big but there’s no hint of fear left in him. He just gapes at Dabi like- like he remembers. “They told me you died, everyone says you died when I was little and father won’t let us talk about it, not even Natsuo.” 

Hah. Ouch. The name of their other brother shouldn’t stab him in the chest like that. Little Natsu fighting with Enji about Touya’s memory shouldn’t make him nearly feel things. 

It’s too late, more than a lifetime too late, and he’s here for one reason: to take away the only thing his father ever cared about. 

He threw Touya away when he wasn’t good enough and replaced him with this little puppet, this… this broken, crying little puppet who looks so much like Touya did back then, clumsily bandaged up by his own hands because no one ever comes to help you when you cry in this godforsaken house- 

This whole house smells of sulphur and charred bones. I can't stay here, this isn't my atmosphere. I'll implode if he doesn't let go.

“So you ran away?” Shoto’s voice pierces through the fog that is filling up his head.

“Yeah,” he nods stiffly. “I got hurt, and I ran away.” Shoto stares up at him, eyes swimming with tears again, and quick as the wind he suddenly crushes his face into Dabi’s chest.

Don't-

“Please take me with you,” he gasps through choked-off sobs. “Please, Touya, please. You have to, I can’t stay here, not with him.” 

Both of Shoto’s hands come up to grab at Dabi’s hoodie as he presses himself as close as he can get. The warmth of his body is so unfamiliar it almost singes Dabi through his clothes and his quirk flares up angrily in response. The whole room is lit up bright blue for a moment.

Shoto keeps babbling and crying into Dabi’s chest. “Please tell me you came back for me, please, please tell me you’re here to take me away. I can’t… It hurts, Touya. I’m alone with him all the time and he hurts me. He made mom hurt me and then he sent her away. I’m just a quirk to him, a thing for him to train. I can’t sleep, it hurts so much, and he doesn’t care . I… Sometimes it’s so bad I wish I was dead.” 

Pain. Oh, the pain that coils inside Dabi puts every one of his burns to shame.

Stop calling me Touya.

Stop being Touya. 

“-then they could put my picture up next to yours and never say my name again and it would finally be over. Touya, please, I know you’re here for me. You came to get me, right? Please don’t go, you have to get me out of here, I’ll die if you don’t.”

There's gasoline floating on top of his blood like a long rainbow swirl, and every second the kid keeps touching him someone somewhere is counting down to an ignition.

The flames in his right hand flicker and go out. The room goes dark for a second until his eyes readjust to the moonlight. The silvery light paints his burns ink-black as he raises two trembling hands.

He could do it now. It would be so easy, too. He could wrap his arms around him, crush the kid into his chest and set them both ablaze. The fire would consume them before they could do more than scream. Nobody would ever reach them in time. The whole estate would go up like a torch, Dabi and the little miracle would be ash, Natsuo and Fuyumi most likely as well. It would finally be over, the fire inside him would at long last be outside. He wouldn't have to burn alone anymore.

Everyone would be dead, just like they fucking deserved for burying him alive.

He places both hands on either side of Shoto's head and wrenches him away from his chest. He should look him in the eye while he does it. 

The kid's face is streaked with tears but he doesn't make a sound, he just stares up at Dabi and the faintest hint of fear creeps into his eyes as Dabi grits his teeth and calls upon his quirk. 

His hands grow hot as he tightens his grip on little Shoto's face. This is it, his vengeance, the moment he spent five years waiting for.

And right there, in the most important moment of his wretched life, his broken quirk fails him. 

His hands won't ignite, the blue flames that have always bubbled near the surface won't come out. And it's all because that stupid brat is still pressed against him, still grabbing Dabi's hoodie like he's the last liferaft on a sinking ship. 

He doesn't understand and he keeps calling him Touya and he's begging please please please take me away with a voice Dabi knows so well, because that was Touya's voice and Touya's prayer that no one ever answered.

He’s Touya, he’s Touya, why is he Touya?

Touya died, didn’t he? Dabi can still feel the agony of it.

He looks down at the softly crying puppet that stole his entire life and god damn it all to hell he can't do it. Touya already died once, he can’t burn him again. It’s not right, it’s not right.

It was supposed to be the end. It was supposed to be easy.

But he's weak and he's broken and his father was right.

Dead boy or not, Dabi couldn't have ever been a hero. He’s too selfish. He burns all the wrong things all the time and he doesn’t know how to stop. There was never a place in this world for something like him, and there never will be. He couldn’t even die right.

But if he can't be a legacy hero, he'll be the family curse. And in his failure to burn little Shoto to ashes just now, he suddenly sees the path to a different kind of revenge.

A revenge where he doesn't have to sneak into the house where he was born like an uninvited ghost, to slit a child's throat under the cover of darkness. But a slow-burning revenge that he can draw out and put on display for the whole world, a masterpiece he can sign with every name he has. 

(A revenge where he never, ever has to admit how terribly afraid he still is of his monstrous father.) 

Oh Enji, and you thought you were the only nightmare roaming these halls. Just you fucking wait. I just figured out how I'm going to feed you your own heart.

Suppressing a hateful shudder, he runs a hand through the kid's hair.

"Yeah. That's why I'm here. You're coming with me."

Dabi can't look at his face when the tears of joy start falling and the relief washes over Shoto's features. He crumples into Dabi's arms and starts crying for real.

"Yeah, nope, no time for that. Up. Get dressed and be quiet, we have to get out of here." And of course, like the good soldier he is, Shoto jumps up the moment he's given an order. He pulls on a dark hoodie, pants and socks. 

"No bag," Dabi barks as he starts stuffing extra clothes into a backpack. "Don't bring anything that's identifiable. We'll get you new shit once we're out of town."

"Okay." He doesn't argue, just puts the bag down and stares back at Dabi, expectant. Dabi rolls his eyes. He'll have to force a personality into the kid along the way or this will get old real fast.

"Let's go. Not a peep until we're off the grounds, understood?" Shoto nods and follows Dabi into the hallway, pulling his hood up as he steps out. Dabi slides the bedroom door closed and resists the urge to burn a handprint into the wooden frame. Too easy a lead. Let’s keep them all guessing. It will make his reveal so much sweeter. 

Shoto keeps perfectly quiet as he pulls on a pair of bright blue sneakers by the front door. Dabi has to give it to him, the kid is excellent at following orders. Even his footsteps barely make a sound as he follows his rescuer out into the garden like an obedient little shadow.

The cold night air helps clear his head enough that he can think at least a few steps ahead again. He slips into the role he’ll have to play.

Dabi leads Shoto back to the northeast corner, wordlessly shows him the crack in the wall, and hoists himself up. Straddling the wall, he looks down at the little hero-in-training and suppresses a chuckle. Kid can control two elements, but climbing doesn’t seem to be his strength. His bandaged fingers can’t find a good grip in the cracked stone and he’s way too short to reach the ledge. 

Dabi hears his breaths grow ragged and catches a flash of nervous eyes under the edge of the dark blue hood. He’s scared we’re gonna get caught, Dabi realizes. He truly believes I’m here to jailbreak him and he thinks someone is gonna come snatch him back right as he’s tasting freedom.

His head is spinning. Needless to say this wasn’t exactly how he saw this night going. Everything just became infinitely more complicated.

Murder is easy. This was supposed to be a clear-cut revenge plot that ended with Dabi finally fulfilling his purpose. After tonight it was supposed to no longer matter whether he lived or died. He came here with nothing except the clothes on his back, a knife in his pocket, and nineteen years of grievances ready to be taken out on one child. The same child who looks up at him with pleading blue-and-gray eyes as he tries to scale a wall.

With a sigh, Dabi leans down and reaches out a hand. He nearly retches at the kid’s look of pure relief. 

They clasp their hands together. For the first time Dabi registers how cold Shoto’s right hand is. Is he fluctuating because he’s nervous? He pulls, and Shoto grabs onto his hoodie with his free hand to steady himself. Yeah, his left is almost hot enough to make Dabi pull away in discomfort. Damn, he knows the kid is housing a powerful quirk in that small form, but it’s something else to feel that power so strongly without even manifesting anything. It’s a reminder of what he’s really doing here: stealing Endeavor’s best weapon. Daddy is gonna be so mad. 

When Shoto is seated on the wall next to him, Dabi turns to look over his shoulder at the sleeping Todoroki estate. In a few hours this place will be up in arms and crawling with cops when they realize the heir to the throne has vanished. By then, Dabi and the kid will be far enough away. He grins as his fevered mind starts coming up with a new plan. 

Oh yes , this will be so much better.

He turns away from what he’s sure will be his final glimpse of the cursed house and looks at the kid. To his surprise, he’s not even looking back at the house he grew up in. He’s staring at the city sprawled out in front of them across the sloping hillside. A collection of nightlights tucked in under a cloudless sky, all of it reflected in his eyes where an endless trickle of tears keeps coming down. 

Shoto heaves out a sigh like it’s the first real breath he’s ever taken in his life and a wide smile spreads across his face as he starts sobbing.

Dabi drops from the wall and pointedly does not turn around to help the kid down. Shoto manages, even if he stumbles and drops to his knees in the dust. He slaps the dirt off his pants before he stands up fully, gaze traveling from the high garden wall behind him to the lanky figure of his brother in front of him.

He opens his mouth a few times like a goldfish, opens and closes his fists, shifts his arms uncomfortably. Ah yes, of course. Leave it to Enji to raise another kid that doesn’t know how to handle his own body’s need for comfort and physical touch. The kid probably hasn’t gotten a hug since Rei got taken to the hospital. Not that Dabi wants a hug. Definitely not. It’s just kinda funny in a really sad way to see the kid so clearly yearn for it but not know how to ask for it.

“You can talk now,” Dabi drawls. “And a thank you would be nice.” Shoto wipes the tears away with his sleeves, jams his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and takes an uncertain step towards Dabi. Then he slowly leans his weight into Dabi’s side.

“Thank you, Touya,” he rasps. Dabi stands stiffly, raises an arm and after a moment of hesitation pats the kid uncomfortably on his shoulder.

“You also never answered my question back there. How old are you?” 

The kid pulls away from Dabi and says “Eleven. I’ll be twelve next January.” Huh. That’s right, he was six when Touya died. He looks younger, though. Or maybe Dabi just got really old in one night.

“I’ll be twenty next January,” he blurts out.

“I know. January 18th, a week after mine. I remember, Touya.” Dabi shakes that comment off immediately and turns around, gesturing for the kid to follow.

“First things first,” he says as they start walking, “That was the last time you ever called me Touya out loud, you got it? We’re runaways now, so we’re gonna have to hide forever. I’m officially dead and buried, but you’re a missing minor and the son of a prominent pro hero, which means they’re gonna look for you with a lot of people for a long time. So you’ll need a new name. My name is Dabi. That’s what you will call me from now on.”

“Dabi. Okay.” The kid nods. “So what’s my name?”

“What do you mean? I don’t have to tell you that.” Dabi frowns at the look of confusion on the kid’s face. “For the love of… Just pick a name. Any name. If you don’t like it you can change it later, but for now I need to know what to call you. And you’ll have to remember it so pick something simple. But not something dumb like the name of a family member or a friend, the cops will look into leads like that.”

“I don’t have friends. But okay.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Hanzou,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the feel of the sound in his mouth. He glances up at Dabi, clearly waiting for approval.

“Fine, Hanzou it is.” It’s short, it’s easy enough to remember, it doesn’t stand out. Beyond that, Dabi doesn’t give a shit. “Now listen. I got you out of there, but life’s gonna suck in a different way from here on out. You understand that? You can never go to school, we won’t ever live in a nice house again, we’ll have to move all the time. We’re essentially gonna be homeless. You’re gonna be hungry, and you’re gonna be cold, and we’ll have to do shitty things to survive. Like stealing, and probably worse.”

“I know,” Shoto says calmly, “I don’t care. I’ll be with you, right?” 

For fuck’s sake, it’s a genuine miracle no other villain with a grudge against Endeavor has ever tried to kidnap this kid. With how blindly he trusts Dabi straight from the jump, he would have walked out of that house a hundred times over already if someone had just offered. Or maybe he’s just that desperate to get away from dear old dad. Dumb fucking brat. 

Dabi forces his face to form the least menacing version of a grin he can manage and puts a hand on the back of Shoto’s neck. When he squeezes he can feel the life right under his fingertips and oh it’s so tempting. He could still-

“Yeah, Hanzou . You’ll be with me. I’ve got you from now on.” He slides his hand up and ruffles the brat’s two-toned hair, a little more aggressively than needed. “One more thing, we’ll have to do something about this.”

“My hair?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb. The scar is one thing, and the eyes aren’t too noticeable if you keep your fringe long enough, but bright red and white hair split down the middle is gonna draw attention. We’ll have to fix that first.”

Chapter Text

Stealing the black box dye from a nearby 24 hour convenience store is the easy part. Dabi is in and out in under two minutes with the box tucked away under his hoodie. 

He picks up Shoto from the alleyway where he had him hide between the store’s dumpsters. He’s not stupid enough to parade the kid around in front of security cameras. Dabi flashes their prize and grins at the crouched down child.

“Now you’ll look just like me.” It was supposed to be a bad joke, possibly even a threat, and he doesn’t like that the brat just gives him a calm smile.

It’s another forty minute walk to the bus station. By the time they can see the deserted assortment of low buildings and street lights in the distance, Shoto is dragging his feet and rubbing at his eyes to fight back sleep.

Dabi grabs him by the wrist to pull him forward. The kid nearly has to run to keep up with his long strides, but not a single complaint escapes his mouth. He wouldn’t dare, he’s way too scared that I’ll leave him. I could probably make him do anything under the threat of going back to Enji. He files that thought away when they reach the bus stop. Next to it stands a small, square cement building with a bathroom sign.

“Get in.” He pushes Shoto into the men’s bathroom and closes the door behind them. The smell of stale urine, cheap lemon-scented cleaner and car exhaust is nauseating, but it’ll have to do. By the dim blue-white light of the fluorescents he yanks the kid over to the sink. “Now keep still.” 

Dabi dumps the contents of the box into the grimy sink and pulls on the gloves. The light over the mirror flickers. Shoto looks pale and nervous but he stands motionless as Dabi starts squeezing the dye directly onto his head.

It doesn’t need to be perfect, he tells himself as he roughly works the black goo through the two-toned mop of hair. It just needs to cover him well enough to hide his identity at a cursory glance. 

The kid gives a small squeak when he yanks on his hair a little too hard. Dabi’s hands stop moving and Shoto closes his mouth with an audible click. There’s fear in him now, and Dabi is so endlessly annoyed. He may be a homeless criminal, an arsonist, and a few more choice terms, but at least he’s not a merciless coward like Enji who hits kids when they cry out in pain.

“Head back,” he barks and squeezes some more dye onto the tip of his index finger.

“What are you…” Shoto whispers.

“Would you relax already? I’m dying your stupid eyebrows, dumbass.” Dabi draws two messy arches over the kid’s eyes. It’ll have to do. His skin will be stained like hell but who cares. Better than running around with one white and one red eyebrow. 

“There, done.” He gestures to a spot on the floor with no noticeable dirt or conspicuous puddles while he’s already walking over to the door. “Now sit down and let the dye process. I’ll be back when it’s time to rinse.”

“Back?” Shoto's voice raises about two octaves. “Where are you going?” Dabi turns around with a snarl ready on his face. The kid is doing as told, sitting down next to the stained sink filled with discarded hair dye supplies, but his face is a mask of panic. Combined with the little rivulets of black running down his neck, he looks positively deranged. Ah yes, there’s that family resemblance.

“I’m going outside for a smoke and to make a phone call. Just stay put.” Then, a little bit more gently when tears start pooling at the edge of his eyes again, “I’ll be right outside the door. Just… yell if you need me or something.” He turns around without waiting for a reply and slams the door shut.

With a heavy sigh he leans into the wall and reaches into his back pocket to pull out an almost empty packet of cigarettes. Two left. They were supposed to be his victory smokes if he’d survived killing the little hero. Look at him now.

The adrenaline that pushed him through the last few hours has faded, his whole body screaming for sleep and sedation. He slips one of the cigarettes between his lips and lights it with a flame on his thumb. 

The first breath of nicotine helps to level him out somewhat, but what he really wants right now is a few painkillers, maybe a xanax or three, and a bottle of something strong to wash it down. Nope, can’t check out just yet. He doesn’t have anything on him anyway, and even if he did, he can’t stay here. He- they need a plan. 

Dabi groans and presses the palms of his hands into his eyes until the stapled seams sting in protest. What the actual fucking fuck is he gonna do now? He has barely managed to keep himself alive for the last five years. And now he's gonna drag the little brother he resents to the point of murder all around Japan?

He can’t wing this on his own, he needs help. Giran? No, too far away, and the broker is also way too smart. If Dabi shows up at his door with a child in tow on the same day that Endeavor’s son goes missing, he’s gonna figure it all out. He can’t afford to give that snake so much leverage over him. 

He needs someone stupid, someone they can reach within the next four hours -when he approximates Enji is gonna start raising hell-, and who will let both of them crash on their floor for a few days, no questions asked. And it needs to be someone whose number he knows by heart because Dabi tossed his burner phone yesterday before setting out on his failed quest for vengeance. He sighs when he realizes that leaves one person. He’s gonna have to call Chai.

The good thing is that Chai will definitely have pills and booze. The bad thing is that Dabi knows what it’ll cost him. Screw it, they can’t afford to be picky right now. At the other end of the small parking lot that runs behind the bus stop, Dabi spots a phone booth.

The glass doors don’t have a single intact pane in them. The inside of the booth smells even more like piss than the public restroom and every inch of the tiny cubicle is covered in graffiti and grime. 

He gingerly picks up the horn and holds the thing up to his ear without actually touching it to his face. He hasn’t lived on the streets without getting an infection for this long, only to end up catching hepatitis from a payphone, no thank you. He dials the number and calls Chai collect.

“Chai, it’s Dabi. I’m at a payphone. Call me back,” he rattles off and hangs up.

The wait seems endless. Dabi starts picking at his staples, nervously cussing out the useless druggie in his head. If he’s too strung out to pick up, do we risk it and just go to his place anyway? He still owes me a favor for bailing him out, he won’t turn me away. But what if he no longer lives there? Fucking hell, for all I know he’s dead or in jail again. Come on, come on, you fucking-

The phone rings.

“Dabi?” Chai’s raspy voice yawns in his ear. “You better have a real good fucking reason to call me at ass o’ clock in the morning. What do you want?”

“Take it easy, man, I need help.”

“Yeah? What kinda help? Pills?” He hears the rustling of sheets on the other end. “Or do you need to make some quick cash, is that it?” God, he can hear the motherfucker leer at him. He suppresses a shudder and replies as nice as he can muster,

“I need a place to crash for two days. For me and someone else.”

“Then check into a motel and escape through a window once you’re done fucking. Don’t bother me with that shit.”

“Not like that, dickwad, and I can’t be seen. I’m gonna have some heat coming down on me real soon and my mug is too recognizable, and so is the kid's.”

“Did you say kid ?”

“I’ll explain once I get there. Do you still live in the same place?” Silence. Dabi closes his eyes. Come on, come on, don’t make me fucking beg-

“Yeah.”

He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Okay. We’re about three hours out, I’m guessing. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up before Chai can change his mind or ask more questions.

He steps out of the booth, not sure if he feels better or worse. As he's walking back towards the bathrooms, he pulls out his last cigarette and lights it. He makes it about halfway before he hears it. Faint, but clear enough. A voice thick with panic, screaming his name.

The door to the men's room is ajar. Dabi drops the burning cigarette as he breaks into a sprint.

He shoulders the door open to find a figure standing over Shoto. The man is barefoot, with stringy black hair and an unhealthy gray tinge to his skin. He doesn't even look up when Dabi comes barging into the room, too busy pinning Shoto to the wall with one forearm against his throat. The nails on his hand are over five inches long and glint wicked sharp. With his free hand he's trying to rifle through the kid's pockets.

Shoto has both hands on the guy's arm, trying to pull him off, gasping for air. His sneakers barely scrape the floor as the mugger tries to choke him out.

Shoto's eyes go wide with relief when he spots Dabi over the guy's shoulder. The presence of his brother helps him gather his wits, apparently, and he remembers who he is and what his body is capable of. He digs the fingers of his left hand deeper into the guy's arm and sets off his quirk.

A bloodcurdling scream rips out of the thief's throat as bright yellow flames blaze to life on his skin. He instantly drops Shoto and wheels around in a panic. Dabi smells the oh so familiar scent of a third degree burn.

The guy, still screaming and trying to douse the flames on his arm, comes face to face with Dabi, smoke already leaking from every seam. The vagrant's eyes are crazed with pain and appear to see nothing, because he runs straight into the outstretched arm. Dabi grabs hold, swings him around until he smacks face-first into a cubicle wall. He clasps his other hand over the man's mouth to muffle the scream.

"Down!" he barks in the direction of where Shoto is trying to scramble back to his feet. He obediently dives back to the floor and rolls behind him, out of sight. Dabi pulls his quirk to the surface, lets the flames hitch a ride on the wave of fury that crested inside him when he saw the small child pinned to the wall like that, and forces a stream of blue fire down the man's throat.

How fucking dare you. The kid's mine.  

The sound he makes is mercifully short. The smell is indescribable.

When Dabi finally pulls back, the room is filled with smoke and the dual sounds of ragged breathing, and there's a crumpled pile of ash and bones by his feet. Everything in a three foot radius around him, from the tile floor to the ceiling, is scorched black.

Dabi hisses as he clasps his arm. A thousand needles of pain run up and down his ruined skin. The seams at his wrist almost sizzle. Too much, he did too much. Didn’t control it, didn’t pace it, he let the fucking quirk rule him again instead of the other way around. 

He opens his mouth to breathe out another cloud of acrid smoke, desperately trying to vent some of the heat and pressure coiling inside him. His mind is still cycling through the rage and wants to throw out more fire, his body is begging him not to. 

Useless fucking broken quirk, worthless decrepit body, God I want to die.

“Dabi.” He nearly lashes out when Shoto sneaks up on him and puts a hand on his arm. Don’t touch me, he wants to snarl, but oh the kid’s right hand is so mercifully cool on his blazing skin. He has such a serious, focused expression on his face, the dead mugger at their feet forgotten for a second. 

He reaches for Dabi’s hand and turns it over, palm up. Small fingers find the pressure point in the center of his palm where the heat concentrates when he uses his flames, and then push. Dabi nearly collapses and makes the most pitiful sound, as the kid gently pushes the cold deeper into his body.

He feels the quirk creeping up his arm all the way to his shoulder like he’s being filled with cool water. He breathes out a mouthful of steam and takes in a massive, gulping breath. His lungs don’t sting anymore. His skin is no longer ablaze from the inside. His heart rate and core temperature are leveling out.

Shoto carefully pulls his hand back once Dabi’s breathing is back to normal. He stares at the floor where the cremated remains of the mugger are starting to get intermingled with the puddles of toilet water. It almost makes Dabi queasy. It’s hardly the first time he’s taken a life, and it’s not like he cares about a crazed vagrant who tries to mug children in a public bathroom, but still. Something about burning a guy to cinders on a piss-soaked floor in front of his baby brother feels worse than just regular murder.

“Thanks for that,” Dabi rasps out and coughs. He carefully flexes his fingers but there’s no catch. His arm feels fine. 

“No problem,” Shoto murmurs. He still won’t look up.

“Hanzou, you still with me?”

“Yes,” he nods and brushes his sleeve under his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been in a real fight before. I didn’t know what to do and I froze. I’ll do better next time.” He lifts his head, juts his chin forward and balls both fists stiffly by his side. Dabi closes his eyes for a second. 

Fucking hell, look at that tiny little soldier. Dad messed you up good, didn’t he?

“You did fine. I shouldn’t have left you like that, I suppose.” His mouth tastes like bile. He’s not apologizing to the little miracle, he’s not. Because yes, he should have done better considering the amount of training he has, even at eleven years old. 

Oh, now you really sound like Enji.  

Dabi’s head feels like it’s about to explode. 

“C’mere, we have to rinse out your hair and get out of here. The bus will be here soon.” Dabi brushes the hair dye supplies out of the sink and turns on the tap. Shoto obediently leans forward to stick his head under the stream as Dabi rinses the dye out. The water is biting cold. Neither of them makes a sound.

***

They pick seats close to the doors of the bus, in case they have to make a quick getaway for riding without tickets. Dabi slumps down in his seat and huddles into his hoodie. He’s not cold, he never is, thanks to his shitty quirk, but being inside this moving fishbowl has him on edge. 

Next to him, Shoto fails to suppress a shiver. The combination of sleep deprivation and cold water still dripping from his newly dyed hair and soaking through the fabric of his clothes is getting to him. He’s young, he probably hasn’t learned to automatically regulate his temperature through his quirk, or he’s too tired to keep it up. Dabi tries his best to ignore him, until the chattering of the kid’s teeth becomes so loud it is actively driving him insane. 

Wordless, he rips his own hoodie over his head and throws it at Shoto. He looks up, surprised, but doesn’t question it and hurriedly pulls the way too big item of clothing over his own clothes. A soft sigh of contentment escapes him. 

Dabi glances over and all he sees are two mismatched eyes and plucks of wet, black hair sticking out of the hood. The skin around his hairline and eyebrows is stained black and it makes him look even paler, making the burn scar stand out even more vividly. He almost looks cute , in a depressing, ‘abused underage runaway’ kind of way. Dabi clenches his teeth and pointedly looks away from the kid, fixes his gaze on the streetlights zooming by outside the window.

It doesn’t take long for Shoto to slowly creep into Dabi’s personal space. He may not even be aware that he’s doing it, maybe he’s just leaning into the heat radiating off of Dabi’s body as he’s sat there in nothing but a ratty t-shirt and jeans. Intentional or not, Dabi suddenly finds himself with the kid curled up on the bus seat and plastered against his side, fast asleep, one hand wound tightly into the fabric of Dabi's shirt. Like he’s still scared he’s gonna wake up abandoned.

Dabi gazes down at the sleeping kid and reaches out a hand. He ever-so-carefully brushes some of the damp hair away from his forehead and traces the edges of the scar. The hatred that burned so brightly for five years whenever he thought about his family no longer flares up in the same way now that he has the little miracle sleeping in his lap. Instead, he looks at the kid and thinks only of his father.

Oh yes, Enji. You’ll see your precious prodigy again. But not yet, not for a long time. First, you’re gonna go crazy looking for him, not knowing what happened to him. It would crush you, if I believed you capable of such feelings. But you’ll move on, if only to keep up appearances. Because that’s the type of man you are. 

And in the meantime, he’ll be with me. Your pride and joy will be mine to raise and mold. He already trusts me, Enji. I wish you could see it. It will be even easier than burning him. In your blind pursuit for that number one spot, you forgot the one lesson you should have learned from me: kids will burn themselves alive for a bit of love and attention. He never got any of that from you, so he’ll get it from me now. He’s mine. I’ll make him just like me, everything you and your precious hero society despise. I will wield him like a weapon, and he’ll love me for it. 

And one day, when he’s ready and he hates you just as much as I do, we will return to you. And the last thing you’ll see in this world will be your prodigy, as he burns you to ash. But don’t worry, Enji. You won’t be lonely. We're coming with you.

(fanart of this scene by the lovely SqushyM on twitter)

***

“Who’s the kid?” Chai asks when he finally opens the door of the tiny, ramshackle house trapped between a laundromat and a looming construction site.

“A runaway I’m taking care of. Let us in, man.” Dabi pushes Shoto ahead of him and they duck under the arm of the tall, skinny guy with the shaved head. 

He’s careful not to touch Chai for even a second. The guy isn’t great about controlling his quirk, even on a good day. Considering Dabi woke him up in the middle of the night with a phone call, and judging by the size of his pupils and the way he’s swaying, today is already not a good day. His parasite quirk may be weak, but Dabi has no energy to spare and if Chai starts leeching off him now, he might drop unconscious on the spot.

“So what’s his name?” Chai asks with a jerk of his chin towards Shoto, who is already falling asleep standing up.

“Hanzou.”

“No last name?”

“None that matters. Look, are you gonna be difficult about this? Can we stay or not? If you’re gonna act like a fucking cop I’d rather go sleep under a bridge somewhere,” Dabi growls. He has no patience for Chai’s bullshit right now. Chai yields and holds up both hands.

“Hey man, peace. Just wondering when you started trafficking kids, that’s not your usual style.” Dabi feels smoke starting to trickle out around his jaw.

“I’m not fucking trafficking him. He ran away from a shitty home and I took pity on him, so he’s with me now.” It’s not even a complete lie.

“Sure, whatever.” Chai gestures towards the rickety stairs. “There’s an air mattress upstairs for the two of you, it’s all I can offer. Don’t touch my stuff.” Shoto starts moving towards the stairs, eyes on Dabi. He nods.

“It’s fine, go. I’ll be up in a bit.” Behind him, he hears Chai give a chuckle. He clenches his jaw.

When he hears the door at the top of the stairs close, he turns around to face Chai. He’s sitting down on the stained couch and goes back to rolling the joint that was left on the coffee table.

“So how long will you be staying?”

“Two days. We’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow night.”

“You planning on paying me for the honor of hosting you and your little runaway?”

“Fuck off, Chai. You still owe me for bailing you out last year after your dumb self tried to sell dope to an undercover cop. Or do I need to remind you of how I was the only person willing to come pay your bail? Consider this adequate compensation.”

“That’s fair, I guess.” Chai raises the joint to his lips and lights it. “Do you have a plan?”

“I just need time to scrape some cash together and get us set up. Lost my phone and the kid’s got nothing except the clothes on his back. As soon as I get us some basics and I get in touch with Giran to get my network set back up, we’ll be going.”

“Mm-hmm. And how were you thinking of earning the cash for all that?” Chai grins like a shark who smells blood in the water.

“I’ll think of something.”

“You could earn some right now. I might have some money to spend if you’re down.” Dabi chews on his tongue. He knew this was coming the moment he dialed Chai’s number.

“Three thousand.”

“Ain’t nothing your mouth can do that’s worth three thousand. Unless you’ve started branching out?”

“Not for you.”

“Hurtful. I thought we were friends.” Dabi tries to glare holes into Chai’s skull. He just laughs. “Two thousand and I’ll throw in a vicodin, how about that? ”

“Two vicodin. And you’re wearing a rubber.” Chai rolls his eyes but starts undoing his belt. Dabi grabs a condom from the drawer where he remembers Chai keeps them and throws it at his chest. Chai’s already pulling himself out of his pants and working a hand over his length.

“Get over here. You better come earn your money.” Dabi kneels between the spread legs and draws all the shutters closed inside his head. Before he bends his head down he calls his quirk up to his hands and pushes ten almost-too-hot fingers into Chai’s exposed thighs. He grunts in discomfort.

“If you use your quirk on me, I’m burning your dick off.”

“Noted. Fucking ow , you psychopath. Just get to work.” Dabi relents and lets Chai push his head down. The second the pulsing cockhead slips past his lips, he goes far away in his head. Just like every time before.

***

His throat hurts by the time he steps into the bedroom, because Chai is a mean son of a bitch who doesn’t get off unless he’s hurting someone. The two thousand yen in his back pocket and the two painkillers in his stomach help, though. It’s just a thing he has to do to survive. It doesn’t bother him anymore. He’s fine. Who cares? Lord knows he's had much worse.

“How old is the kid?” Chai asks behind him as Dabi looks down at a sleeping Shoto, curled up on the air mattress tucked away in the corner of the already cramped bedroom. His tone sets off all kinds of sirens in Dabi’s head.

“Too young for you,” he replies in a measured voice and hopes that’ll be the end of it.

“If he’s gonna live on the streets, he’s never too young to learn. Especially if you’re taking him in. You were, what, sixteen when you started sucking dick for cash?”

Fourteen, Dabi corrects him in his mind. “You are going to drop this conversation and leave this room,” he says softly.

“Did you forget you’re in my house?” Chai takes a step closer. “I’ve got eight thousand yen and I’ll let you pick from my stash. Five minutes. And no need for a rubber with this one, can’t catch anything from ‘em if they’re that young-”

The knife is in his hand before he makes the decision. The next moment he has Chai up against the wall, one hand around his throat, the tip of the blade against the corner of his eye.

“Chai, I swear on my miserable life, if you so much as look at the kid in a way that displeases me, I am sending you to hell in chunks. Starting with your cock. Got that?” Chai nods, eyes fixed on the blade. “I think you'd better stay downstairs. For both our sakes.” He slowly releases the guy and pulls the door open, ushering him out without lowering the knife or taking his eyes off him. When he hears him sit down on the creaky couch, he closes the bedroom door and locks it.

He’s shaking as he sits down on the ground next to the air mattress. He could crash on Chai's bed now that he has essentially commandeered the bedroom, but the thought of even touching the guy's sheets makes his skin crawl. Outside, the morning sun has started to climb over the tops of the buildings. Dabi lets the knife catch the rays that fall into the room through the cracked blinds. He leans into the wall and watches the light bounce around the room.

Just slice him up. Cut his throat, slit your wrists. Not worth it. So tired.

End it, end it, end it.  

Shoto stirs in his sleep. Dabi closes his eyes for a second as he keeps twirling the knife between his fingers. He knows he won’t sleep.

***

Shoto sleeps for nearly thirty-six hours, only waking up occasionally to eat whatever Dabi brings him from Chai’s kitchen. Chai himself doesn’t say a word, he stays on the couch downstairs and stares at the tv. Dabi doesn’t care. He figures he’ll be down a dealer after this, but pillheads like Chai are easy enough to find. As long as the piece of shit keeps his mouth shut about Shoto, they’ll never have to see each other again and that’s that.

Dabi leaves a sleeping Shoto alone for an hour when he hears Chai leave the house, and runs to a nearby store to buy a cheap cell phone, a sim card and a backpack. He steals a new shirt and a pack of cigarettes for himself and an all-black change of clothes for the kid and figures that will hold them over until they find a new spot to hide out for a bit. 

When he gets back, Chai is still out and Shoto hasn’t moved from his spot. Dabi angrily kicks at the feeling of relief that stirs in him when he looks at the oblivious kid.

(It has nothing to do with him. Chai just crossed a fucking line, that's all. I may be barely human, but you don't fucking touch kids-) 

While waiting for the cover of nightfall and for Shoto to wake up, he occupies himself with setting up his new phone. Then he calls Giran.

“Giran, it’s Dabi.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be dead? You told me so yourself, last week. Said not to send any more contracts your way because you were about to go do something that was gonna get you either killed or arrested.”

“Looks like I got lucky. Got rid of my phone, though. You can pass this number along when someone comes looking for me.”

“Will do. Anything else you need?”

“My contact list and a paid job. Please.”

“Well, since you said please…”

Thirty minutes later, Dabi has his contact list set up again, plus Giran gave him a tip about a potential client who could use an arsonist. He wakes up Shoto by tossing the new clothes at him and tells him to hurry up. It’s getting dark outside and he just heard Chai come in, drop onto his crusty-ass couch and switch the tv on.

“We’re leaving, Hanzou. Put your hood up, don’t make eye contact with people, and stay close to me. Got it?”

“Okay,” Shoto nods. Dabi puts on the backpack containing all their worldly possessions and leads the way down the stairs.

“We’re leaving,” is all he says to Chai. He has nothing left to say to the lowlife.

“Whatever,” Chai grunts and looks up. Looks at Shoto. Frowns. Back at the tv. Back at Shoto. His eyes grow wide as he stands up, blocking their route to the door. Dabi’s heart sinks.

“Move, Chai.”

“That’s the kid.” He points at Shoto, who is trying to hide himself behind Dabi. “The kid who is all over the news.” 

Dabi glances over at the tv, where there is indeed a missing person’s report about Shoto splashed across the screen, with text at the bottom promising a reward for the child’s safe return. The picture is grainy and at least a year old, but if Shoto is standing next to the tv like he is now, it’s hard to miss. 

Dabi wants to curse every deity he’s ever heard of for their rotten luck, but he can’t afford to take his attention away from Chai.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Chai. Move. Forget we were here. I swear to God I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.”

“You stole Endeavor’s kid , you maniac. There’s a cash reward being promised for any tips. If I don’t turn you in, someone else will.” 

Dabi raises a hand. “Last chance. Move.” 

Before he can call up his flames, Chai moves. He touches his fingers to Dabi’s arm and instantly the thug’s parasite quirk takes effect. 

In a regular fight, Dabi would wipe the floor with a strung-out junkie like Chai, but he’s trying really hard to not set the entire house on fire and he has barely slept in days. What little energy he had left gets sapped out of him from the contact point between their skin, and by the time he breaks free he can’t even lift his arms, let alone throw flames. 

Chai steps around a collapsing Dabi and points at Shoto.

“You’re coming with me. I’m taking you back to daddy.”

Dabi wants to scream but he can barely keep himself balanced on his knees. Don’t black out, please don’t black out. He looks over his shoulder just in time to catch the look on Shoto’s face, clues in to what the kid is about to do, and throws himself out of the blast radius. 

Right as Chai is reaching out a hand to grab Shoto by his collar, the kid braces himself and slams his right foot into the floorboards. Ice shoots out from him, crowds around Chai’s feet, climbs up his legs and freezes him in place. He looks around panicked and sputters out “What the-”

His voice cuts off in a bloody gurgle as Dabi drives the knife into his back.

“I warned you, you piece of shit,” he hisses as he pulls the dying man’s head backwards. “Keep your fucking hands off my brother.” Chai’s eyes grow big but he dies with a question on his lips. 

The body slumps over awkwardly in its frozen shackles. Dabi is panting hard, clinging to the nearest wall for support.

“Leave him,” he tells Shoto when the kid hesitates. “He won’t be missed for days, the ice will be long gone by then.” The kid nods quietly and carefully steps around the corpse on his way to the door. Dabi stares hard at the dead junkie and the dark red blood dripping down and pooling around his icy pedestal, and feels nothing. Good fucking riddance.

Before walking out the front door, Dabi crouches down to reach under the couch for Chai’s stash. A plastic bag full of assorted pills and a small stack of cash disappear into the backpack. Dabi considers it an adequate reward for ridding the world of another cockroach.

Shoto grabs his arm when Dabi stumbles going down the steps. Fucking bullshit parasite quirk. A tiny voice in the back of his head whispers at him that this is the second guy he has killed in front of Shoto in as many days, and the kid barely seems phased. He wonders if that should make him feel something.

They make their way through quiet alleys and dark side streets until his head clears a bit and his legs no longer feel like jelly. They need to get out of this city and away from people and tv screens. They need to find a place to set up camp where Shoto can stay hidden for at least a month, but not so remote that Dabi can’t find jobs. His brain feels like it’s simmering inside his skull.

There’s a motorbike with no lock on it parked next to a broken street light. A quick glance tells him there’s no security cameras pointing down this particular alley either. He grins. Finally a bit of luck.

“C’mon, Hanzou. Gonna teach you something useful.”

57 seconds later a stolen motorbike roars down the street.

Chapter Text

Five months after Shoto’s jailbreak. A motorbike rolls to a stop in front of an abandoned-looking garage just outside of Osaka. The lanky, helmetless driver pushes his spiky black hair back and wipes away some of the dust that sticks to the sweat on his forehead. Summer has passed its peak and is rolling into autumn. About time, Dabi thinks. He hates the heat. 

He puts the bike on its kickstand and helps the small figure get off the back. He’s wearing a helmet that’s way too big for him.

Dabi bats Shoto’s hands away as he reaches up under the helmet to feel his ears again.

“I told you to stop messing with them, or they won’t heal.”

“It itches, though.”

“I told you it would itch, didn’t I? Also told you not to get pierced right before we have a long drive.”

“You wouldn’t let me get pierced last time, either.” Shoto doesn’t exactly pout, but he does make this annoying, righteously upset face that always makes Dabi wonder if it’s too late to send the kid back to Endeavor via overnight shipping. It’s a brief thought he brushes to the side, and instead he slaps at the kid’s hands again.

“I said stop touching them. Your hands are gross, you little animal. You’re gonna give yourself an infection and then I’ll have to cut your ears off.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Shoto retorts like the child he is, but finally leaves his ears alone.

“By all means, Hanzou, try me." The smile is just a hair too sharp. "Just take the fucking helmet off, it’ll help.” 

Shoto pulls the helmet off and runs both hands through his messy black hair to itch at his scalp. His hair is getting too long, Dabi notices. He keeps having to toss his head to get his fringe out of his eyes. They’ll have to trim it some next time they touch up their roots.

“Let me see.” He grabs the kid by the chin and angles his head to inspect his ears. Double lobe piercings in each ear with small silver studs glint in the September sunlight. 

At first Shoto had wanted helix piercings like Dabi’s, which Dabi had immediately vetoed. At least lobes heal quickly. He wasn’t about to wrangle a child with freshly pierced cartilage into a helmet and drive for two hours, let alone hound him about properly cleaning them for weeks. The whining would be insufferable. He can get as many holes poked in him as he wants once he starts washing his hands before messing with fresh wounds. 

Yes, Dabi is just too old and tired to deal with whining. He doesn’t care about Shoto’s precious little ears, he simply doesn’t want to deal with the brat giving himself an infection. He should learn proper piercing care, so Dabi doesn't have to keep fighting the temptation to roast his ears off.

“Well?” Shoto asks impatiently.

“They’re infected,” Dabi says solemnly.

“What? No they’re not, I barely touched them! How can you even tell?” Shoto goes to clamp his hands over his ears but Dabi grabs his wrists.

“I’m sorry, Hanzou. There’s nothing we can do. We’ll have to…” He releases one hand and flashes a ball of blue fire right in front of Shoto’s panicked face, “...burn out the rot. Before it reaches your brain. Hold still, now.”

“No!” Shoto wrenches out of his grip and takes off running down the path, both hands over his ears, until he can take cover in a ditch. Dabi doubles over with laughter, made even worse when the small angry face peeks out over a clump of yellowed grass. “You’re the one who has brain rot!” he yells. “I hate you, you’re a dick!”

“Language, brat!” Dabi yells back as he takes the bike off the kickstand and rolls it down the side of the building to the gate at the back.

Sometimes it's not even that hard to act like a big brother. There's definitely some overlap between sibling bullying and his more sociopathic tendencies. The trick is to keep smiling and not actually draw blood. And occasionally let the brat get something he wants. Like ear piercings, because imagining the fit Enji would have, gives Dabi endless enjoyment. 

He kicks at the gate until Hoshiko, the truly terrifying woman who runs the chop shop, rolls it open for him. She’s a head taller than him and built like a truck, muscles bulging under every inch of her scaly skin. She winks at him with vivid yellow eyes simply because she knows how unnerving he finds the slitted pupils that are part of her pit viper quirk. 

As scary as she may look, she’s actually a very kind and maternal sort of criminal, and she’s the first person Dabi has carefully introduced to Shoto, as a test. So far she hasn’t recognized the skinny little twerp with the mop of black hair and the scarred cheek as Endeavor’s missing kid. It’s been four months since the last time Shoto’s picture was on the news and the country has moved on to the next tragedy.

“C’mon in, pretty boy,” Hoshiko greets him. “Park it right there by the bench. Hi, Hanzou.”

“I got my ears pierced,” Shoto says by way of hello as he comes running into the garage.

“I can see that. Did it hurt?”

“No,” he says and proudly stretches out to his full length.

“He fainted,” Dabi lies.

“Did not!”

“Well, he did scream like a little piglet.”

“Only for the first one!” Shoto sticks out his tongue. Dabi childishly returns the gesture, wagging his own shiny new tongue piercing. His tongue feels swollen around the stud.

“Got anything cold to drink?” he asks Hoshiko. “It’s been a long drive.”

“Sure. Hanzou, will you grab a drink from the fridge for yourself and your brother?” She gestures over to the back of the shop. Shoto runs off through the maze of half-assembled stolen motorbikes ready to be shipped off for parts. "You're sure I can't convince you to stick around? You've brought me a lot of good merchandise over the last few weeks." 

"I'm sure. Got a job lined up in Kyushu."

"Shame. I don't have enough snatchers like you. Quick fingers, smart enough to stay out of trouble, and responsible." She points over her shoulder in the direction of where Shoto is rummaging through the fridge. "Whenever I see someone get into this business to keep a kid alive, it tells me something about them. I wouldn't call it an honest living, but you two could have some peace and comfort here if you stuck around." 

Dabi doesn't answer right away, he waits until Shoto returns with an orange soda for himself and hands Dabi an ice cold bottle of water. After a long sip that soothes his throbbing tongue, he shakes his head. 

"Can't. Giran got me a contract." Hoshiko smiles, a surprisingly soft expression on her face despite the venomous fangs. 

"I get it, can't disappoint your broker. Bet he also pays a lot better than I do, huh?" 

"Afraid so," Dabi nods. He also gets me jobs where I can burn shit, which is a massive bonus. 

"Well, if you're ever in town again, don't be a stranger. If you show up with a pretty bike, you're always welcome here."

"Thanks." They shake hands as Hoshiko passes him a wad of folded bills for the last bike. "Alright, brat! We're leaving!"

"Bye, Hoshiko!" Shoto sings as he sprints back outside. Dabi follows with their duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

It's an hour walk to the station where they'll catch a train to Fukuoka, and public transportation means hiding behind facemasks and constantly checking if Shoto has his hood up. Even though most civilians will have forgotten about a missing child from five months ago, you never know if there's a particularly attentive cop or hero hanging around in a crowd.

But for now they're still outside the city, in the no man's land between the metropolis and an industrial zone, which means Shoto can take off running down the road and brandish the stick he just picked up like it's a sword. Every time he hollers at him to stay close and the kid pretends to be deaf, Dabi rolls his eyes and wonders if they have the budget for one of those bad-child-leashes.

***

They've been in Fukuoka for about a month. Dabi has done two jobs for Giran’s contact so far, one that required him to light an entire warehouse up like a bonfire. That was a fun one. 

He’s made decent money off of it as well, enough to keep both himself and Shoto fed and clothed, and to buy them the essentials that aren’t always easy to steal. Mostly cigarettes and painkillers and first aid supplies for Dabi, and books and candy for Shoto.

The kid has the biggest sweet tooth, and if it was up to him they would both live off of nothing but strawberry gummies with the occasional bowl of soba. Dabi gets him candy pretty much daily to bribe the stubborn tyke into compliance, and because he knows Enji would never let him have this much sugar. He also devours books and manga faster than Dabi can steal the good ones from bargain bins, so sometimes when they have some spending cash, Dabi will even go out and actually buy something like an upstanding member of society. All of it to keep Shoto quiet and occupied while Dabi is out all night, of course.

Lately the brat’s been obsessed with some shitty space cowboy manga, and Dabi has the new issue tucked away in the front pocket of his hoodie. Hopefully that will finally stop his godawful whining . It’s late and he’s taking the long way back to the harbor district where they’ve set up camp, when a familiar smell stops him in his tracks. Fire.

He follows the smell of smoke and the sounds of screaming down a few blocks until he can see the flickering glow ahead. A mass of onlookers has gathered in the street and are gaping up at a towering office building that is lit up like a torch. The uppermost ten floors are obscured by black smoke and most of the windows are smashed out, belching thick yellow flames over the crowd. Cops are keeping the mindlessly staring horde of civilians back as firefighters rush into the building.

They can’t put it out, Dabi knows. There’s no ladder to take them high enough to reach the origin of the fire. They’re going in to look for survivors, but it will be a slow process. Basically, anyone trapped above the fifth floor is fucked unless-

The whole crowd gasps when there’s movement at a few windows. Suddenly there’s people tumbling out through the smoke, not falling, but being carried by something. Are those feathers ?

There’s cheers all around him as the cloud of feathers keeps zooming in and out of the building, depositing barely conscious survivors on the sidewalk for first aid to take care of. Dabi looks up when a few people shout and point to the sky.

A comet of gold plummets to earth through the smoke and it takes Dabi a good few seconds to realize it’s a person. The guy isn’t screaming, he’s not flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to cushion the very harsh embrace he’s about to have with the asphalt. He’s perfectly calm and even graceful in the way he arches into the wind howling around him, his head thrown back as if he’s enjoying the ride. 

Dabi is so focused on the falling man that he doesn’t even notice the swirl of red feathers shooting up to gather at the man’s back until they fan out into fully formed wings and that’s when it clicks.

It’s him, that hot-shot hero kid who debuted not even a year ago and started his own agency at age eighteen right here in Fukuoka. What was his name again? Some bird name, but stupid. Sparrow? Falcon? Hawk?

“Hawks!” a girl squeals next to him.

Ah yes, that was it. Hawks, the fastest hero alive or some shit. On track to be the first hero to crack the top ten of the charts before the age of twenty. Dabi didn’t get the hype until he saw one of his magazine spreads and went Oh okay, it’s because he’s hot. 

It’s admittedly a little weird to see the blatant sexualization of a barely legal kid, but then again, Dabi has been around much worse at a much younger age. And at least Bird Brain seems to enjoy the attention, judging by that infuriating lazy smirk he wears on all those shirtless cover photos.

A few months ago there was even a magazine that ran a special on him with a centerfold that Dabi briefly considered stealing for, ah, personal use. So sue him, he likes looking at a lean, golden frame packed tightly with muscle, artfully windswept blond hair, and crimson wings spread out in a wide arch. And the guy didn't pose with his pants so low on his hips and those fuck me-eyes for nothing, either. 

Hey, at least Birdie gets paid for it without being touched, so that does give him the upper hand over Dabi, right? It makes Hawks the smarter, prettier whore out of the two of them, and it also makes him yet another example of everything wrong with this fucking hero worship culture.

Hawks snaps his wings open and sails over the cheering crowd. Dabi turns around, disgusted, and disappears into the shadows before he does something really stupid. Like lob a handful of fire at the pretty golden bird-boy, just to see if he’d notice.

***

“I have a new name,” Shoto announces one day, shortly after his twelfth birthday.

“Huh?” Dabi looks up annoyed from where he’s sat on the bed, carefully cleaning and reattaching a loose staple in his wrist. They’re squatting in an abandoned house north of Kochi that still has furniture in some of the rooms, and it’s the first time in months that they have actual beds to sleep in.

The room is small, barely big enough for two creaky metal twin beds. That’s a good thing, because small spaces can heat up quickly with just the body heat of two fire wielders. It’s almost cozy.

“I don’t want to be Hanzou anymore. You said I had to pick a new name, and if I didn’t like it I could change it again later. Well, I don’t like Hanzou anymore.”

Dabi rolls his eyes to the water-stained ceiling and wishes, not for the first time, that he’d been born an only child. 

“Dear lord, fine. Fine. That won’t complicate things at all. What’s your name, then?”

Shoto flops halfway out of his bed to reach over the gap between them, and holds out his wrist where he’s been doodling on his arm.

He’s gotten used to touching the kid by now, that’s not a problem. It actually worries him how easy it has become. It’s especially problematic when Shoto takes his hands after Dabi comes home from a job, smelling of smoke and destruction, and then floods his body with cold to help him heal. He does it without being asked, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Just kindness between siblings.

It pisses him off beyond belief. Just not enough to make him stop. 

Dabi grabs Shoto by the wrist and yanks him closer. The kid gives a yelp as he slides to the floor in a graceless pile. Between the scribbles and cat faces, Dabi can make out some kanji.

“Yudai?”

“Yes.”

“Your name is Yudai now?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re happy with that one? You’ll keep it?”

Shoto shrugs and hops back on his bed. “For now.” Dabi groans. “What? You told me I could change it if I wanted to! What does it matter, it’s just a codename anyway. Your name isn’t even a real name, no one names their kid Dabi. ”

“That’s not the point, brat. You’ve met some of the people I work for, and they all know you as Hanzou.” Shoto does that head tilt and gives Dabi a confused look.

“Do you really think those people tell you their real names? Last week you worked with a guy who told me his name was Shark. You do know that that’s just as fake as our names, right?”

“There’s a difference between a villain name and a secret identity, knucklehead. If I tell those people you’re my brother and your name is Hanzou, they’re not supposed to wonder which part of that statement is a lie. If we meet up with Shark or Hoshiko or Tami again and I tell them your name is Yudai now, it shines a really unnecessary spotlight on you.”

“Oh,” Shoto frowns.

“Yeah, oh, ” Dabi bitches and picks up the tube of antiseptic ointment again. “But okay, you call yourself what you want and you change your name whenever you want. Just know that if someone catches on and they deposit your dumb self on Endeavor’s doorstep, I’ll come visit just to say I Told You So.”

“So what you’re saying is that I need a villain name.”

Dabi chucks the tube across the room at his little brother. “That is quite literally the opposite of what I’m saying, you-”

“Well, I’ll need one eventually when I’m gonna start going on jobs with you.”

“When did we discuss that? Like, walk me through that exact conversation, please.”

“I’ve been with you for almost a whole year now. We’ll make more money if I can help out, and you won’t need to worry about leaving me alone. It’s the logical conclusion.” He points at Dabi. “Plus, what if something happens to you? I’ll need to learn eventually in case you need my help some day.”

He’s not wrong, Dabi thinks quietly as he tries to get his temper under control. What if you get caught or worse? He’ll need to know how to fend for himself, and he definitely needs to train if you’re gonna have him kill Enji one day.

(Shoto killing Enji, Dabi killing Shoto, Dabi burning down the whole goddamn family tree- stop it, not now. )  

And it might be nice to have some backup out there. Not just some thug, but another fire wielder who understands Dabi’s fighting style. A proper partner in crime.

“You’ll need training first,” he relents after a long silence.

***

The blast misses Dabi by an inch. He smells the stink of singed hair as he ducks down and he can't help but be a little impressed.

"Not bad, smallfry," he drawls as he rises back to his feet. 

The dusty air of the abandoned warehouse tastes like fire. Shoto is panting, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, but he's smiling wide. He's having too much fun, finally getting to use his quirk again and being complimented along the way. He glows almost as brightly as the fire dancing along his left arm. 

"But you're sweating too much," Dabi says as he casually lights his own hands back up with blue flames and slowly starts to circle his brother. "You can't use your right side to attack, your double quirk would give you away immediately, but you do have to use it for temperature control. That’s your strength, remember that."

"I know," he replies as he keeps pace with Dabi, circling in the opposite direction to keep a safe distance between them.

"Then do it! C'mon, I'm not bringing you along on jobs until you can finish a fight without overheating." He lobs a fireball at the spot where Shoto was standing. He jumps out of the way and counters with a blast of his own. 

The kid's aim is wicked precise. Dabi has to cast a flickering arch of flames in front of himself to absorb the shot. His arms are already starting to sting. Not for the first time he feels a stab of jealousy when he sees Shoto concentrate and the air shimmer and steam around him as he cools himself down. His quirk is fucking ridiculous.

"See? I can do it!" 

"I know you can, and now I need you to keep it up!" 

"It's hard to use both sides back and forth, though."

"That's why we practice. Let's go again, try to hit me this time." 

The kid falters. "I don't want to hit you."

"You came damn close already, you basically gave me a haircut. I said let's go, Yudai!” Another stream of blue flames, he shoots them out like a whip and tries to lash at Shoto's face. 

Oh , that should not feel as good as it does. He hasn't had to fight down this urge in a while but old habits do die hard. Shoto ducks and swings his right arm out in a reflex, sending up a massive barricade of jagged ice between him and the attack. 

"Damnit, no ice! What did we just say?" 

"I'm sorry, it's a reflex!" 

"Then work with me here, and fight me with your left! I can't have you pulling an ice move in a real fight, if someone sees you wield a double quirk it's gonna get reported and you'll be back with him within a day!"

Dabi whirls around and melts the ice wall with a spinning column of fire. The pain in his arms is pissing him off even more as he advances on Shoto, still prone on the wet floor. "Or do you want to go back to daddy?" he asks with a mean grin. "Do you want to get locked back up in that training room and have him beat you into a perfect little weapon?"

"No!" 

"Then get up and try to hit me!" 

It’s part of the plan, he has to remind himself. He needs to learn how to fight, how to be lethal. If he can’t do it, I might as well just kill him here and now.

Blast after blast slams into the concrete. Shoto has no time to react, he's barely fast enough to dodge.

"Stop it, Dabi!" Shoto shrieks, real fear in his voice. It only makes it worse. He can't stop, he knows he's losing control but he's just so angry all of a sudden .

"What, are you calling a timeout? And you want to go out on jobs with me? That'll be a sight!" 

You’re only still alive because I need you to kill Enji. And if you can’t, well...

A ball of fire right over Shoto’s head. 

"You can't fight, you don't listen, and you're afraid to hit me! You have all that power and you don't even know how to use it!” 

A wide spray of flames that forces him further back. Dabi smells burning fabric as his shirt catches on fire. His already frail sanity is slipping away like sand. It makes him a little too honest.

“What made you so much more worthy than me? I've been fighting my whole life, I had nothing else! He molded me for a single purpose, and then I lost everything the day your quirk manifested! You have everything I ever wished for, and now you're telling me you can't handle it? " 

Twin streams of fire, boxing Shoto in, driving him into a corner. He's crying. He's still not fighting back.

"Dabi, please!"

"Get up, you useless fucking miracle! Right now! Either you fight me or I'm sending you back to Enji! Maybe he'll have more luck teaching you!" Shoto is pressed against the wall, hiding his face behind both arms. Dabi can hear him crying over the rush of blood in his ears and the crackling flames on his entire upper body. "Get up and fight! Get up! GET UP!"

" You sound like him! " Shoto screams. His face is wet with tears but also twisted with so much anger.

Dabi leans in close, places one hand on the beam behind his little brother. The steel glows and starts to warp under his heat. Flames bubble out of his mouth as he hisses,

"Don't you dare- " 

He shouldn't have gotten this close. With his whole torso wreathed in raging flames, he shouldn't have given the kid such an obvious target. Maybe they'll look back on this one day and laugh, but there's nothing funny about it in the moment when Shoto draws his leg up and kicks Dabi in the crotch.

The blow knocks the air out of him, and he stumbles backwards. It's a good thing that he's already in so much pain that a sneaker to the balls can't do much damage in comparison, but it's bad enough that he has to bend down and take a knee. 

When he looks up, Shoto has scrambled to his feet again. He looks deranged, still crying, flames and steam wrapping all around his body.

He looks like Touya again. 

He flexes his left side and the air visibly ripples, the temperature drops so suddenly it makes Dabi's eyes water. He locks eyes with Shoto, who gives him the coldest, angriest stare as he raises his left hand and summons something from the deepest well of his quirk.

A flash of brilliant white explodes out of him and shakes the building on its foundations. Dabi is knocked backwards halfway across the warehouse like he's a ragdoll. The landing rattles his bones, he hits the floor like a corpse. He can't see anything for a good five seconds, but he hears the sound of running sneakers approach him.

"Much better," he grins around a mouthful of blood. He definitely bit a hole in his lip when he crashed. He gets back up on pure adrenaline and reignites his left arm. His whole body screeches no but he pretends he can't feel it. Shoto raises his left arm while running. 

It's over in one final blow. Shoto hits him square in the chest from ten feet away and Dabi goes down. It's not so much the heat, his own flames burn much hotter. It's the sheer force of the blast and the pinpoint accuracy that do him in. He topples over like a felled tree and smacks his head on the concrete floor with a sickening crunch. 

Between the stars swirling through his field of vision, the face of his brother appears over him. 

"Looks like you're not completely hopeless," he quips, and then grunts when Shoto kicks him in the ribs with all his strength. "Ow! Fuck, Yudai, what the-" Another kick. "Stop! We're done, you won-" A punch to the side of his head. "Yudai!"

"Send me back, then!" he screams. He's straddling Dabi with one knee pressed to his sternum. His voice cracks under the tears that are still coming down. "Send me back to him! Get rid of me! If I'm so useless, why do you keep me around? Why did you even come back to save me? If I stole your life just by being born, why don't you burn me for real, huh?" Another punch. "Come on, Dabi , get back up! Just you and me, to the end, let's go! " 

Dabi is so stunned he forgets to shield his face from the next punch. A small fist slams into his nose and the pain makes his whole brain bluescreen. "Or how about we trade places, brother? You can go beg for daddy's attention if you want to, but I will burn myself to death before I ever go back there! And unlike you, I actually am strong enough to make sure I stay fucking dead !"

Shoto raises his hand as if he’s gonna hit him again, then all the energy seems to leave his body and he just collapses to the floor, folds his arms around himself and starts crying hysterically. 

Dabi stays prone for a minute or two, unable to move even if he wanted to. There’s nowhere to hide from the echo of Shoto telling him he’s willing to die and calling Dabi a weak coward in the same breath. He can’t do anything but stare at the rafters and listen to his brother crying. 

When he finally picks himself up off the floor, his whole body a long line of agony, Shoto doesn’t look up. So Dabi doesn’t go over to him, doesn’t say a word.

He limps over to the crate where they left their hoodies before the fight, carefully wraps his around his shoulders, in too much pain to even pull the sleeves over his arms, and walks out of the building.

***

The warehouse stands in the looming shadow of an unfinished bridge. Funding for the project fell through about a third of the way in, and now the incomplete skeleton of metal and suspension cables stands forever idle, a road to nowhere except a steep drop into ice cold water. It’s where he goes. It’s where Shoto finds him, an hour later, sitting on the ledge with his legs dangling into nothing.

It probably means something, that Dabi can already recognize Shoto’s footsteps behind him after spending only a year together. It’s part of the reason why he doesn’t whirl around to throw fire at the person sneaking up on him. That, and he’s about one ignition away from fainting and plummeting to a watery death.

Shoto says nothing as he sits down next to Dabi on the ledge. They both swing their legs in the empty space and Dabi listens to Shoto’s last sniffles, watches him wipe the tears from his face with his sleeves. Then, he pulls Dabi’s hands into his lap and starts pushing his ice quirk into his skin.

Dabi can’t cry. His tear ducts were burned shut after Sekoto peak. Since then, whenever he lets himself feel a feeling for long enough to get overwhelmed, he just has blood leaking from the seams under his eyes. Which stings like a bitch. So he tries to not do that. 

He hasn’t cried at all since jailbreaking Shoto, so naturally the kid is a bit shocked when he looks up from his careful touches to suddenly see Dabi’s face dripping with fresh blood.

Dabi wordlessly gestures that he’s fine, and after a moment’s hesitation the kid nods and goes back to his task. Dabi sees it for the apology it is. He should really know better, yet he still lets his head fall backwards and relaxes into the touch. 

The soothing cold coursing through his mangled body, especially his hands, would be enough to make him cry out of relief. But it’s the gentle, devoted way he’s being touched that makes him sob until he’s shaking and red droplets are staining his already ruined shirt. 

He doesn’t even know it, but he’s trying to destroy me. This has to stop before he fucks everything up. 

He pulls his shaking hands free to wrap his arms around Shoto and pull him into his chest. It’s clumsy and too tight and also a lie, and it’s the best he’s got.

Words work their way up his throat. They hurt, like puking up a handful of needles. It’s okay. You can fix this. Remember the plan. Say whatever you have to say to get back on course.

Just for tonight, on this bridge to nowhere, he’ll even risk calling his brother by his real name. If only to make him think they’re both still human.

“I’m sorry, Shoto. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was trying to push you, to help you get it right, and… I lost the plot.”

“You sounded so much like him.” Shoto’s voice is so small and flat and that’s almost worse than the crying. Dabi’s dead little heart gives an angry twist. Just like your daddy. The Todoroki family disease is alive and well, it seems. The apple truly doesn’t rot far from the tree.

“I know. I did. That was fucking gross, I need a shower now.” He was aiming for a bad joke but Shoto doesn’t even give a polite smile. Dabi sighs and forces out another lie. "You’re not a weapon, Shoto, and you're definitely not useless. That won't happen again, I swear. I won’t be like him.”

In a twisted way, he almost wants it to be true.

Promise him. Make him believe it. You can't lose him now, not after all the work you've put in. It’s already bad enough that you need his goddamn quirk to act out your revenge, because you don’t have what it takes to do it yourself. You’re too much alike, you and Enji, in every way you hate. Daddy knows exactly how to kill you and he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. But Shoto? He was made for this. He’s perfect .

“I’ll kill him.” Shoto’s voice is hoarse from crying, but the words come out clear and with no hesitation. “Endeavor. I’ll kill him. It’s all his fault. Look at where we ended up, he taught us only how to destroy and now we don’t know any better. He broke mom, he burned and buried you when you didn’t come out right, and he would have done the same to me when I finally cracked. We were nothing to him except a way to fix his own failings as a hero. We were things, Touya. He’s a monster and I’m gonna kill him for what he did to us.”

And there it is. Dabi feared he fucked up the entire plan when he dropped Touya’s mask tonight, but somehow the kid still ended up on the exact ledge where he wanted him.

He closes his eyes for a second and leans into the vision playing on loop in his mind, like he’s trying to warm himself on the glow: Shoto, standing over a burning Endeavor and catching on fire like a little paper doll, wrapped in bright blue as Dabi presses them together and it all finally stops.

He pushes Shoto’s face out of his chest so he can look him in the eye. His hollow ribcage thrums with the closest thing to joy he’ll ever know.

“When the time comes, we'll flip a coin for it.”

Their laughter echoes through the silence of the night. 

He’s wondering if the wave of nausea is a side effect from the concussion he definitely got when Shoto bashed his skull into the floor, or if he’s still mortal enough to feel something like guilt. 

He looks at the boy who is holding his hands and laughing with him, the boy who still believes Dabi is his big brother who swooped in to save him from hell because he cares. Shoto smiles at him through the tears in his eyes because when he looks at Dabi he truly believes Touya is still alive in there.

Is this the cost of my revenge? Having to look at you every day, raise you, take care of you, knowing that when the day comes I’ll still kill you? That’s it, isn’t it? It’s not your fault, but you are part of the home I was buried under. If I'm ever going to escape, we will all have to burn.

Dabi pulls the kid back into him and smiles an unhinged smile up at the sky. Enji will die, Shoto will die, Touya will burn all over again, and Dabi will be the true monster at the end of the book. That’s how this ends.

But at least for now they’re staring into the abyss together.

Chapter Text

Dabi can't hold back a grin when one of the two drunk guys he's been following for two blocks glances over his shoulder at him for the fourth time. They speed up. Dabi does the same.

He purposefully hangs back when they veer down a side street where he knows they'll have to turn right. Once they disappear down the alleyway, the jaws of the trap snap shut.

He hears a yell of surprise and rounds the corner just in time to see Shoto step out from behind a dumpster at the other end of the alley. He may be short, but he can look mean as hell if he wants to. The grimy bandages covering half his face and the metal bat he casually holds over his right shoulder also help.

“Wallets. Phones. Now.” Dabi sounds almost bored as he says it. The guys spin around and stare wide eyed at the flickering ball of blue fire he conjures up in his right hand. He doesn’t even take his left hand out of his pocket. They’re not exactly a threat.

The guy on the left, with the absolutely gaudy lime-green tie and the thin mustache immediately goes fumbling for his valuables. He places the wallet and phone on the ground by his feet with shaking hands and starts to back away. He has clearly forgotten about Shoto behind him. The kid clears that up by smacking his bat into the side of the dumpster. The guy screams and leaps about a foot in the air at the loud clang . Shoto points the bat at the guy’s throat, where a thick gold necklace shines against his collar.

“The necklace. Hand it over.” The guy looks more pissed than scared now, but he still reaches up to his throat to find the clasp. Meanwhile the second guy, with pit stains coloring his red shirt dark and visibly the drunkest of the two, still hasn’t moved.

“Oi, are you deaf?” Dabi barks. “Your wallet and your phone, now. Or do you need an incentive?” He makes the flames flare up higher than himself for a second. The guy sways, looks at Dabi with fogged-over eyes, then reaches out a hand.

Immediately, Dabi’s right arm cramps up and his flames go out as he gives a startled yelp. Fuck me, a pain manipulation quirk? It’s not very strong and he can only do small sections of someone’s body at a time, about the size of a handprint, but it’s annoying that he doesn’t even need to touch them to activate it.

“Pain quirk!” he growls in Shoto’s direction. “I got him. Don’t let the other one run to get help!” Not that Shoto needed the instructions. He posts up by the exit of the alley and readies the bat in his right hand while lighting up his left with yellow flames. Green Tie, who was trying to make a break for freedom, stops in his tracks and hesitates. He doesn’t try to attack, so he’s either quirkless, doesn’t have a useful fighting quirk, or he’s a coward. Dabi isn’t worried about Green Tie. 

Red Shirt, on the other hand, tries to make his quirk land on Dabi’s face. Dabi sprays fire by his feet to throw his aim off, and when he’s distracted he steps in close to throw a punch to the side of his head. Red Shirt is dazed, and tries a blind swing. His quirk latches onto Dabi’s stomach. He grunts in pain, grabs the guy by the front of his shirt and clamps his furnace-hot right hand over his face. Dabi can smell the alcohol on his breath when he screams.

When he pulls away, there’s a handprint singed over the man’s face. Nothing deadly, nothing a trip to the hospital can’t fix. He might have a bit of a scar. What matters is that Red Shirt is so preoccupied with the pain in his face that Dabi now has both hands free to smack him head-first into a wall and knock him unconscious. 

There. Silence. It will add a concussion and a broken nose onto his hospital bill, but he should be grateful to not be a pile of ash. Muggings and assault are mainly dealt with by the cops. Quirk murders are hero work, and Dabi doesn’t want to deal with any of them at the moment. He still has jobs lined up here in Osaka for him and Shoto.

Speaking of Shoto, he’s still trying to box Green Tie into a corner while the guy is frantically looking for a way out of the alley. Dabi takes his time rifling through Red Shirt’s pockets and observes his little brother with a lazy smile.

“Mind your feet,” he points out when one of his swings with the bat goes too wide.

“Mind your business,” Shoto bites back. Green Tie looks between them with wide eyes, now equal parts terrified and offended by their banter. 

Shoto finally forces the guy up against the wall with two well-timed blasts of flames from his left hand and then cracks him in the side of the head with the bat. Green Tie slumps backwards onto a pile of wet cardboard boxes and stays down, out for the count. Shoto leans over him and snaps the gold necklace off his throat.

“You did good,” Dabi says as they walk out of the alley. He’s prying open the cellphones to yank out the sim cards and tosses them in an open trash can with the emptied wallets. Shoto casually lights the can on fire as they walk past.

“Thanks. I like the bat, too. Makes it easier to only use one side. And it’s less obvious that I’m only emitting from my left if my right hand is occupied.” He swings the bat in time with his steps.

“Told you so,” Dabi grins. “And it makes you look at least a bit more intimidating, smallfry.”

“You’re plenty scary for the both of us.”

“Still, the look is important. I wasn’t sure about the bandages as a makeshift mask, but I have to say, I’m coming around on them.”

“You told me my scar was too noticeable,” Shoto points out.

“It’s an identifier. If you’re gonna go out on jobs with me, you’ll eventually get caught on a security camera or some witness is gonna blab to the cops. The less they know about your face, the better.”

“Not your crispy ass lecturing me about being incognito.” Shoto pokes Dabi in the side with his bat. “Most identifiable face in all of Japan.”

“First of all, I’m legally dead so my face doesn’t trace back to Endeavor, unlike some of us. ” He kicks at Shoto and only half-means it. “Second, I know how to hide. I’ve been doing this for much longer than you have and I haven’t gotten caught yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re awesome and cool and very scary. ” Shoto rolls his eyes at his big brother and Dabi might kick him for real this time. "You could have just burned my other side too, you know. If you'd level me out it would make the old scar less obvious, no?" 

"You're hilarious. Forget it."

"Can we go see Tami tomorrow? You promised that if I did good during a job, I could get helix piercings."

Dabi groans. "Of course you remembered that part. Do you remember the rest of that agreement?"

"That I have to properly clean them and not whine about it and if they become infected you get to burn my ears off?" 

"No, that part is just the basic rules for any piercing you get, ever. You also had to prove you could control your temperature during a fight."

"I did!" 

"Let me feel."

Shoto tucks the bat under his arm and holds both hands out to Dabi. He feels his little brother's palms, then presses the tips of his fingers against both temples.

"Your head is still a little warm, but you're pretty level, all things considered."

"So that means?"

"That means it wasn't much of a fight," Dabi grins. Shoto doesn't laugh, he just makes that stern, angry face and glares at Dabi until he relents. "Fine," he groans. "We'll go see Tami tomorrow and get more holes poked into you." Shoto immediately smiles and starts swishing his bat again as they walk on.

"Can I get a septum ring as well?"

"Don't fucking push it, tyke."

"Then can we at least get soba for dinner now?" 

"Oh my good God, you are such an unimaginable pain."

They get soba, because of course they do. 

***

Inevitably, there comes a moment when Giran’s contracts dry up for a few weeks.

Dabi shouldn't be surprised, it has happened before and he has always made it through. But this is the first time it has happened since he stole Shoto, and an unfamiliar sort of dread has made itself a home in his stomach. 

They’re stuck near Shizuoka, on their third week without a job. Shaking down civilians for wallets and phones is a high-risk game with uncertain rewards and they can’t keep working the same area without attracting attention from cops and heroes. Unfortunately, Dabi’s next contract is a local guy who will call him up ‘sometime in the next ten, maybe fourteen days’, when his heist goes down. Dabi already signed on so they can't leave before then.

So essentially, they’re stuck. And Dabi has a kid to feed, and they can't go on like this for another two weeks. So he falls back onto the only other hustle he knows. Something he'll keep as far away from his little brother as possible. 

It’s not hard to find the local scene at night. About an hour's walk from where he and Shoto have made camp, there’s a long street flanked on both sides with seedy bars and hotels that charge by the hour. In between the buildings there’s a plethora of dark alleys for the less ‘demanding’ customers: paranoid men wearing wedding rings, regulars in a hurry, or the real sketchy types. 

If you work on a street corner, you never know what you’re gonna get. One guy or multiple, if they'll be polite, if they'll try to force you, or maybe if you'll find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun. None of it is new to Dabi. He’s too numb to it to even hate it much. At most it’s an inconvenience. He wants it over and done with, so he can get his money, find someone in this hellhole who is selling pills, and go the fuck to sleep. He's aching all over, desperate for something to take the edge off. He spent the last of their money on food instead of painkillers so Shoto wouldn’t stay up all night hungry, and now his burned-up body is paying the price.

He knows he can’t let the discomfort show on his face. Instead he unzips his leather jacket (stolen from a gym locker room when they snuck inside to shower) and lets it fall open to put his bare chest on full display. His shirt is hanging out his back pocket like a flag that signals 'open for business'. The streetlight he’s leaning against bathes him in washed-out yellow light as he lazily smokes a cigarette and makes eyes at every guy who walks past.

It doesn’t take long for someone to approach him. It never does. Dabi knows what he looks like, and he knows how to make the scars work for him. At the very least, in the dark and half-naked, he looks interesting. There’s always a few freaks around who take a look at a skinny kid dressed in leather and covered head to toe in burns and piercings, and go I wonder what it's like to fuck that .

The guy who walks up to him tonight could give Dabi himself a run for his money in the freak department. He’s tall and wiry, dressed only in torn pants and combat boots. His skin is pale and pasty, almost a sickly parchment color as he steps into the light. There’s scars criss-crossing each other all over his torso, deep and straight and always grouped together in clusters of three parallel lines.

His hair is buzzed short and his eyes are a muddy, unfocused brown. That’s all Dabi can see of his face, because he’s wearing an honest-to-God muzzle that locks behind his head. (Dabi immediately decides he does not want to know why.) He doesn’t speak, just makes the sign for money and tilts his head in a question.

Well, at least that means he won’t try to kiss me, and he’ll be quiet. Dabi holds up three fingers. Three thousand yen, his starting offer. Muzzle doesn’t try to haggle, he just nods and leads him into a nearby alley.

"Money up front," Dabi says coldly as the guy tries to crowd him into a wall. Muzzle blinks at him for a few seconds, then goes fumbling for his pockets. He slaps a wad of wet banknotes in his hand. Ugh, gross. Dabi counts them out, folds them over so the dumbfuck won't see he gave him five hundred more than he'd asked for and stuffs the money in his back pocket.

"Okay. Here?" The guy nods impatiently. "Alright, have it your way. I'm only blowing you, though. You're not sticking it in me for three thousand, ya got that?" He nods again, already undoing his belt and zipper and pulling his pants down. Dabi sinks to his knees with all the enthusiasm and sex appeal of brushing his teeth. He already paid, no need to put on the act any further.

The guy smells like sweat and unwashed clothes. Dabi makes a face but he still opens his mouth. His skin is clammy and sour, the precum that leaks on his tongue overly bitter. The angry part of his brain is tempted to make himself throw up as payback, but that would include losing the meager meal he had earlier and he's also really not in the mood to fight this weirdo if he flips out. So he just sighs and takes it.

Muzzle sets an uneven rhythm, fucking himself into Dabi's mouth. For a few minutes there's muffled whines drifting down from his covered lips, but still no actual words. Dabi angrily bats his hands away when the guy tries to paw at his face. He sends him an ice cold stare with bloody tears starting to pool at the seams of his eyes. 

Will you fucking hurry up, man? 

Without breaking eye contact, Dabi grabs the guy's hips and rams him into the wall to keep him steady. Then he pushes his mouth all the way over his length and swallows until the head slides through his throat. Muzzle digs both hands in his hair and starts to writhe, his whines reaching a fever pitch as Dabi swallows and swallows and swallows around his cock, milking him, drawing him in deeper. The burn in his throat pushes a steady stream of dark red tears out, but his eyes stay angry and empty.

When Muzzle throws his head back and basically howls, Dabi pulls himself off the pulsing cock, points it down between them and strokes it fast and hard, one, two, three times. Streaks of cum paint the cracked asphalt between Dabi's knees. He spits in the little puddle for good measure, and to get the taste out of his mouth.

"There. You're welcome." He pushes himself up and starts to turn and walk away but the guy suddenly closes a hand around his wrist like a steel trap. He pulls Dabi into him with surprising strength and crushes him into the wall, bracketing him in with his own body. He's so surprised he doesn't even find his voice until Muzzle is clumsily trying to shove a hand into his pants.

"Whoa! Back the fuck off, that's not part of the deal!" Dabi snaps and twists away from the groping fingers. He can't seem to break the grip on his wrist, though. Muzzle looks honestly surprised. He blinks a few times, visibly confused, then tries to cup Dabi through his pants.

This isn't that odd, and it's definitely not a first for Dabi, he just doesn't do shit like that with customers. If he wants to get off, he is perfectly capable of getting some real action. But sometimes Johns insist on trying to make the whore come too. It's not a kindness, it's a way of wielding more control over a body they paid for. It makes them feel powerful. Which is why Dabi never, ever lets a customer have that pleasure. 

"I said no," Dabi barks and blue sparks burst out of him in a warning. Instead of being scared away, Muzzle presses closer. He twists Dabi's left wrist up and the movement draws an unexpected yelp of pain when he rips the stapled seam encircling the joint.

"Get the fuck off me, or I-" His breath leaves his body in a muffled scream when Muzzle once again slams him into the wall, and then tries to push him up to get leverage and hold Dabi up by his thighs. The problem is that Dabi has another line of staples traveling diagonally across his back, and the move pushed his jacket up and scraped his naked back along the bricks. Panic makes the pain flare up even sharper when he feels a whole section of staples give out rapid-fire and his skin splits apart.

It's honestly not his fault this time. When he throws the punch with all that he has, it's more of a reflex than anything else. There's a flash and a scream, the pressure crowding him into the wall finally backs off, and for a moment the entire alley is lit up bright blue.

There's heat encasing his hand, but it's different from his flames. When his brain reconnects to his body and his vision swims back into focus, he sees why.

Muzzle is still hovering over him, but his glassy eyes stare into nothing. Because he's very, very dead, on account of the superheated right hand Dabi punched halfway through his chest. 

That's why it's warm, an unhinged voice giggles in his mind as he's suddenly aware of every twinge in his right arm making his skin brush up against hot, wet, scalded, dead meat. He shot out a cremation-level stream of concentrated fire like a flamethrower aimed point-blank at the man's chest, and then he drove his fist right through it. He didn't even know that was possible. The scent of blackened skin, flesh burned to a crisp and flash-boiled blood hits him like a steamroller and okay now I might puke for real.

He yanks his hand out of the body with a horrific squelching sound and the dead guy keels over.

"Shit, shit, shit, " Dabi hisses as he turns on his heel and sprints away from the crime scene.

He runs to a run-down subway station one stop over, just to be sure. There’s no one around to see Dabi hobble into the bathroom, out of breath and hunched over to hide the blood splattered all down his front. He washes up in the bathroom sink, quietly congratulating himself for wearing all-black outfits so the blood doesn’t show.

He looks paler than ever in the bathroom mirror. He stares at himself until his heart rate evens out and his eyes no longer look like those of a prey animal.

Once he's presentable he starts his long walk back to camp. Only now does he properly feel the pain of all his ripped-out staples. His wrist stings something fierce but it’s his back that’s absolutely killing him. The seam has split open nearly all the way and the feel of fabric against those inside layers of his skin is… Pain is one thing, but it also feels deeply wrong to have his body be cracked open like that.

He makes a stop at a 24 hour drug store to pick up antiseptic spray and gauze, but he knows the damage has been done.

That'll cost more than three thousand yen to fix, won't it?

He curses the stupid dead son of a bitch the whole way back. This is bad. He can't fix this by himself. He'll be in pain for weeks while he saves up every cent he can until he can afford a visit to Yoneda's clinic.

***

Shoto grits his teeth to hold back a scream. Dabi has both hands clamped around Shoto's face to keep his head still and keeps him pressed firmly into the table under the cold, surgical light. He can feel the kid's tears running over his fingers and swallows back bile.

"Had enough?" he barks out, a little more rough than needed to keep the shake out of his voice. He absolutely fucking hates this, but once Shoto gets an idea stuck in his head there's no force on this earth that can wrench it back out.

Dabi isn't sure if this is an idea Shoto has had for a while, or if he just came up with it tonight when they stepped into Yoneda's back alley clinic. Regardless, he should have left the twerp in their warehouse camp while he went and got his staples redone in peace. But of course Shoto was having none of it, not after the state Dabi has been in for the past month and a half. The brat wouldn't even leave Dabi's side when he had to take a piss.

He'd bought the lie that Dabi had gotten jumped coming back from an errand, and now he insists Dabi shouldn't go out on jobs alone again. He has also taken to staring down every single person who approaches Dabi, be they acquaintances or literal strangers bumping into him in the street. (It's a very unique brand of adorable.)

Yoneda is the guy Giran took him to when he found a half-dead Dabi on the streets all those years ago, wrapped in foul smelling cloth bandages to try and keep his skin from slipping off his body. Yoneda cleaned him up, treated the burns and open wounds, pumped him full of antibiotics until the infections subsided, and he gifted Dabi with his first set of surgical staples.

Over the years, Dabi has learned how to clean and reattach single staples when they release or if he pulls one out on accident, but every once in a while he'll need a proper checkup and some fresh staples, like after he has an accident that rips a bunch of them clean out.

Yoneda charges astronomical rates, considering he's a disgraced surgeon without a medical license who caters exclusively to the criminal underworld of Tokyo, but for someone like Dabi he's quite literally the only option. So he saved up just enough to pay for the most urgent fixes he needed to get done and resigned himself to a few more garbage can meals until Giran sends them another contract. Preferably a few prefectures over. 

Dabi doesn't like working the Tokyo area. Too many high-profile heroes and villains, too easy to get caught in a crossfire. Even snatching purses is a risk here. If it wasn't for Yoneda's clinic and the skin on his back literally hanging on by a few threads, he'd never set foot in the city.

All this to say, he was already high-strung before they stepped into the clinic. And after nearly an hour of the sting of antiseptic spray and the deep, familiar pain of getting thirty-two staples shot into his body, Dabi is done with this whole fucking day and just wants to pop a few Xanax and sleep until noon tomorrow.

That was when Shoto hopped onto the vacated table and announced that he wanted staples, too. Staples in his fucking face. To look like Dabi.

Dabi hadn't exactly handled it well. The scorch marks on the door will testify to that. He had screamed, cursed, threatened, left the room to go kick at the wall outside, chain-smoked three cigarettes. Shoto hadn't budged from the table. He said he wanted them because they, direct quote, looked cool , and he wanted a few around the bottom edge of his scar.

"You don't fucking need them because your fucking scar isn't making your fucking face peel off your fucking skull!" Dabi yelled. And then Yoneda had to pipe up and say he'd do it for free. That was when he'd scorched the door.

He knows what the kid is trying to do. He doesn't understand and he definitely doesn't agree, but it's not that hard to read his intentions.

Ever since day one, when Dabi had dyed Shoto's hair black in the public bathroom, the kid has been fascinated by their similarities. He wears his hair so that his blue eye is visible, he picks clothes that look like whatever Dabi is wearing, he mirrors the way Dabi walks and talks. Six months ago he'd gotten the helix piercings he'd been whining about since forever and he had picked the exact same jewelry as Dabi. The staples were just the next escalation of this trend.

Shoto, age thirteen, worships his big brother and wants nothing more than to be like him. Which is the absolute worst idea Dabi has ever heard. He's never been furious, flattered and heartbroken at the same time. It congeals in his stomach into a big ball of nausea.

"That makes four," Yoneda says in that quiet, nasally voice of his. He doesn't even try to hide his smile at the sight of Shoto's tears and Dabi's distress as he holds his brother down. Creepy fucking sociopath, he thinks.

"Yudai! Enough?" Dabi barks again and angles Shoto's head back until he makes eye contact. His bottom lip wobbles but he doesn't speak.

"I'll do one more, but after that I'll start charging you," Yoneda informs them. Dabi sends him a furious glare and fights his quirk down so he doesn't roast Shoto's face. As if you're not enjoying the show, you goddamn weirdo. I'll bet my life you're getting off on this somehow, you absolute-"

"One more," Shoto forces out. Dabi grits his teeth and tightens his grip. Yoneda places the stapler on the edge of the scar.

***

They don't speak the entire way back to the warehouse. Shoto hasn't cried since getting off the table and his eyes are a bit glazed over. The adrenaline high makes him look like he's about to start floating.

Dabi has calmed down, but the sight of the staples in his brother's face still twists a knife under his ribs. Every time they catch the glint of a streetlight, Dabi wants to be angry but he keeps missing and landing on something like bewilderment, plus the urge to vomit up his organs.

There's once again no money for food tonight, and neither of them has the strength to go out and try to score something. They just shed their top layers and take off their shoes and crawl into the makeshift beds of blankets and sleeping bags in a hidden corner of the warehouse.

Dabi is barely settled in before he finds himself with a lap full of little brother. Shoto nestles into Dabi's chest with his head hung low and a wordless please don't be mad at me. Dabi runs a hand over his tired eyes and pats the kid on the head.

On bad nights like these, he can't help but think of Endeavor.

You will not beat me. 

You deserve everything that’s coming to you. All of this, every goddamn inch of scar tissue on me- on both of us, has your name written all over it, and we will have our revenge. I’m gonna drop two corpses on your doorstep and make the whole world watch as we tear you to shreds. Your career, your dignity, your name, and your body. 

You’ve taken everything from us. It’s only fucking fair.

Chapter Text

They meet the girl on Shoto’s fourteenth birthday.

Dabi is in a shitty mood, has been for about a month. He has refused to address Shoto by anything other than "brat" and "twerp" and, at best, "kid". The reason is Shoto's latest name change.

He'd been Yudai for a while. He did have another name for about a day a few months ago, but that one was an emergency. Dabi can't fault the kid for panicking and making up the name "Kaito" on the spot, it must have been pretty terrifying to get arrested.

God, Shoto got arrested. He can still see that entire cursed weekend unfold behind his eyes, like the worst movie he’s ever seen.

It happened in Kanazawa, and it started with the sound of an alarm ripping the night to shreds. The owner of the liquor store they had tried to rob must have triggered something under the counter to scare them off.

Not worth it. There was definitely a patrol incoming. Run.

They had each snatched a bottle off the shelf, refusing to leave empty handed. Outside they had split up without a word, each of them taking off running in a different direction. They would circle back to their rendezvous point once they were sure they weren’t followed.

Dabi shook off the cop chasing him easy enough, vaulted through a construction site and chucked the bottle of vodka at the pig’s head for good measure. He made it to the spot and waited. And waited.

Shoto tasted blood when the pro hero tackled him face-first into the street. He tried to wiggle free, tried to kick and bite and got a punch to the head for his trouble. 

He tried to ignite his flames and felt the first stab of panic when he realized he couldn’t.

The hero had wrapped him in some kind of capture weapon, a rigid scarf that he had lassoed Shoto with as he was trying to escape down a side street. That didn’t explain why his powers were suddenly gone, though. 

Did the hero somehow turn off his quirk? Desperate, he risked an attempt to use his ice. Nothing.

He felt the cold click of quirk-canceling cuffs close around his wrists and the hero got up, releasing him from the capture weapon as the cops took over. 

Shoto had never felt so helpless and exposed and he wanted nothing more than to cry out for his brother. Instead he clenched his jaw and set his stare on cold and distant as they hauled him into the back of a squad car and took him away.

At the police precinct, they stuck him into an interrogation room instead of the packed holding cell after Shoto stated he wouldn't talk without a lawyer present and then clammed up. In the bright lights of the bullpen it became clear what exactly they’d caught.

“It’s not a matter of whether or not he tried to rob a liquor store, what matters is that this punk looks barely a day over twelve and you let the older one escape. It’s the middle of the night, unless you can get a lawyer and a social worker up here to take his case at two in the morning, we aren’t interrogating him any time soon.”

After spending about an hour fiddling with the long chain that kept him hooked to the interrogation table, one of the younger cops came into the room with a candybar and a can of soda. Shoto all but rolled his eyes at the obvious play.

Now that he'd asked for a lawyer, they couldn’t interrogate him without an adult present to represent him, but if he was dumb enough to let himself get bribed into giving up information, well, that was fair game.

He was tired. He was hungry. He was so scared he would never see his brother again. But at least he wasn’t stupid. So when the cop offered him a trade, “How about you tell me your name, and you can have a snack while I see what we have to do with you,” he looked him in the eye and lied, “Kaito.”

“Okay, Kaito. You enjoy your snack and then we’ll get you processed.”

Oh, he didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

Dabi ran through Kanazawa until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out. Panic screamed through his brain, blocking out all rational thought. He ran until he couldn’t anymore, and then he limped along, pulled out his phone and started making calls.

He hated begging. He despised how openly desperate he sounded. Promises fell from his lips, expensive favors were traded one after the other. He even begged Giran, which is how the broker knew it was serious.

He had no choice. He needed to know where they’d taken Shoto and how to get him back.

There was no way for Shoto to get out of being fingerprinted, but at least he could glare daggers at the cop the whole way through. Not that his prints would be very useful to identify him. The soft pads of his fingers had suffered so much abuse from fighting, quirk overuse, scaling walls and the like, that the skin got worn down thick and smooth.

The cop commented on how scarred and calloused his hands were and casually asked if it had anything to do with his quirk. Shoto rolled his eyes and said nothing.

He was in the system now, he thought bitterly as they filed his prints away under the fake name Kaito. All of that for a botched robbery. They had even taken his bat, his phone and the bottle of vodka away to the evidence locker.

Fingerprints were one thing, but then came the mugshots.

“I can’t take them off!” Shoto shrieked as one of the officers reached for the bandages that covered the left side of his face. He added as much panic to his voice as he could.

“Kaito, come on, work with us. We just need to take pictures so we can process you.”

“Then take the pictures, but I can’t take the bandages off! It won’t heal if I take them off, and it hurts!” He made himself cry to really sell the lie. In his mind he kept hearing his brother’s voice telling him that the scar was an identifier, and that it only took one person who remembered Shoto Todoroki’s missing person’s photo to connect the dots and send him back to Endeavor.

And he would break out of these dumb fucking cuffs and blow a crater into Kanazawa before he let that happen. Definitely not in such an embarrassing way.

One of the older cops approached him and put a heavy hand on his chin. Shoto reflexively tried to jerk away but the man held firm and tilted his cheek to the light. He pointed to the edges of the scar peeking out from between the bandages.

“He definitely has some kind of injury under there. And those look like surgical staples.”

“Staples? In his face?”

“That looks serious. Do we have anyone with medical training on staff tonight who can take a look?”

“He’s a minor. Can't do medical procedures without permission from his lawyer. If we remove those bandages and his face peels off, we're all fired,” the older cop huffed and released Shoto’s face. “Just take his pictures like this and send him to the juvenile detention center. They can house him and find someone to take his case on Monday, and then they can bring him back for proper mugshots and a quirk assessment, so we can interrogate him for real. Just get it done, will ya? I’m going home.”

So Shoto got his first ever mugshot taken with half his face swaddled in grimy bandages. He did his best to angle his face and look as mean as possible, because Touya told him his face changed when he glared like that. He had to make sure he didn’t look the slightest bit like the little boy on Shoto Todoroki’s file.

“Kaito, listen to me. We can’t run a quirk assessment on you tonight, but would you just tell us what your quirk is? We need it for your file,” the young cop who had brought him the snacks tried again. Shoto pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Come on, kid, we know you have something. The cuffs register every attempt you make. They can’t tell us what you tried to do, but they do show us they blocked you from using a quirk.”

Shoto glared and squeezed his hands into fists. The cuffs bit into his wrists.

The cop sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Can you tell me anything else? Your last name, where you’re from, who your parents are? The name of that guy you were with? I’m trying to help you, kiddo. You’re too young to live on the streets and get into trouble like this. If you work with us, this can all be over soon and I promise I’ll get you back to your family.”

“Don’t bother. There’s no one looking for me,” Shoto bit. The cop shook his head like he was genuinely sad about it, and two other cops who he hadn’t met before took him down to a squad car. 

An hour later they pulled up in front of the Kanazawa juvenile detention center. Shoto stared up at the clouds overhead and felt the growing desperation climb up his throat. How would he ever find Touya again?

It took him a full day and more favors than he could count, but under the cover of nightfall Dabi made his way over to the juvenile detention center. He parked the stolen bike by the high fence surrounding the back field and burned his way through the chain link fence with the barbed wire crown. As he marched towards the ugly building he counted the barred-up windows on the ground floor. 

Giran came through for him and got him the wing and cell number for the new arrival processed only as Kaito, booked for armed robbery and resisting arrest. He counted the windows until he was positive he had found cell 117.

A light tap at the reinforced glass between the bars, and almost instantly he was greeted with the wide-eyed face of his little brother. The relief in his chest was almost painful. He put a finger to his lips and mouthed “get ready, be quiet”, then moved back along the side of the building.

He knew he would need a distraction before attempting to break the perimeter of a holding cell, so Dabi did what he did best: he caused massive destruction. 

Within three minutes he had lit the entire parking lot up like a bonfire, making sure to concentrate the inferno on the two squad cars and three motorcycles. He didn’t stay to watch, he turned around and ran back to Shoto’s cell. The alarms started to scream as he was running.

Steel bars melted away under his hands and safety glass cracked at the barest touch. He hauled his brother out through the window, grabbed him by the hand and broke into a sprint. 

While running he clasped a super-heated hand over the quirk canceling cuffs and shorted out the mechanism. Shoto blasted himself free of the remainder of the shackles with one unnecessarily large ball of fire.

They reached the hole in the fence, scrambled onto the motorcycle, and skidded away into the dark.

Breaking his brother out of kiddie jail had undoubtedly taken a few years off Dabi's life and they definitely should avoid Kanazawa for the time being, but at least they'd gotten two things out of it: a good story they couldn't tell anyone, and a codeword.

Kaito became their ‘safeword’, the name they both saved each other's phone number under, and the agreed upon word they had to say when picking up a call. Kaito meant "it's me, I'm alone, you can talk". If the other didn't say it back, it meant "I'm compromised, someone's listening, don't say anything and don't believe a word I'm saying". 

It’s a little trick Dabi learned from Giran. ‘If I ever pick up the phone and call you sunshine, you don’t say a word, you hang up, and you burn your phone. It means trouble. You got that, kid?’ Turns out the geezer is good for more than just throwing contracts his way.

After that, Shoto went back to using Yudai as his secret identity. He also tried out a few villain names and eventually landed on Ruin. 

Dabi rolled his eyes so hard he nearly sprained his face and sighed something about Shoto finally entering his edgy phase. Shoto then called him "a whole-ass walking edgy phase" and laughed when Dabi kicked at him with his brand new platform boots, and completely missed.

With the villain name out of the way, Dabi had hoped the kid would finally settle down and stick with an identity. And then, a month ago, he changed his name again. And out of all the names he could have picked, it had to be fucking Shingo, right? Because the universe is never done fucking with Dabi.

He refused to explain to Shoto why the name pissed him off. He just barked pick something else and the kid asked why and because I said so wasn't a good enough explanation, so Shoto doubled down.

Dabi guesses he could have told him that the name made him uncomfortable because he once knew someone by that name and it wasn't a good memory. But knowing Shoto and his spectacular talent for misunderstanding social cues he would have never stopped asking why. 

There’s no bargain to be struck here. Dabi is never going to tell anyone about what happened in that alley in Kyoto with the purple graffiti.

He doesn't remember much from the incident itself, other than just a deep, burning pain that was different from the burning he was used to but still made him want to die all the same. He remembers being unable to make a sound or close his eyes as he lay in the muck of the alleyway, staring at the wall where someone had spray painted What Are You Doing To Make The World Better?. He remembers staring at those purple letters until his vision went blurry.

So no, he can't explain to his brother why he won't call him by that name. And he definitely can't tell him what he did to Kanagi Shingo when he tracked him down a year later.

He is still pissed when he wakes up on the morning of Shoto's fourteenth birthday to the smell of coffee.

They'd gone to sleep in the concrete shell of an under-construction parking tower. January was too cold to risk sleeping out in the open and this was the best they could find last night. They had huddled close for warmth, despite Dabi's frosty attitude.

He hasn't let Shoto use his ice quirk on him to soothe the side effects of his flames in weeks. As a result, his skin hurts and itches all the time again. He hadn't realized how much his body had gotten used to the relief and he's been popping extra painkillers to balance out the withdrawals.

Despite all that (or maybe thanks to the frighteningly light bottle of oxy in his pocket) Dabi had slept well enough, evidenced by the fact he hadn't noticed Shoto get up and leave. He doesn't stir until the kid sits back down on his sleeping bag and wakes Dabi up by holding a cup of coffee under his nose.

Judging by the logo on the paper cups, he guesses the kid walked to the gas station halfway down the block to get them both breakfast. Dabi doesn’t know if he paid for it, if he stood outside the shop with his hand out and a pitiful expression on his face until someone shoved a few banknotes at the sad homeless child, or if he managed to sneak out without paying. He doesn’t care to ask.

He accepts the cup without a word and takes a sip. It's cheap gas station coffee, and just the way he likes it: pitch black and piping hot. Shoto sits huddled over his own cup, blowing away the steam as he stirs in four packets of sugar. He then reaches into the pocket of his black denim jacket and pulls out a stale bagel. Definitely stolen, or maybe picked out of the trash. He holds it out to Dabi and lets him break off half.

After they've washed down their breakfast and Dabi has gotten redressed in his boots and beat up leather jacket, Shoto clears his throat.

"I've picked a new name."

Dabi pauses in the middle of stuffing his sleeping bag into his duffel. "Why?" he asks flatly. 

"Because you've made it very clear you don't like the one I have now."

Dabi lets out a short, humorless laugh. "By all means, you live your own life. Don't let me tell you what to do." He scratches in his hair and grimaces at how gross it feels. They'll need to sneak into another gym or a public pool today so they can take a shower.

"I don't like it when you act like this. You haven't called me by a name for weeks now."

"So? It's not like they're real names anyway."

Shoto stares at Dabi like he's a particularly stubborn math problem that refuses to be solved. Dabi knows his little brother isn't the most socially gifted (another unfortunate side effect of him spending his formative years in the clutches of a father who only cared about creating an obedient little supersoldier and not raising a child ) and he's being particularly mean by acting like this. 

He can't help it, though. There's certain things that make his claws come out and that fucking name is high on the list, even after all those years and some sweet revenge.

Shoto finally finds some words. "I don't like it when you act like I'm not a person. And I don't like it when you don't tell me things. You say you don't want me to use a name but you won't tell me why and then you won't talk to me at all. It's not my fault that I don't understand things if you won't explain them."

"I shouldn't have to explain everything to you," Dabi snaps. He’s clenching his right hand around the glowing ember of his quirk starting to itch in his palm. The seam at his wrist starts to smoke. "If I tell you I don't like something, that should be enough. Did it cross your mind that maybe telling you why I don't like something could be just as bad? Could you not just trust me and let it go just because I asked you to? That would be nice, you know."

Fucking stop it. Please. I’m gonna lose my shit in about three seconds if you don’t back the fuck off. Don’t make me do something we’re both gonna regret. I still need you alive.

Shoto sits quietly, mulling the words over, until he nods. "Okay. I just wanted to understand, but I guess if you trust someone that means sometimes you believe them without knowing the story. I'm sorry, Dabi." He glances up at his brother from underneath his fringe. "Are there more names I should avoid? Maybe you could make me a list?"

Dabi wants to curse and throw something, except he knows Shoto is completely sincere. "I'm not gonna make a fucking-" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "Look, how about this? From now on, when either one of us uses a name or a word the other one really hates, we get to ban it. No questions asked. And we also don't pester each other for stories if we don't want to tell them, okay? I'm not keeping secrets from you, don't make that face. It's not lying, it's just… not being ready to tell something. And the same goes for you. Unless it's absolutely vital to our safety, if you ever don't want to tell me something, you don't have to. Do we have a deal?"

"Okay." Shoto holds out his pinky finger. Dabi rolls his eyes but still hooks their fingers together. Gestures like handshakes and pinky swears are sacred to Shoto and he always makes Dabi shake on any promise they make. He wouldn't be surprised if the kid believes a pinky swear would hold up in a court of law.

With his jaw clenched tightly he goes back to shoving his things into his duffel. For fuck's sake, he just woke up and his brain is already at capacity. He's thinking about every story he will never tell Shoto. He’s thinking about money pressed into his hands as he's rising from a dirty floor with sore knees and the bitter taste of some stranger's cum still on his tongue. He’s thinking about how flames and blood are such different types of warmth on his skin. He's thinking about purple graffiti.

Think about something else.

"So tell me your new name, then."

"Akio." Shoto stares intently at Dabi's face, nervously looking for any negative reaction.

"Akio. Huh." Dabi rolls the name around in his mind while looking at his little brother. "I like it."

"You do?"

"Yeah. It suits you, much better than the last four names."

"Really?" 

"Really, really." He ruffles the kid's hair and forces his voice to soften. "Happy birthday, Akio." Shoto hides a smile in his collar.

***

They're cutting through an alley on their way to the station when the sound of yelling and running footsteps catches Dabi's attention.

"Stay on guard," he mutters to Shoto, who nods and grips his bat a little tighter. Dabi takes his hand out of his pocket but doesn't light it yet.

There's the sound of a falling trash can right ahead of them, and suddenly a girl comes crashing down the alley straight at them. She's not visibly armed, but in a quirk-society that means nothing. Even a teenager dressed in a dirty school uniform and with blond hair in two disheveled buns could be a living nuclear bomb.

The girl looks relieved when she spots the two of them, which is mildly concerning. They definitely don't know her, and nothing about the two of them should scream "safe haven" to a stranger. Dabi thinks briefly he needs to work on his stage presence.

"Tag, you're it!" she yells as she dashes past Dabi to hide behind a completely bewildered Shoto.

"She went that way!" Three men round the corner, looking around wildly until they spot Blondie peeking out from behind Shoto's back. The largest of the three, a hulking guy with a mouth full of yellow fangs and every inch of his bald head and bulging arms tattooed, points a sausage-sized finger at them. His other hand is pressed firmly to his side, where a bloodstain is still steadily growing across his white shirt.

"Move along, fellas. Hand the girl over."

Dabi flexes his fingers by his side but keeps his voice level. "Why? Doesn't seem like she wants to go with you."

"I really don't," the girl pipes up. "His breath smells like ass and he can't take a joke at all. "

"This doesn't concern you, freakshow," the tattooed mountain snarls. "Me and her have unfinished business," he gestures at the wound in his side, "and I'm gonna repay her in kind."

"And let's say, just for the hell of it," Dabi takes a step to the side to position himself between the girl and the main guy, "that I'm not a fan of three grown-ass men taking a little girl away against her will, what happens then?"

"Little girl? Vicious little monster would be more like it. I have two more men bleeding out in an alley two blocks over because of her."

Dabi whistles. "I stand corrected. Five against one and you still couldn't take her? Now I'm definitely intrigued."

"I am very intriguing," she giggles behind him and Dabi cracks a smile. Oh, she's too much fun to die.

"Last chance, patchwork. Hand the bitch over and walk away. Or if you wait around, you can come play with the leftovers once I'm done with her." He bares his fangs in a grin. "Guy with a face like yours probably ain't a picky eater."

Somewhere behind him, Shoto mutters "Oh boy." Dabi's face stretches into a smile so wide his staples sting. Wrong day, wrong psycho, wrong choice of words, he thinks. Everything Tattoo-Face implies pairs with a full month of cutting himself open on the memories of Kanagi Shingo, and Dabi feels his self control slip.

Usually he gives some kind of warning before releasing his quirk with intent to kill. He leaves it up to his target to engage or back off. That way, it's their own damn fault if they end up roasted. Not this time, though. He gages the distance between him and the three men for a second, raises his left hand, and lets loose.

They're engulfed instantly. His quirk explodes out of him in a wave that rolls out far beyond what was necessary. Blue fire eats its way through the alley and consumes everything in its path at a vicious speed: trashcans, piles of cardboard boxes, human bodies. The rush of the flames is loud, but not nearly loud enough to drown out the screams. 

Dabi keeps pumping out fire, standing motionless as the backdraft rushes towards them like a desert wind. He turns the heat up more, the flames almost crest the tops of the buildings, and the screaming stops. The feeling of satisfaction in his chest is ice-cold.

"That was awesome!" the girl squeals and shakes Shoto by the shoulder as Dabi finally turns his quirk off. "Wasn't that the most badass thing you've ever seen?" Shoto is still standing there silent, staring at this strange girl with a look of absolute confusion.

"You can ask for my autograph later," Dabi says as he steers both teenagers out of the alley and away from the three cremated corpses. Someone definitely saw or heard that, cops and heroes are certainly on their way already. He shouldn’t show off in front of kids like that, the ‘coolest big brother ever’-points are not worth getting arrested for triple homicide in broad daylight. "We have to get the hell out of here."

***

The girl's name is Himiko Toga "but you can just call me Himiko" and she's a runaway. Her quirk requires her to drink blood, which is ‘frowned upon in decent society’ but she'd been trying her best to control it and fit in. Then she lost control at school a few months ago and drained a classmate dry. Cops were called, Toga slipped away, and she's been on the run ever since. 

This morning she was trying to make her way through gang territory when she got cornered by Tattoo Face and his men. They wouldn't let her go until she "paid her toll" so she resolved the stalemate with one of the knives strapped to her legs. As she tells it, she flips the hem of her skirt up to show off several sharp blades in hidden sheaths. 

She had nowhere to go, so she followed Dabi and Shoto to the station and got on the train with them, as casually as you please. Dabi let her. Call it altruism, or a healthy curiosity for unique characters, or not wanting to leave witnesses floating around. 

That's how he finds himself sitting across from Toga on a train as she tells her story. He tells her the official version of their story in turn. 

His name is Dabi, and that's his brother Ruin. Dabi ran away from home at fourteen, and five years later Ruin followed suit. Why did they run away? Dad's a dick and mom is gone. Other siblings? Nope. What's with their scars? Fire quirks, accidents happen. Where are they going? Kyushu. Why? Dabi's broker tipped him about a possible job down there. What kind of job? The kind you don't fucking ask about in public. Can she come with them? She's on the train already, so might as well, but she'll have to pull her weight.

"So tell me, Dabi," she smiles sweetly and leans her face into her cupped hands as she flutters her lashes, "you got a girl waiting for you in Kyushu?"

Dabi lets out a laugh at that. "Oh, that's definitely not happening."

"What is?" She acts dumb but the sly smile ruins it.

"First of all, I am way too old for you."

"I'm older than I look."

"Well, you look about fourteen."

"I'm fifteen, actually!" 

"And I'll be twenty-two in a week, which would still make you about five years too young to be even remotely appropriate for me."

"I won't tell if you won't," she teases but he can tell she's no longer serious.

"Second, I'm gay. So it's still not happening." He says it matter-of-factly but doesn't miss the way Shoto tenses in his chair next to him. Huh, guess that didn't come up in conversation during the last three years.

"Really?" Toga asks with wide eyes.

"What do you mean, really ? Is that something you hear a lot from guys my age? Do you think I’m lying to get you to back off? You’re creepy, sure, but I bet I could still fight you off if I had to." 

"Point taken," she says and shrugs. "And it doesn't matter to me, in case you were wondering. I like everyone, guys or girls or anything in between."

"So you're bi? Pan?" 

"I guess? Something like that. I'm not sure yet." She smiles so wide he can see her sharp little canines protrude over her lips. "I don't really care about names and labels. I just see someone pretty and I fall in love, y'know? Being in love is the best feeling in the whole world." She turns her attention to Shoto. "What about you, cutie? Ruin, was it? Have you ever been in love?" 

"I don't know. Don't think so. Also, you can call me Akio."

"And do you like girls, Akio?" She does the eyelash-flutter thing again.

Before Dabi can pull out his protective act and warn the crazy little love-vampire to calm down and back away from his brother, Shoto speaks up.

"Actually, I’m not sure yet," he shrugs. "But I think I like looking at boys more than girls."

Dabi groans dramatically and bonks his head into the window a few times. Because not only did Shoto just half-assedly come out to both him and a quasi-stranger on a train, Dabi also just realized he somehow adopted a second teenager over the course of one morning.

He’s gonna have a stress migraine before they ever reach Kyushu.

***

It's a week or two later when Dabi happens upon that winged hero again, Hawks. He's ever-present as soon as they set foot in Fukuoka. On billboards, on magazine stands, advertising all kinds of crap from canned coffee to branded sneakers to goddamn fried chicken.

Dabi hates heroes enough as it is, but this kid is pushing a lot of his buttons. Puppet of the system, and making bank off of it too? Gods, how he wants to smash that pretty face to pieces.

It's a good thing Dabi is a small fish on the bottom of the criminal underworld, and the shining protector of Fukuoka has no reason to take note of someone so insignificant. He rarely has to deal with heroes at all. Dabi can sneak in and out of jobs unnoticed, disappear into the shadows once shit goes sideways. 

Dabi knows how to fall off the map better than anyone, and even though he could take out most mid-level heroes in his sleep, he prefers to keep a low profile. As much as he wants to rip them all off their pedestals, he can't get impatient now. One day, when Shoto’s quirk has fully emerged, they'll find a way to draw out the one man who matters. Until then, it's good to be insignificant. 

It's for these reasons that Dabi nearly has a heart attack when he's walking back to their camp by the docks in the early hours of the morning and suddenly catches sight of massive red wings.

It starts as a distant rustling that quickly grows louder. When Dabi looks up, the hero seems to be dropping from the sky like an actual bird of prey. He's shooting towards the ground like an arrow, and he's coming straight for Dabi.

If anyone were to ask him about it later he'll deny it, but in the moment Dabi is so startled he makes a sound that is almost a scream. He has the docks on his left side and a series of closed hangars on his right, and nowhere to go for cover. He's caught so off-guard he barely has his hands out of his pockets when he already feels the wind pressure of the wings.

This is it, I'm done for, is all he thinks. No time for thoughts about Shoto or Toga or Endeavor, not even time for a defensive blast of fire. Reflexively he closes his eyes-

-and he feels the hero pass right over his head. He's so close that one of his primary feathers seems to ruffle Dabi's hair. He spins around, his heart still beating wildly in the back of his throat as he gapes at the man zooming back up into the sky.

"Whoa! Sorry, dude! Didn't see you there!" Hawks doesn't sound very sorry, the yelled apology is thick with laughter. He sounds more like a kid who nearly knocked someone over on their skateboard. He's fucking lucky he's already out of range and Dabi isn't looking to start shit with a top ten hero, or he'd blast the fucking bird out of the sky and make himself some fried chicken.

Dabi ducks into the shadow of a hangar and watches the hero fly away across the water. The sunrise flecks everything with spots of glittering yellow. Up high, in the receding violet-blue of the sky, the hero's silhouet keeps climbing higher. Dabi can still faintly hear him make those dumb, exuberant sounds.

Then, he suddenly releases all the feathers from his wings and the man drops like a stone. Dabi takes a few eager steps forward. If the hero's quirk somehow malfunctioned, he can't wait to see the resulting splat. Water or not, from that high up everything feels like concrete.

No such luck. The feathers race him to the water and reattach themselves on their way down. Burning sunlight catches in his hair and reflects off the shining feathers, like droplets chasing his wake. Dripping gold, he reminds Dabi of Icarus, plummeting to earth in a cloud of fire and defiance.

Hawks barely grazes the water and then shoots back up, wings flapping to carry him into the sky until he's out of sight.

Dabi turns around and shoves his hands back in his pockets. Only now does he feel he's clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.

Chapter Text

It’s unusually quiet when Dabi returns to their camp one night.

No matter how much they both whine about it, he doesn’t take Shoto and Toga with him when he goes to meet one of Giran’s contacts for a job. The fewer people who know that Dabi's collection of underage runaways has doubled since eight months ago, the better. He doesn’t need that kind of attention. 

Plus, the kids are nowhere near ready to join the world of organized crime.

It's not that they're incompetent, far from it. They can handle themselves when it comes to snatching purses or stealing clothes and food, and he even trusts them to hotwire a bike or two. 

He taught them both how to drive motorbikes. Dabi is a horrible driver, and by extension now both of them are, too. Or at least, Shoto is an absolute menace on a bike, with no regards for the speed limit and no qualms about hopping a curb and using the sidewalk if the street is too busy for his liking. He has also wiped out half a dozen times already, giving himself impressive road rash and ruining perfectly good machines to the point where they couldn't even be fenced. 

Toga is a marginally better driver than both Shoto and Dabi. Which is a low bar to clear. 

But Toga is too unpredictable to take her along on professional jobs, and if he’s completely honest, Dabi doesn’t quite trust her yet. And Shoto is… Shoto. He’s stronger than any crime boss Dabi has ever worked with in terms of raw power, but he’s also an untrained child. Plus, he… Well, he goes a little nuts sometimes if someone comes at Dabi in a way he dislikes. 

Last time he joined Dabi at a meetup and his contact got in his face, Shoto actually pushed in front of Dabi and quietly flashed a fistful of fire in front of the guy's eyes. It would have been absolutely hilarious, if Dabi wasn't ninety-nine percent sure it was less a threat and more Shoto winding up for an actual fight. He cut the meeting short and carried his brother out under his arm, thrashing like a wet cat. It cost them a job, but Dabi couldn’t stay mad about it for long.

Little miracle has an even shorter fuse than I do.

They’ve been secretly practicing both his fire and his ice side, with the express understanding that he’s to use his ice only against Enji when the time comes, but their sparring opportunities are few and far between. It’s also a bitch and a half to not get caught. Shoto’s quirk is growing in strength every day and Dabi continues to hone his craft as well. The drawback is that they can’t really train against each other any longer without blasting a small crater into whatever city they happen to be hiding out in at the time. They really need to find a better way for Shoto to train.

Even with the small, controlled exercises they run, it’s noticeable how much Shoto’s power has evolved. For all of Endeavor’s failings as a parent (and there are many), the bastard knew how to perfect and grow a quirk. But for the past few years, Shoto hasn’t had that rigorous training regimen he grew up on. His quirk is growing into a jagged, wild thing. It’s a tangled ball of almost limitless potential inside of him, one that he can draw from with all the greed and glee of a teenager with a grudge. Dabi almost glows with warped pride. That’s my baby brother.

But no matter how strong he is, he can’t be Dabi’s partner during these jobs. As much as Dabi enjoys robbing scared civilians with his fire wielding brother by his side (and for the past few months a stab-happy Toga as well), arson jobs for the yakuza are a different beast entirely. There’s no margin for errors around those lowlifes.

Usually the two teenagers rush him the second he appears, sometimes throwing themselves bodily at him to try and take him down, loudly complaining about how bored they are.

But tonight he's greeted with silence. He finds the two of them tangled up under their ratty blankets, side by side, engrossed in whatever Toga is scrolling through on her phone.

“You two should be asleep,” he says in a gruff tone, as if bedtime is something to enforce when you’re  a bunch of homeless criminals.

“Shhhh!” Toga shushes him without looking up from the cracked screen. There’s a tinny voice coming from the speakers, too faint for Dabi to understand from where he’s standing.

“What are you watching that’s so important?” he asks when his curiosity finally wins out.

“Have you heard of Stain?” Shoto asks, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“Who?”

“The hero killer, Mister Stainy!” Toga squeals. The sound cuts off as the video ends and the girl jumps up from her spot and starts to giddily skip around the room. “He’s so cool! I think I love him! He has a blood quirk just like me and he kills false heroes!” She comes to a stop in front of Dabi and he could swear there are actual hearts dancing in her manic eyes. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. “I want to kill him and be just like him.”

“Fine, I’ll bite.” Dabi reaches out a hand for the phone. “Show me that poser.”

“He is NOT a poser!” Toga screeches and slaps at Dabi. Shoto hands him the phone. “He is the hero killer! I’d expect someone like you to be a little more excited, Dabi.” She pushes and shoves at him until he’s manhandled into a sitting position on top of his sleeping bag and she curls into his side. Dabi clicks back to the video they were just watching.

He’s not impressed with what he sees at first. The guy definitely dresses like a poser, Dabi knows a calculated outfit when he sees one. He rolls his eyes at the frayed mask.

“So that’s him?”

“Will you- shush! Toga taps the screen to rewind a few seconds. “You have to listen! He actually sounds a bit like you, with the way he talks about hero society.”

Now that gets his attention. His eyes snap over to Shoto for a second, who gives an almost imperceptible nod. Dabi turns back to the video and tries to really listen this time.

It’s a strange experience. Stain doesn’t say anything Dabi wasn’t already thinking himself, but that’s what makes it so weird. It’s like his own thoughts have been unmuted and someone poured his jumbled hatred and thirst for vengeance into a well-written manifesto. Dabi never thought about trying to spread his thoughts to others like this, but judging by the numbers these videos are doing, there is a market for them. People are listening to this Stain guy.

Later, after the kids have finally retreated to their sleeping bags, Dabi pulls out his own phone and watches another dozen of his videos. He pays special attention to the comment sections, too. Turns out this guy already has followers. Disciples, they call themselves.

Dabi does not sleep that night. Instead, he dives into the internet to read up on anything he can find about Stain. He’s not sure yet what he’s gonna use this information for, but a plan is starting to form in the back of his mind.

***

It used to be a lot harder to lie to Giran. Maybe Dabi sold his act as ‘disciple of the hero killer’ better than he thought. Or maybe Giran saw through the lie and figured it didn’t matter. As long as Dabi was believable to others as another one of Stain’s zealots, that was all they needed.

Stain became their cover to get into the League of Villains.

It got harder and harder to keep himself and two kids alive and safe. After spending Shoto’s fifteenth birthday in a homeless shelter to escape a snowstorm, he made up his mind. Dabi decided it was time to let go of his anonymity, the comfortable spot at the bottom of the criminal hierarchy, and take up Giran’s offer of getting him a more permanent gig. It would mean stepping into the limelight as a full-fledged villain, and after that there would be no way back. It’s a big risk, but the payout could be equally great.

His “interview” with the League’s leader, this twitchy kid Shigaraki who covers himself with embalmed hands of all things, didn’t go over too great. He and Dabi and the kids had almost come to blows, if not for the timely intervention of his warp gate-powered henchman Kurogiri. He reminded the boss they were short on followers since their disastrous “raid” on UA highschool. The incident’s coverage had only recently been outpaced by news of the hero killer and his arrest during the Hosu incident.

Shigaraki begrudgingly took them in. He held a seething grudge against Stain for some reason and didn’t particularly like working with one of his fans , but Kurogiri argued that the League and the hero killer’s disciples shared a common goal. They could not afford to be picky.

It also helped that Dabi wielded a powerful quirk, and he came as a package deal with two very enthusiastic junior-villains. Somehow Kurogiri took an immediate shine to the dirty, underfed teenagers. He seemed to think it was endearing, the way he had to stop the kids from jumping into the fray when Shigaraki lunged for Dabi. If he hadn't warped their hands away things would have gotten real ugly, because they both went for the throat; Shoto because he believes it's his sworn duty to back up his brother, and Toga because she lives for drama. Kurogiri took one look at the little psychos and adopted them on the spot. 

Suddenly, they had a permanent homebase and a purpose.

They moved into the rooms below the boarded up bar. Dabi was told he and Shoto would have to share and he made a big show of rolling his eyes like he was mad about it, but truth be told he was relieved. Now he didn’t have to come up with an excuse as to why he wanted to room with his kid brother. He prefers this arrangement, likes to keep an eye on his little weapon, his investment. No reason. Just in case of… anything. 

But all things considered it was nice to have a safe haven for once. Not having to worry about cops or gangs or other vagrants stumbling across them as they slept. Knowing they had a roof and heating and running water to come back to every day. Dabi could go out and knew the kids would be right where he left them, with no one around to bother them, and with some luck Kurogiri would even make sure they ate.

The League provided them with protection, in every sense of the word. Whispers started to spread in the underground, and new potential members came knocking every week. They acquired status, which is a better weapon than any quirk. After a month, Dabi finally let himself loosen up a bit. 

This had been the right decision. He couldn’t care less about Shigaraki and his fucking obsession with All Might and UA, but he sure as fuck was gonna leech off of him. As long as their goals took them in the same general direction, Dabi could keep his head down and play nice. The League of Villains would give them a heading, and training opportunities for Shoto, and a direct route to get into Endeavor’s line of sight.

***

Compress prances into the bar one day with so much self-importance, Dabi can practically see the grin through his mask. He’s the newest hire and he seems eager to prove himself. Considering he doesn’t really have an offense-based quirk, that means he goes out to steal shit like a damn magpie. 

Yesterday he came back from his “walk”, dropped three marbles on the floor and flooded half the bar with groceries. Anything from produce to soap to liquor. Dabi thinks he’s a showoff, but he’s not gonna complain about having a stocked pantry at his disposal for the first time in almost ten years.

Today, it’s not food. When he releases the marbles this time, it rains clothes and what look to be quirk support items.

“Most of them are defective,” he admits as Shoto and Toga dive into the pile. “I raided a truck that was hauling crates of broken and faulty hero items away to be destroyed. I figured we could at least repurpose some, or even try to fix a few.”

“Good thinking, Compress,” Shigaraki rasps as he starts to pick through the haul for any black items of clothing. “One man’s trash is another man’s big pile of winter coats and flashy gear. Giran charges way too much for his black market stuff anyways.”

“Do we even know what these things do?” Dabi holds up a pair of boots with metal soles.

“Can’t be that hard to figure out, right?”

Dabi skips over the support items as he digs through the pile. His fucked up quirk is too specific for him to find something useful in a crate of generic, base-level gear. Especially if they were all chucked for a reason. He doesn't have the patience or the brains to try to fix something up. The best he can hope for is something that looks cool…

He snatches up a long, ripped-up black leather coat before Shigaraki can get his dusty mitts on it and grins at the boss' immature pout. Now this, he can work with. All it needs is some stitches to patch up the worst of the tears, and he spotted these two big, cracked metal cuffs that would fit nicely at the ends of the ripped sleeves. Now if only he could find a new pair of jeans and maybe a few shirts in his size in this haul…

"Akio, heads up." Dabi looks up and sees Spinner toss his little brother a warped chunk of metal. Shoto holds it up to study it and reveals it's a left sided half-mask with a heavy, dark lens in front of the eye. "The eyepiece has heat vision . Seems kinda poetic, right?" 

The lizard bares his mouthful of sharp teeth in a grin. His tone indicates it's a bad joke but Dabi is still considering biting his head off for being weird about Shoto’s scar. 

He doesn't give two shits if any of the other League members say dumb shit about Dabi's scars and staples. He's an asshole to everyone so he expects nothing less in return. But if anyone comments on the kid's face, it gives him a really good excuse to threaten actual murder. It's the highest level of disrespect, thinking they can say shit like that to Dabi's little brother. Also, he hates the face Shoto makes when he's feeling insecure. 

During their first week with the League, there was one time when Shigaraki thought it wise to refer to the brothers as 'medium rare and extra crispy'. The boss would have ended up incinerated if not for another well-timed warp gate from Kurogiri.

"Does it even fit him?" Dabi grumbles in his most disinterested voice. And look at that, Shoto slips the mask over his left side and it fits almost perfectly. The heat vision lens flickers to life, glowing red and ominous.

Later, after they’ve retreated to their room with their hauls, Shoto keeps fiddling with the mask in his lap. They’re sitting at opposite ends of the room on their mattresses and Dabi is pointedly ignoring his little brother while he’s fixing up his new coat. 

In the end the kid’s fidgeting and sighing becomes too hard to ignore. He clearly wants to say something.

“Spit it out already,” Dabi grumbles without looking up from the cuff he’s trying to sew onto the sleeve.

“Should I wear it?”

“Do you want to wear it?”

“It’s easier to put on than the bandages. And the heat vision lens could come in useful.”

“Then wear it. It fits and it’s functional. What’s the problem?”

“Is there something wrong with my face?” Shoto mumbles.

Dabi puts his sewing down and gives an exasperated sigh. “What?”

“I know that the scar is an identifier and I need to cover it up for my own safety when I’m out on jobs. But… Is it ugly? Should I just keep it covered up at all times?” Shoto finally looks up and catches Dabi’s dumbfounded, angry glare. He very slowly lifts both hands and gestures at his own fucked up face. At least the kid has the decency to blush.

“I think you’re talking to the wrong guy about scars and beauty routines,” Dabi bites out in a sarcastic drawl.

“Yeah but- I didn’t mean it like that, obviously, because you don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about you. And your scars are different, they… I don’t know, they fit you?” Dabi closes his eyes and slowly breathes through his nose to contain himself. Christ, that is the most fucked up attempt at a compliment he’s ever heard. 

Shoto chucks the mask into a corner and grips at his hair in frustration as he searches for the right words. “I’m saying... No one would dare to give you shit about them. And at least your scars mean something. Mine is just a leftover from that time mom went crazy.”

“Goddamnit, Akio, will you just shut up for a second?” Shoto’s jaw clicks shut and he shrinks in on himself, stares at his hands in his lap. “Now calm down, think about what you want to say, form a sentence, and say it.”

“Is my scar ugly?”

“It’s a burn scar. It’s not good or bad, it just is. It’s part of your face. You want to cover it up? I can’t stop you. Does it bother me? No. Do I want you to wear a mask at all times? No, because that’s stupid. It’s bad enough when Compress does it, I can’t deal with two drama queens under one roof.” Shoto hiccups out a small giggle.

“Okay. I just thought… because there was only one mask in that haul and Spinner immediately gave it to me-”

“I am going to kill that fucking lizard.”

“Leave him alone. It’s my own fault for overthinking it.”

“True.” Dabi crawls to the corner where Shoto threw the mask and frisbees it back to him. “Wear it. But only for jobs. It’s a cool mask. Very villainous. I’d be scared of you if I ran into you in a dark alley with that one glowing red eye.”

“Don’t exaggerate.” Shoto chucks a shoe at Dabi. “I’m not a baby.”

“Could have fooled me, you weepy bitch.”

Shoto launches himself at Dabi and tries to pin his brother to the floor. Too bad for him he weighs about as much as a basket of kittens and is equally intimidating when he’s trying to wrestle, even with his recent growth spurt that pushed him to a lanky five foot seven.

Dabi crushes him into the mattress without much trouble and sits down on his little brother’s back. The kid turns a lovely shade of purple from yelling for Toga’s help, as Dabi picks up his sewing again.

***

I am not drunk enough for this, is all Dabi can think as he taps his glass on the bar for a refill and tries to drown out two conversations at once. Kurogiri complies, dutifully pouring him another two fingers of vodka. He’s downed it before the shadowman can turn around and return with the soda. Dabi never knew a cloud could sigh, but there ya go.

On his left, Spinner is perched on his own barstool and knocking back shots of tequila like he’s trying to race Dabi to see who will be the first to break their neck going down the stairs later. Dabi has already decided he’s either sleeping on the bar or having Giri warp him directly into his bed.

The lizard’s tongue is thick and dumb with alcohol, but that doesn’t stop him from talking Dabi’s ear off about the goddamn herokiller, Stain.

See, that was the problem with Dabi using the cover of a zealot to get into the League. Once word got out, every other nutcase recruit who spends their nights jacking it to those manifesto-murdervlogs assumed Dabi was one of them . He’s been pretty good at being so damn unpleasant that they generally don’t rope him into their fucking fanboy meetups, but Spinner is persistent. Or stupid. Possibly both.

See, Dabi doesn’t give two shits about Stain. Sure, he’s right, but only because everything he says comes directly from Dabi’s inner monologue about dear old dad. Dabi can’t see beyond the lead-heavy shadow of his father, and he doesn’t care about society as long as they’re not burning Endeavor at the stake. He’s not in this for the sake of the downtrodden. Dabi isn’t looking to be anyone’s savior.

It’s just that… He indulged Spinner once or twice. Sometimes he just needs to vent, and it’s easy to masquerade his own frustrations and hatred as a long rant on Stain’s teachings about hero society. He should have known better, but the damage has been done and the dumb fucking lizard latched onto him as a “comrade in arms”. When they’re sober, he can usually chase him off with his vicious tongue. When they’re drunk, Spinner becomes deaf and blind to threats and just- sits down next to him and fucking talks. Like Dabi’s a person or some shit.

He knows it’s not a bad thing. Being humanized in small ways makes him fit in with these dumbass criminals. They need a framework to place someone like Dabi in, to make him make sense. ‘Angry homeless kid turned militant follower of a cult leader’ fits that bill well enough. They don’t need to see him for the psychotic, murderous timebomb he truly is. He’d be out on his ass before he could blink, if Shigaraki didn’t dust him first for being a loose cannon. 

That does make him laugh, the idea of being too unstable for Shigaraki. Apparently he laughed at the right time because Spinner, drunk enough to risk his sword hand, claps Dabi on the shoulder and slurs “See? This guy gets it. Giri! Another round, if you please!”

Dabi considers burning a few scaly fingers off but is distracted by Kurogiri topping off his glass. He takes a swig and shoots the warpgate villain his best murderous glare. Which is hard, because he can barely see.

“Tha’s fuckin’ water, ya cheapskate.”

“You’re not paying for these, so me being cheap has hardly anything to do with it.”

“Then why’re ya-”

“Because you’ve had enough, Dabi. You’re no use to anyone if you die from alcohol poisoning.”

“No’ gonna die. Jus’ need to not hear all ‘a that.” He gestures over his shoulder in the direction of the other conversation he’s been trying to block out.

Toga is a horrible influence on Shoto. Their brand new matching tongue rings are the latest evidence to that argument, and Dabi is still pissed that they went to get them done without him. And that they had the audacity to giggle about it and tried to hide it from him. Like he’s a disapproving parent or something-

Anyway, earlier tonight one of the new recruits (Twice) was teasing the two junior villains about how close they are, always running off together, getting up in shit they should not be up in, always hugging or holding hands or curled up on the couch together.

(Shoto did finally figure out the comfort physical touch can bring him, and it seems like he’s reclaiming a decade of missed hugs from Toga. No, Dabi isn’t mad about it and he’s definitely not jealous, fuck all the way off.)

Anyway. The more the two denied being a couple, the more Twice teased them. Not even Toga’s scary precise knife-throwing skills dissuaded him, he just ducked behind the bar and made his childish taunts louder.

But then Compress got involved, also a few whiskey sours deep at that point, and he started asking them questions about their… relationship. Which resulted in Compress planting them both on the floor in front of the rickety coffee table (picked out of someone's trash and lugged to the bar by Magne 'to make the place feel more like a home') where he sat himself down, to give the two mortified teenagers a very detailed the-birds-and-the-bees talk. That was around when Dabi had started drinking his vodka neat.

"Now, condoms are your easiest option for safe sex. They're cheap, reliable, and they protect you from most STDs and pregnancy in one go. If you pair them with a lubricant, make sure you use water-based products and not oil."

"A very good point," Twice pipes up from where he's sat cross-legged next to the two teenagers. "Ooh, ooh! Why is that, though?" he follows with a slightly higher voice, raising his hand like he's in a classroom.

"So the latex doesn't disintegrate."

On the couch (also carried home by Magne, with Twice's help), Shigaraki makes a disgusted sound and turns up the volume on his Switch.

"Now, you two." Compress produces a few condoms out of nowhere like it's a card trick and holds them out to Shoto and Toga. "If you are going to continue this relationship, we'd all prefer if you were safe-"

"I am not fucking Akio!" Toga shrieks so loud that Dabi can feel his hangover catching an earlier train. "How many times do we have to repeat this?!"

"Okay, maybe you aren't currently- "

"I prefer boys, if that helps?" Shoto deadpans with that eternally confused look on his face.

"Hah! Called it!" "Spinner, you owe me money!"

"Who is Spinner?" the lizard slurs back at Twice. Dabi bonks his head onto the bar, as Compress now launches into a lecture about queer sex ed.

"Another water?" Kurogiri already tops off his glass before Dabi can reply. "Or do you want me to warp you over to the sex ed lesson?"

 "You better fucking not."

"I'm just teasing you. Besides, we can all hear him just fine."

"Really wish I couldn't," Dabi groans and drains his glass.

"Yeah, not like we need a refresher," Spinner chimes in. Kurogiri slides a second glass of water across the bar in his direction. Spinner pours about half into his mouth and the rest down his front. "Sex ain't that complicated. It's just smashing your parts together until everyone is happy."

"Oh, I disagree. I believe everyone who is sexually active could benefit greatly from the occasional refresher course."

"It's not like any of us are even gettin' some at the moment anyway,'' Dabi grunts. "We don't have the time or the accommodations for it. We can't exactly bring dates back to a secret hideout."

Which is true, but also, Dabi has never had an actual date in his life. His entire sex life has been one night stands, either transactional or the occasional random guy who was cute enough that he could help Dabi forget himself for a bit. 

He also hasn't whored himself out in over a year. It became much more difficult to do it covertly once Shoto started joining him on jobs, and virtually impossible once Toga entered the picture. She's much more observant than his baby brother. No matter what, he does not want Shoto to know this about him. 

When they joined the League, he no longer needed to sell those particular services to survive, and he didn't exactly miss it, so he quit. It would also fuck up his new reputation as a serious villain if he got caught. That's the closest a criminal organization could get to a PR disaster. 

"Fair point." Kurogiri's gaseous face flickers into what feels like a mocking smile. "I'll wait until you pick up a companion to sign you up for a seminar with Compress. Just so you don't forget the use of the uh, parts. "

"I know which parts go where." Dabi pushes his empty glass away and slumps forward on the empty space of the bar. The cold, wet wood feels cool against his cheek. "Used to get paid for it, too."

He mumbles that last part quietly, just not quiet enough. Kurogiri stops rinsing the glass and Spinner's hand freezes mid-motion. Mortification burns in his stomach, but he's too drunk to move. He can only close his eyes and wait for the mockery to start.

"Yeah… I'm guessing quite a few of us know how that feels." Spinner mutters. He claps Dabi on the shoulder, a little more gently this time. Kurogiri silently lines up two fresh shots for them. The expensive vodka, this time. Dabi slams it back without making eye contact with anyone.

"I think it's time for me to warp you both to your respective rooms," Kurogiri states. "Class is over anyway." Behind him, Toga and Shoto have tackled Compress off the coffee table and snatched his condoms. They're loudly cheering for Twice as he's pulling an unwrapped condom over his head like a second mask.

Dabi has never been more grateful for the sudden cold of a warp gate and his comfortable mattress on the other side.

He's dead asleep before Shoto sneaks into their room.

Chapter Text

Shoto comes home one evening from a snack run with Himiko with a lead weight in his stomach. He subtly dumps Himiko with Twice and goes stalking through the building to look for his brother.

He eventually finds Touya in the alley out back, sitting on the lid of the dumpster with one leg dangling down the side, blowing lazy smoke rings at the purple-pink evening sky.

"What's wrong with you?" Touya asks in his trademark disinterested tone. Shoto knows better than to be offended: the fact that he even noticed at all and cared to ask is his brother's way of showing affection.

Shoto climbs the dumpster and steals a cigarette from Touya's pack before he can snatch it away. He lights it with his middle finger in response to the annoyed grumbling.

He takes three long drags before he can force out the words that he knows will sour the whole evening.

"I saw Natsuo in town."

Everything goes very still. It's so quiet he can hear the ash from Touya's cigarette hitting the ground. He sees his brother's jaw working under his skin.

"Are you sure?" The words are measured but clipped.

"Of course. He's not exactly hard to recognize. Looks like he finally made it out of that house as well, he's off to college. He was wearing one of those stupid university sweatshirts."

"Three cheers for Natsu," Touya bites out. Shoto hears the bubbling rage being barely contained under the sarcasm. "Did he recognize you?"

"Do you think I would be sitting here if he did?"

"Just checking. You've done dumb shit before."

"He didn't recognize me, he didn't even see me, and Himiko didn't see shit either. It was barely a minute, he was waiting at a bus stop across the street while we were in the store."

"Then why bring it up?" Touya flicks his cigarette butt away to land sizzling in a puddle. He immediately lights a new one.

"I don't know. It was just weird seeing him." Shoto tries to blow smoke rings. He still can't do it. He glances at his brother from under his fringe. Touya is pissed but he's containing himself. For some reason he decides to give that restraint a little nudge.

"He's taller than you. Natsuo."

"Fuck off."

"He is."

"I said, fuck off!"

Before Touya can lash out, Shoto rolls off the dumpster and launches himself down the alley with a blast of fire. For a second it looks like his brother is gonna come chasing after him, but then he just stomps off to the other end of the alley and hops the fence.

"Where are you going?" Shoto calls after him.

"Out!" is his reply.

Shoto hurries down the alley, gives himself a boost with his flames to vault the fence, and runs after Touya. He's walking off with an angry hunch towards the main road.

"Fuck off, Akio," he growls as Shoto catches up.

"I wanna go with you."

"And I'm telling you to go back inside, fucking brat, before I make you."

"You won't hurt me."

"I wouldn't bet on that." Touya lashes out with a mean swipe at his face, then immediately tries to kick his legs out from under him. Shoto dodges both with hardly any effort. Touya bares his teeth in a rabid smile and flashes a handful of blue fire. Shoto lights up his own flames in response.

Neither of them throws an attack. They're just standing in the quiet street, casting flickering shadows the size of gods across the facades of boarded-up houses.

"You know you're my favorite brother, right?" Shoto says. A comet of blue exploding by his feet is Touya's reply. "You wanna know what I felt, seeing Natsuo after all these years? Nothing. Not even anger."

Touya bites back a roar and throws a second fireball. This one is even further from hitting Shoto.

"Seeing him just reminded me that you're my real family. You're the one who came back for me. Natsuo and Fuyumi never stepped up for me. They're cowards."

Shoto turns off his flames and tucks both trembling hands into his pockets. "They may not have chosen dad 's side, but they sure as shit didn't choose mine either."

Touya's flames flicker out as well. The street is suddenly so quiet. He stares Shoto down for a second, then turns on his heel and stomps away again.

"Are you coming or what?" he calls out when he's nearly out of sight. Shoto runs after him.

"Do you know why we're here?" Touya asks after two blocks. "Why we're with the League?"

"Because of Stain, right? To tear down false heroes?"

"Oh my God, fuck Stain and fuck the League. " Touya slams Shoto into a wall, and it's so sudden he nearly blasts his brother in the face with flames as a reflex. Touya pokes a sharp index finger in his chest. "We're here so you can stay alive, and train your quirk, and become strong enough that we actually have a shot at taking out Endeavor. You get that, right? You have to get that, please tell me you're not actually that dim."

Shoto swallows and nods. Sure, he'd assumed that his hatred for their monstrous father was the actual reason why Touya gravitated to Stain as hard as he had. But he hadn't realized it was truly all a cover.

"We are here," Touya continues, "because becoming true villains is the only way to make him truly hurt, and to make the world watch as we unmask him. So you better brace yourself, baby brother, because this story ends with you lighting that bastard up like a bonfire."

"Me? What happened to flipping a coin?" The question slips out. Touya shakes his head.

"It's about time you knew this. I'll be with you 'til the end, little miracle. But it will have to be you."

"Why?" 

"Because he can take me. He knows he can. That's why he threw me away in the first place. I have more heat, yes, but I can't outlast him. I have all his same weaknesses, so he knows exactly how to destroy me. And that's provided that my own quirk doesn't burn me to a crisp. Enji's goal was to breed a quirk that could be better than his fucking Hellflame, and that's you ." Touya laughs, a wild-child giggle, and pats Shoto’s cheek a bit too hard. "Our vengeance, little brother. It has to be you, because you are the only one he made strong enough."

***

Later, after they've made it back to their room and Touya is fast asleep on his mattress, Shoto lies awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to the familiar sound of his brother's breathing. Touya's words are still rattling around in his brain. The part that worries him the most is the casual way he said provided that my own quirk doesn't burn me to a crisp . 

Shoto isn't a child. He's well aware that his brother's physical condition is a problem. 

(Enji’s fault, all of it. Touya told him about Sekoto peak, told him how he waited and waited for their father to come, and how the sorrow of being cast aside fanned his flames into an inferno, the blue consuming him-)

He can try to slow down the inevitable by sharing his ice and forcing Touya's body to cool down when the flames take over. But he knows the fire will eventually take his brother away from him. If Touya keeps using his quirk, there will come a day when Shoto can't pull him back from the brink anymore.

Shoto grits his teeth and wrings his blankets between his fingers until his hands hurt. There's only one way out of this, only one solution to keep Touya alive. Touya will never stop using his quirk as long as he needs the fire to propel himself toward their revenge, and Shoto is starting to suspect he might actually be planning to burn out. He needs to yank him off that path. And the only way to do that is for Shoto to kill Endeavor before Touya goes over the edge.

He needs to get better fast. Before Shigaraki and the League can use his brother as a weapon until it gets him killed, and before his hatred consumes him alive. After Shoto kills Endeavor, he and Touya can ditch the League and disappear together to go live the lives they've earned.

Shoto turns over on his mattress and squeezes his eyes shut, willing sleep to come now that he has planned out his next step. He knows what needs to be done.

He needs to find a sparring partner.

***

"Pause there," Shigaraki orders. The image on the screen freezes. The League's leader peels the embalmed hand away from his face so the collected group of villains can see the grin on his cracked lips.

The still image on the screen shows a teenager with spiky blond hair and half his face covered by a muzzle. The parts of his face that are visible are scrunched up in a furious grimace. He's shackled and chained to the middle podium of a sports event, and he seems to be struggling to break free and attack the barely conscious green-haired kid in the second place spot.

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet Katsuki Bakugou. Winner of the UA sports festival for first years, and the target of our next mission."

"What's wrong with his face?" Magne asks. 

"Forget his face, what's with the restraints? " Compress pipes up.

"That's how UA treats their little heroes-in-training if they behave a little less than heroic," Shigaraki cackles. "He lost his shit after the final got canceled because the annoying green kid who took second place was deemed too heavily injured to go another round. Rumor has it he tried to storm the med bay, screaming about how the win didn't count if he didn't earn it, and they had to sedate him to make him calm down. And then someone thought it would be wise to chain him up like a wild beast for a medal ceremony he clearly didn't want. That kid is wasted on the hero's life. With the right push, he could end up hating them more than all of us combined. And I haven’t even mentioned yet how strong his quirk is. Kurogiri, rewind to the semi final…"

Shoto is barely listening. He's sitting at the bar, half turned away from the screen, and absolutely fuming.

Touya is leading the mission to kidnap a UA student out of a summer camp. As the head of the Vanguard Action Squad, he got to pick his own team. And who did he insist on leaving behind? Take a wild fucking guess.

Christ, he's even taking Himiko. She didn't hesitate before accepting, not even to spare Shoto’s feelings. Traitors, the whole lot of ‘em.

Now Shoto is the only one designated to stay home with Shigaraki and Kurogiri. Like he's a baby. Like he's not good enough to be a villain yet.

As the squad does a final run through of the plans, Shoto gets off his seat and stomps down the stairs. He kicks the door of his and Touya’s room shut behind him and flops down on his makeshift bed to glare holes into the ceiling.

So fucking unfair. Why can't I just go? I have to practice, I need to get better. Why is he keeping me locked up right after telling me how important it is that I improve my powers? This is gonna drive me insane. 

Touya should count himself lucky if he doesn't come home to find all his spare staples welded together.

***

The smell of the forest is almost offensively clean after living in the dirtiest parts of big cities for so long. Instead of festering trash and car exhaust and asphalt, the air on the cliff overlooking the woods of the summer camp smells of pine and warm earth and a distant whiff of crackling campfires.

Dabi would feel terribly out of place, if he wasn't also high as a kite. He's doped up on painkillers to stick out the long and draining mission.

With the addition of Moonfish, Muscular and Mustard as the only selected members who don't live in the hideout, Dabi is fairly pleased with the roster he picked out for today. They have brute force, close combat and long range, crowd control, area of effect, misdirection, stealth, and quite a few wild cards. It's a solid lineup, aiming to create just the right amount of chaos so that the heroes won't pick up on their actual goal until it's too late.

Dabi knows Shoto is pissed about staying behind. He probably should have put his brother on the squad, it would have been a good field test for him. And wasn't that part of the reason why they joined the League in the first place, to give Shoto access to quirk training where he can really let go? 

But when Shigaraki had asked him who he wanted to bring along, something in him went, anyone but Shoto . He explained it away as the kid being too green to be set loose in the woods on his own, and none of the other members could afford to split their attention between the mission and babysitting. Definitely not Dabi himself. With how medicated he is, he's already barely holding all his loose parts together. He can't add 'worrying about the safety and whereabouts of little brother' to his list.

Akio's presence could compromise the mission, boss. You understand, right?

More like worrying about losing our shot. Fuck this mission, if Shoto gets caught or worse, that would flush four years of work down the drain.

Too risky. Dabi isn't willing to risk the best card in his deck for Shigaraki's sake. There will be other opportunities for Shoto to train, fights where Dabi can back him up so the dumb brat doesn't die. Just… not here.

“You all know the plan,” he drawls out in his best disinterested voice. “Everyone, get in position. We will stay in regular contact until nightfall tomorrow. Once the action starts, I don’t want anyone on their phones unless it’s life or death, or if the objective depends on it. Now get moving.”

The squad disperses behind him, off to find their assigned positions. Twice sticks with Dabi as planned. As long as he doesn’t talk too much, the masked-up looney is the least likely to drive Dabi nuts during this little outing. Plus their combined quirks are about to create the most fun pandemonium any of them have seen in a long while.

“This will be a most successful mission, I’m sure of it.” “Yeah, Dabi! We’re definitely winning this, we’re gonna get that little rascal!”

“It’s not a race, Twice,” Dabi sighs.

“Yeah, but if it was-” “All I’m saying is that we are the strongest pairing on the field. You can rest easy, squad leader. We’ve got this.”

Dabi chuckles at the mindless optimism of the guy next to him. His eyes stay fixed on the lights of the camp in the distance. Through his drugged-up haze, they almost seem to dance like flames.

***

The Vanguard Action Squad has been gone for the better part of a day, and Shoto is practically climbing the walls of the empty hideout out of sheer frustration. He knew damn well Touya wasn’t going to reply to his texts, but now even Himiko won’t send him updates anymore.

Sure, you’re busy, but I’ve seen you text in the middle of a knife fight before. How much trouble can those UA students be, really?

He strolls up the stairs to go bother the bossman some more, hoping he has news.

“Have you heard from them yet?” he calls out as he enters the bar. Shigaraki ignores him, tapping away at his cellphone with one hand and aggressively scratching his neck with the other. Kurogiri looks up and waves him over.

“There’s been a development,” the warpgate villain says.

“Good or bad?”

“Too early to say.”

“The teachers have given the brats permission to fight back,” Shigaraki mumbles. “Could be a good sign, means they’re scared and desperate. Could also spell trouble. Some of them are pretty strong already. It’s not just Bakugou, the green mini-All Might could be a huge pain in the ass if they let him off the leash, not to mention that shadowbird kid or Ingenium’s little brother. There’s a few very unfortunate possible matchups on the board now, not to mention the kids we know nothing about. I don’t like these odds, Kurogiri.”

“Do you want me to pull the plug and call them all back?”

“No, no, that’s such a waste of time and energy. But I do want to put an extra character on the board for our side.”

“You know you shouldn’t-”

“I’m not talking about me,” the boss snaps, still scratching himself. He pulls the embalmed hand off his face and looks at Shoto. As always, he feels a cold shiver run down his spine when he looks into those flat, red eyes. “Ruin, gear up. I don’t care what Dabi says, you’re going in as backup.”

“Really?” Shoto is slightly disturbed by how starry-eyed he sounds about the prospect of going into an active combat zone, but screw it. At least he gets to do something.

“Obviously. If you ask me, you should have gone with them from the start. There’s no reason to leave a fire wielder at home during a mission like this. Plus, you’re the same age as the students, your presence will throw the pros and teachers off-balance. I’ll deal with your brother if he bitches about it, now go get ready.”

Shoto nearly trips over his own feet storming down the stairs to go grab his shoes, mask and bat. He all but runs through the warpgate before Shigaraki or Kurogiri can change their minds.

“I’ll text them to let them know you’re coming,” is the last thing he hears the boss say before he dives through the gate and suddenly finds himself in a lush, dark forest.

It is peaceful for all of two seconds before he hears screaming in the distance. To his right the night sky glows a faint blue and the wind carries the smell of fire.

He clicks down to ‘Kaito’ in his contact list and texts his brother. Then he calls him. Again. And again. Nothing. Shoto makes an annoyed grumble as he shoves his phone back in his pocket and sets off in the direction of the blue-hued forest fire.

Well, if Touya won’t answer his phone I’ll just follow my nose to find him.

***

It is a trip and a half to watch from a distance as a school teacher breaks the arms of a perfect Dabi-clone and then rips him clean in half with his scarf as the copy starts to disintegrate. Dabi bites down on his grin and elbows Twice in the ribs to make him stop giggling.

Maybe it’s because of Dabi being doped up on painkillers since yesterday, but there’s a certain fuzzy edge to the world out here in the woods. It’s tempting to lean into the haze and just stare at a copy of himself, looking like a demon straight out of hell as he releases blasts of fire that shake the ground. He could watch that on repeat forever.

“So your copies also have my quirk, huh?”

“Quirk, clothes, personality, everything,” Twice declares proudly and puffs up his chest. “And they even smell like you.”

“Shut up and make another me. Eraserhead took off but we can’t leave Vlad King out of this action, now can we?”

“As you command, captain.” “One psychopath flambé, coming right up! Let’s hope this one doesn’t lose to a scarf.”  

“Don’t ruin it, I’m having a nice night. If I kill you, Toga is never gonna stop bitching about it.”

They send the new Dabi-clone into the building where the other teacher and a handful of students are holed up, just to keep them distracted and scared enough to stay put. It’s almost too easy.

They move away from the building and start making their way through the forest, when there’s rustling branches up ahead. Footsteps, breathing. Someone who is light on their feet. A student?

If it’s Bakugou, they have to take him alive. If it’s anyone else, the school bus is about to have an extra seat on the way back. Dabi raises his left hand and pulls his flames up.

Two seconds later, a kid dressed in all black, wearing a metal mask over his left side and wielding a bat, crashes into him.

“Goddamnit, finally, there you are!” Shoto has the nerve to look pissed.

“What the fu- Akio? ”

“Heeeeeey, little brother!” “He is not our brother, you dolt, he’s Dabi’s brother!” “We are everyone’s brother.”

“What in the HELL are you DOING here?!” Dabi rages and grabs the kid by his collar to yank them face to face. He reaches his hand back like he’s actually going to hit him, because God does he want to. Shoto levels him with an unimpressed stare. 

Dabi has never laid a hand on Shoto, not even when they spar. Sure, he'll clip him on the back of the head when he's being mouthy or he'll shoulder him into a door frame like a big brother should, but he never hits him. (Hitting kids is Enji's area of expertise.) That little act of decency has come back to bite him in the ass, with Shoto being so sure that Dabi would never hurt him that he’s not scared of his threats anymore. The kid calmly waves his phone in Dabi’s face and pulls out of his brother’s grip.

“If you would ever check your goddamn phone, you would have seen the text from Shigaraki, plus the seven missed calls and four texts from me. I’m your backup. Boss’s orders.”

“My backup? ” Dabi spits it out like the word has a taste.

“Not specifically your backup. Backup for the squad. Shigaraki heard the kids were fighting back and he wanted to stack the board some more.”

“This is so fucking stupid. We’ve got this. Go the fuck home and tell Shiggy to stay out of my business. It’s my mission, I’m in charge.” He takes out his phone, swipes the pile of notifications to the side and starts calling Kurogiri to tell him to warp Shoto back home.

“What is your problem, Dabi?” Shoto explodes. “Are you making some kind of point here? I’m not a damn child anymore, I want to join!”

“And I’m telling you-”

“You are not my dad !” He says it with so much venom that Dabi nearly snaps his phone in two from the spasm that goes through him. He’s not sure if Shoto meant for his comment to be double-edged but that sure is how Dabi heard it. I can take care of myself but also I expect better from you. It’s such a low blow. In the tilt of Shoto’s eyebrows and the stubborn set of his jaw, he can see the challenge.

“Also,” Shoto interrupts him the second Dabi opens his mouth to make a retort, “I’m not as helpless as you think I am. There were two students hiding out somewhere back there, and I knocked them both out. You’re welcome.” He twirls his bat and gives a satisfied smile when Twice shoots him a silent double thumbs up.

“You know what? Fine. Stay. See if I care.” Dabi storms off and pretends like he doesn’t see Shoto roll his eyes or doesn't hear him mumble "Yeah, let's pretend like you don't care, there might be someone around here who actually buys that act".

“Ruin, allow me to welcome you to your first villain mission,” Twice says when they start walking again. “You should be in bed, you brat. It’s way past your bedtime.” 

After a few minutes, Shoto catches up to Dabi and leans into his space so they can talk without being overheard. He’s running his tongue ring against the back of his teeth, an awful new nervous habit he picked up.

“I saw that long-haired teacher run past while I was hiding.”

“Eraserhead.”

“He’s a pro hero, right?”

“Used to be. Why does it matter?”

“I just realized why he looked familiar. He’s the hero who arrested me that time in Kanazawa.”

Huh.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

Dabi is quiet for a moment, cracking his knuckles as they go.

“Okay. Well then, if he wasn’t on the kill list before, he definitely is now.”

A small flicker of pride wells up in him when he sees Shoto smile at that and swing his bat around.

***

Everything happens so fast after that, but this is what Shoto understands: Compress managed to snatch up Bakugou and one of his classmates and locked them both away in marbles.

(“Aw man, Compress won? No fair!” -Twice)

They make it to the rendezvous point and Kurogiri’s gates appear all around them, ever punctual and trustworthy. Not a minute too soon either, considering Compress didn’t exactly make a clean getaway. He’s being chased down by a small band of way too intense hero students.

Toga, Twice, Magne and Spinner waste no time and jump through a gate. Muscular, Mustard and Moonfish are nowhere to be seen. Touya tries to shove Shoto through as well but he twists out of his brother’s grip.

“Compress first, he has the payload,” he points out. Touya raises his eyes to the heavens in exasperation and looks to be counting to ten in his head real quick. As if Shoto would leave his brother to duke it out with a gaggle of angry heroes-in-training by himself. Touya should really know better by now.

And of course Compress fucks up his exit by unnecessarily showboating for his audience of pissed-off children and taunting them for falling for his decoys. A glittering laser comes out of God-knows-where and shoots the real marbles out of his mouth. Shoto spins around just in time to see a heat signature light up on his eyepiece, as a small figure retreats back into the treeline. No time to go after the shooter, the payload has priority.

The kids are fast, though. The one with the tentacle-arms beats Compress to one of the marbles, and he better hope it's not the one with Bakugou in it or Shigaraki will dust him where he stands for such a stupid fuck up.

The other kid, and wow he looks terrible, is racing against Touya towards the second marble. Shoto recognizes him as the sports festival second place winner and one of the targets on the boss' kill list. He looks like he's staying alive and upright out of pure spite, and he's running full-tilt at Touya with both arms in splints and murder in his eyes.

Shoto does the only thing he can think of doing. He darts in front of Touya, leaving the marble to him, and instead focuses all his attention on the rabid little hero. When he dives for the marble, Shoto swings his bat.

He hits the kid in the jaw and feels a crunch. On his left someone yells "Deku!" with a voice full of panic and Shoto can only think That's a pretty mean thing to say to someone who might be dead and then sprays fire to keep them away.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Touya snatch up the marble.

"Compress, confirm it," he rasps out. The illusionist snaps his fingers. Tentacle-boy is holding the birdhead kid. Touya has his hand around Bakugou's neck. The green kid spits out a mouthful of blood and wails through his broken jaw.

"Time to go," Touya says as he grabs Shoto by his collar.

He's a little disappointed he didn't get a chance to test his bat's durability on the face of that teacher, but maybe he shouldn't push his luck. So this time when Touya pulls him around and shoves him through the gate, he goes willingly.

He lands in the familiar bar, Touya one step behind him, his left hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a paralyzed, speechless hero student. Magne has the foresight to slap the quirk canceling cuffs on him as soon as he's through the gate, then Compress comes in with gauntlets and shackles.

In less than a minute, they have Katsuki Bakugou chained to a chair, and Shoto watches as his expression slowly darkens into murderous rage.

Okay. Now what?

Chapter Text

“What the fuck were you two trying to pull?!”

Shoto hops out of the way as Touya stomps over to Shigaraki and Kurogiri. His brother is spitting mad and trailing smoke behind him. The boss doesn’t look very impressed as he casually leans back against the wall.

“You might want to mind your tone when you talk to me, Dabi.”

“Or what?” Touya flashes a manic grin and raises his left hand. “You’re gonna step up to the plate yourself for once, huh?”

“Dabi, we can talk about your grievances later. We need your mission report first,” Kurogiri tries to diffuse the situation.

“Oh, you want to hear my mission report? Let’s see, um, goal accomplished, target acquired. Now let’s talk about you two sending my brother in after us, against my express orders!”

“You do not give orders around here,” Shigaraki bites and his tone is so cold Shoto sidles up a little closer to Himiko. “You are my subordinate, and you will do as I say or you will take your leave. I let you pick your own team, and when it looked like the battle was shifting against our favor, I sent Ruin in as reinforcements.”

“And I told you in advance I didn’t want the kid anywhere near this.”

“I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking,” Shoto speaks up, so incredibly annoyed for being treated like the weakest link in this chain.

“Ruin, I swear to God, stay out of this,” Touya growls, his eyes never leaving the boss’.

“We lost Muscular, Moonfish, and Mustard,” Spinner cuts in. “They never made it to the rendezvous point. Judging by what we saw and heard, Muscular went down against the green kid. We don’t know what happened to the other two.”

“Unfortunate, but acceptable losses.” Touya is irate as the boss calmly steps around him. There’s a dangerous spark in his eyes as he slowly turns around to track Shigaraki across the room. He doesn’t seem to notice. Shoto wonders how that’s possible, Touya is his brother and he is kinda terrified of him at this moment. But Shigaraki sees nothing except the chained-up little hero, who juts out his chin in defiance and visibly braces his body as the leader of the League of Villains approaches him like he’s a meal.

“It’s nice to meet you, young Bakugou.” He smiles like a piranha. “My name is Tomura Shigaraki and I would like to make you an offer.”

***

Dabi stifles a laugh when the UA brat tells Shigaraki, in very colorful terms, where he can stick his offer of him joining the League. The boss doesn’t seem phased, though. He simply orders everyone downstairs until he’s alone in the bar with the kid.

He emerges after a short while, that annoying grin still plastered on his face.

“This is the plan. We’re all gonna be taking shifts guarding the brat one on one. Use your time to talk to him. Threats, sweet-talking, I don’t care. He doesn’t leave that chair until he agrees to play nice. One of us is gonna crack that damn heroic shell.” He rounds on Dabi, takes the embalmed hand off his face and points that gross fucking thing right at him. Dabi refuses to flinch. “And you can take the first shift. Get your temper under control before you talk to me again.”

“Suits me,” he replies coolly. “Oh, but I do have one more thing to add to my mission report.” He glances over at Shoto for a second. “Next time we come across Eraserhead, Ruin and I get to take him out. No interference.”

“Sure, fine, whatever you want. Dabi has dibs on the homeroom teacher, everyone.” Spinner and Magne have the nerve to snicker. “Now, in you go.” Dabi stomps upstairs without another word and slams the door of the bar behind him. Bakugou is still where he was before, immobile and quiet. The only thing that has changed is that he looks even more pissed.

Dabi sits down in the chair the furthest away from the kid, props his feet up on a table and takes out his cigarettes. He smokes in silence and thinks of all the ways this mission could have gone disastrously wrong. Not the kidnapping part, but the Shoto-showing-up part. The fucking audacity of the boss and his buddy for messing with Dabi’s… property. Shoto is his. He told them he didn’t want the kid to go. It feels like a personal slight, the way Shiggy dangled his brother in front of so many heroes. 

Shoto could have fucking died tonight . 

(I nearly killed him myself, back there in the forest when he came out of nowhere. Fuck.) 

He hates how it felt to suddenly see him there, like… Like he was about to see his one chance at revenge go up in smoke. Like Endeavor was going to win without even lifting a finger, without seeing everything Dabi has done. Everything they have become.

There’s only one way for Shoto to die, and it’s in that unnamed future where they set their dad ablaze and then walk into the pyre together. True brothers, united in death. It’s so perfect, so glorious, it’s the exact right punishment for Enji. And tonight those motherfuckers could have taken it all away from him.

He belongs to me. My brother. Our plan. Our vengeance.

He smokes. Bakugou glares at him. Neither of them says a word.

***

When his shift is over, he walks out of the bar and finds Toga and his brother waiting right outside the door by the stairs to the downstairs level.

"I'm up next," Shoto says.

"Whatever."

"Hurry back, I have so much more to tell you about her!" Toga squeals and hops around.

"Her?" Dabi asks, against his better judgment. 

"I met someone," she sighs with star-filled eyes.

"Himiko fell in love during the raid."

"Her name is Ochaco and she has the prettiest pink cheeks and she smells like peaches and she's a really good fighter and I want to eat her alive and get married and adopt so many puppies together."

"Christ, Toga, really? A hero student?" 

"Nobody's perfect." She gives a dopey smile and cups her face. "But my sweet Ochaco sure is close! You go do your thing, Ruin. I'll wait right here and tell your brother all about her in the meantime."

"Like fuck you will."

"Aw come on, you grumpy old man! Let me tell you a love story." 

"Hard pass."

Toga pouts and stomps her feet. "For a sociopath you're so damn boring. " She draws a hidden knife, lightning-quick, and Dabi barely has the time to pull his foot back before the blade buries itself in the floorboards in the exact spot where his toes just were. 

“Will you cut that out?”

“You know I would’ve hit you if I really wanted to.” She spins around in a huff and skips down the stairs. She plops down on a step near the bottom and busies herself with her phone, legs stretched out to prop her feet up against the wall.

Shoto yanks on his sleeve to keep him from leaving. "I really am fine, by the way. I handled myself tonight, and if it wasn't for me we might not even have succeeded."

"What do you want, a medal or something?"

"A thank you Ruin will suffice. And maybe you should admit that I'm good enough to go out into the field."

"Good God, when did you get so whiny?" Dabi pulls himself free from his brother's grip. 

"Around when you started treating me like I'm a helpless child." Shoto sighs. "I can't sit another mission out like that, Dabi. I know what you're trying to do, but it drives me fucking insane."

"See if I care." He turns around and starts to move down the stairs, but Shoto blocks his way.

"And that's another thing. Why do you always do that? Be all protective of me, then get pissed about it and try to act like you don't care. You know I can see you, right? You are a terrible liar."

"I am a fantastic liar," Dabi grins and tries to curve the conversation. No dice, little brother has unfairly accurate aim and he's locked in.

"To other people, maybe. Not to me." He looks around and lowers his voice so only Dabi can hear. "I get that you're a big angry fire villain, but you don't have to put on a show for my sake. You can be multiple things at once. You can be a dangerous criminal and my brother at the same time. It's fine."

Dabi coos and makes fake sobbing sounds. "Are you done? Is it my turn now? Should I cry?"

"You're such a bitch, Dabi," Shoto laughs and throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. He actually dares to look fond. 

"It takes one to know one." Dabi sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes, which probably doesn't help his argument but if he's annoying enough Shoto might back off for once in his life. 

"It's been over four years, man. Four years of you saving my life and keeping my dumb ass out of trouble. At this point you don't actually have to say the words for me to know that you care. You wouldn't get so mad about literally everything if it didn't matter."

"Jesus fuck, I get it, " Dabi huffs. "Will you just fucking get in there and do your job already? You want to be a part of the League so damn bad, you can start with recruiting the angry teenager we have tied to a chair."

"Yes, boss." Shoto smiles serenely and dramatically puts a hand on Dabi’s shoulder. Oh, you little shit. "You know, you're stuck with me for the rest of your life, so you better learn how to channel your emotions."

"I am banning you from reading Toga's stupid girlie magazines." He slaps the hand away and hurries downstairs to get away from whatever show Shoto is putting on now.

"Feel your feelings, brother dearest."

"I hate you and I wish I'd dropped you down the stairs as a baby!" he calls without looking back.

"Hey man, plenty of stairs around here!” Shoto yells down at him with a laugh. “Don't threaten me with a good time!" Dabi flips him off over his shoulder. Toga giggles at him from her perch on the fourth step.

"Dabi, our generation doesn't respond well to death threats. We’d thank you for the service." She waits until he's stepping over her, then swings her legs up and tries to trip him. He jumps over her to land at the bottom of the stairs and whirls around to snap a small flame to life by her head. Toga shrieks as one of the stray pieces of hair sticking out of her space buns catches on fire. He laughs and walks away as she hysterically swats at her own head to put it out. 

"Right, I am going to swipe some vodka from the pantry and get drunk alone in my room until I forget the two of you exist. Have fun with the hostage."

***

He takes the bottle of vodka into the bathroom instead, because it's the only room in the building with a door that locks. He ends up sprawled in the tub with his limbs dangling over the edges, sloshing alcohol over himself as he chugs from the bottle.

Twice is no longer hammering on the door, complaining that he has to piss and could Dabi please go be emo in literally any other room besides the bathroom they have to share with eight people? He's alone with his thoughts again, and only good things ever come out of that.

Gah. This is so annoying. Sure, Shoto is supposed to think Touya cares about him, that makes Dabi's mission a lot easier. But then why does he feel caught in the act when the brat calls him out for it? It's such a knee-jerk response, like someone presses a needle into an exposed nerve.

Does he care about Shoto?

Maybe. A little. But not in the way he thinks, it's more…

Ah, shit.

They might just be phantom pains from the life he could have had, or a learned reflex after four years of being the kid's guardian. 

Maybe I gave myself Stockholm syndrome.

Shoto is complicated. Caring is complicated. His little brother is wrapped up in hatred and vengeance and lies and murder, but apparently it's also really fucking hard to not grow a bit of a soft spot for someone who has spent so much time tangled up in your life. Even if you're planning to kill them.

“True brothers, united in death,” he murmurs at the bathroom ceiling. A death that is becoming more distant and uncertain the more he puts off getting the kid some proper quirk training. A plan that can’t move forward if Dabi keeps Shoto in limbo like this. He runs a thumb over the staples on his chin.

It will pass. Surely it will pass. 

He looks at himself in the cracked mirror over the sink. The usual psychopath stares back but the gaze is a bit too wild and bright, like the forest fire at the camp. He waits until his eyes once again look flat and dead like they're supposed to.

Get your goddamn shit together.

Tomorrow he’s going to come up with a new training system for Shoto’s ice side.

Outside the door there's a new voice. Apparently Twice ran to Kurogiri to complain.

"Dabi, either you unlock this door or I'm warping Twice in there, your call."

"Don't send me in there with him, I can't pee if he watches." "If he's drinking in the tub again, I'm pissing on his head."

"Oi! Permission to kinkshame Twice?"

"Dabi. The door. Now. You're acting like a child."

"Ugh, alright mom. "

***

Bakugou’s eyes flash with annoyance when Shoto enters the room.

“So that’s the game plan, huh? You come in one by one to see who breaks me?” Shoto makes a face that says Kinda? and pulls out a chair. “The last guy didn’t do much except smoke and ignore me. And the boss just talked my ear off with his insane ramblings about righting the balance of hero society . What’s your strategy?”

Shoto shrugs. “Don’t know yet. This is my first job for the League. Depending on who you ask, I'm not even an official member yet.”

“Don’t lie. You were at the camp. You took a swing at Deku with a goddamn bat.”

“Oh, that’s his name ?”

“No, that’s not-” Bakugou cuts himself off with a growl. “Fucking whatever. You look way too young to be a villain, by the way. What, do they run a daycare on the side?”

“What’s an appropriate age to be a villain?” Silence, eyeroll. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Fuck off.”

Shoto walks around the bar and rummages through the fridge. “Water? Soda?” Bakugou doesn’t reply. He decides to play it safe and just bring him some water. When he returns to the hero’s side he realizes that, with his hands tied up, Shoto will have to hold the bottle and make him drink. And judging by the murderous look in his eyes, Bakugou’s not about to let that happen. He places the bottle on the table and pulls his chair in closer so he can sit across from him.

“Can I call you Bakugou? Or do you prefer to go by a hero name?”

“You don’t get to call me anything.”

“My name is Ruin.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I saw you fight at the UA sports festival. You’re pretty good.” Now that finally gets a reaction out of him. The red eyes flare up and Bakugou’s mouth curls into a vicious smile.

“Pretty good? I’m the best you’ve ever seen.”

“How does it work? Your quirk. Is it just your hands? How do you make the explosions?”

“How about you untie me and find out?”

Shoto smiles, a genuine smile that surprises even himself. He bites down on his tongue ring. “That would be fun, I suppose.”

“What’s your quirk, then? If you’re so confident.”

Shoto leans forward and props his left elbow up on his knee. He’s close enough that he can see Bakugou’s pupils adjust when he flashes a ball of yellow fire.

“That’s it? Just fire wielding?”

“Not impressed?”

“Tch. That patchwork guy you’re with does the same thing, and at much higher temperatures if the color of his flames is any indicator.” He scans Shoto up and down as if he only now deems him worthy of attention. “I could take you.”

Something hot that has nothing to do with his quirk passes through Shoto, right under his skin. Touya is gonna kill me, he thinks, but the thought of his brother does nothing to reign him in. If anything it pushes his reckless streak to the forefront even more.

He reaches up to his face and presses his fingers into the edge of the mask until it unlatches. It makes a heavy, clunking sound as he puts it on the table. He ruffles his hair back into place to hide the shaking in his hands before he looks up.

Bakugou’s glare slips for a moment. His eyes bounce from the scar to the staples to Shoto’s mismatched eyes. It takes him too long to look mad again.

“I’ll hold you to that. I haven’t had a decent fight in forever.”

When he reaches for the water bottle now and carefully holds it towards the other boy's mouth, he somehow already knows Bakugou will accept it. He does, and he still manages to look pissed off about it as he drinks. And Shoto is mesmerized.

There's something in the air between them. Like the heavy heat of summer right before a storm, filling your every breath with ozone and the promise of a lighting strike. The first fat droplets hit your skin, then suddenly the sky rips itself open and it's a downpour. So you run home, drenched, chased by rolling thunder like the footsteps of a god, and it's exhilarating, but you also hope you make it inside before you're struck down.

That is how it feels to sit across from Bakugou while he's chained up and staring Shoto down like he truly knows no fear. That, plus the smell of burned sugar that clings to him like a warning, a herald of the destruction he carries in the palms of his hands. He smells like a threat. You just wait until I get out of these cuffs.

Shoto wants to open his mouth and see if he can taste the sweetness.

Something in him wonders if it would really be so bad, to be struck by lightning. He has survived worse, hasn't he? It's kind of exhilarating, really. He has never been the tallest tree in an open field, and that is sort of how he feels under that blood-red stare. Like Shoto is the only person in the world, drawing Bakugou in, waiting for the flash. 

***

In the end, it's a different sort of explosion that hits them.

Shoto is a little hazy on how much time has passed, he’s been sleeping in three hour shifts here and there, but it’s been at least forty-eight hours since they kidnapped Bakugou. Shoto has volunteered for extra shifts guarding the hostage, and Shigaraki lets him because he’s the only one who can get Bakugou to accept food and water.

He tries not to think about that too much. Or about Bakugou’s voice when he caught Shoto staring at him and grumbled Close your mouth, princess.

Eventually, Shigaraki’s patience runs out. He decides to take the hero student’s cuffs off, which is such a mindboggelingly stupid idea that even Touya tells him to fucking not. Usually his brother would just whip out his phone to document their leader doing something idiotic, but even he realizes that a pissed-off Bakugou could bring the entire building down around them.

Shigaraki ignored them. Bakugou gets his cuffs and shackles removed as a sign of good faith, and the first thing he does is blast the embalmed hand off Shigaraki’s face. Touya bites his tongue but he still shakes with quiet laughter. Shoto feels another swoop of heat shoot through him. He’s not sure if Bakugou is brave or insane, he just knows he likes to watch him get into a fighting stance to take on nine villains by himself.

And then the wall explodes and All Might bursts through like the Kool-Aid Man. Everything descends into chaos

***

Shoto has a bit of a one track mind. He kinda registers the heroes rushing in, Kamui Woods restraining everyone, the Nomu coming through, and the disgusting black goo teleporting them all away. And he can’t not be aware of All For One’s presence. Japan’s number one supervillain has the aura of a black hole. Shoto can barely breathe, seeing him for the first time.

Then again, his brother is unconscious, and that’s very much his priority right now. Even when All Might comes flying in like a missile and the two most powerful superhumans on the planet start a dustup right in front of him, Shoto stays rooted to the spot next to Touya.

Touya got kicked in the head back at the bar and he won’t wake up. Shoto can’t focus on anything other than his brother’s limp form lying in the rubble. When he tried to move him, the back of his head was sticky and Shoto’s hand came away wet with blood. So he stops trying to move him and just stays where he is, shielding Touya from the insanity around them and trying desperately to calm his racing heart.

The rest of the League is trying to corner Bakugou and drag him through a warp gate and he’s giving them a way too hard time. The game of explosive keepaway looks almost silly. Shoto looks up from his brother, still hovering over him, holding his coat in a death grip so they can’t warp him away and leave Touya behind. But he’s immediately transfixed by Bakugou.

He has no right to be both this powerful and this graceful. He’s like a ballet dancer with rockets strapped to his arms, and every beat is punctuated with an explosion. He’s trying to get away from the battle raging around him, trying to give All Might the room to let loose, but the League keeps boxing him in. They can’t quite pin him down, he’s too fast. But he can’t keep this up forever. They’ll wear him down eventually.

Eventually, but not yet. Because the more Bakugou sweats, the more intense his explosions get. He seems to be rocking the entire city on its foundations. Shoto forgets All Might and All For One are even there. He only has eyes for that graceful blond lunatic with the wild red eyes, and the way he dances and soars straight through all this destruction. Like he’s untouchable.

Him. I want to fight him. I want him. He’s incredible.

“ Ruin! ” Himiko skids to a halt next to him. Her space buns are starting to come apart, there are singed spots all over her uniform and a splatter of blood across her face. She licks the drops from her chin in a reflex. “Don’t just fucking sit here! Get off your ass and help us out! ”

“I’m not leaving my brother!”

“We won’t leave without Dabi, I promise! But we can’t go until we have Bakugou, and the heroes are coming in! We have to get out of here now! ”

The heroes are coming in. That means Endeavor is on his way here. Shoto starts to shake. He lets go of Dabi’s coat and hides his right hand behind his back so Himiko can’t see the sudden bloom of frost spreading across his skin.

“ Get him! The brat is mine! ” Shigaraki shrieks.

Shoto whips his head around. Bakugou is still somersaulting all over the place, blasting Spinner to the ground and dodging Compress at the same time. The boss is trying to chase him down, screaming Get him! Don’t let him get away! It hits something at his core, an old wound that starts bleeding again. 

Shigaraki is laying claim to a kid just to own the powerful quirk living in their body, so they can be used as a weapon. It’s painfully familiar. Maybe he didn’t see it before because he didn’t want to think about it too much, maybe it’s because Enji is closer than he’s been in four years. But he can’t unsee it now, and it makes him want to throw up.

Fuck the League. Touya’s voice in his head.

“Ruin!” Himiko smacks the handle of her knife against his mask. “Stop staring off into space and-”

She cuts herself off. Himiko sniffs the air like a bloodhound. Her pupils dilate. Her face goes slack as she says, “...I smell Ochaco.”

Across from the crater that All Might and All For One have punched into the city, another wall explodes. And after all the weird shit that happens in their lives, this is one of those things that still gives Shoto pause. Because out of the rubble appear three of those 1-A brats.

They’re clinging to each other and using the broken chunks of concrete from the factory walls as launchpads. The redhead with the stone quirk is acting as a shield, while the engine kid functions as a booster and the green one they call Deku kicks off the rubble to gain height.

Movement behind the broken wall catches his eye and Shoto can just see two girls slipping away. He recognizes one as the girl Himiko described to him. Himiko herself makes a sound that can only be described as hungry and she tries to lunge forward. Before she can break into a dead sprint, Shoto grabs her around the waist and holds her down.

“Lemme go! I need to go see Ochaco-”

“You’re gonna get crushed!” Shoto yells over the sound of All Might crashing down like a meteor directly into what would have been her path. He lets go of her and gets up.

Above them, the kids have gained enough height to streak across the sky. Most of the League is staring up at them with mouths gaping open. Except for Shigaraki, who is making a break for Bakugou again.

“ Come on! ” The red-haired kid screams. Bakugou doesn’t hesitate, he angles his arms down and blasts off like he’s trying to leave the earth’s atmosphere. Shigaraki is thrown back from the pressure wave. Shoto starts running, he has figured out the plan.

“Stay with Dabi!” he yells over his shoulder at Himiko.

“What are you-”

“ Stay with Dabi! ” He charges his flames as hot as they will go. This is gonna suck, he’s not good at using his fire for mobility yet, and it hurts if he has to do it for a long time. But he has no choice.

He blasts upwards and sends himself spinning after Bakugou and his friends. Ahead of him, he sees the moment Bakugou and Red Hair clasp their hands together. They immediately lose speed.

Shoto knew this would happen. Himiko told him Ochaco has a gravity quirk. He figured she made one or more of them weightless to make it easier for them to take off. But the sudden addition of another person while they’re airborne means their whole trajectory is thrown off. Bakugou can blast them forward with his free hand, sure, but he can’t compensate for the height they’re quickly losing. Shoto pushes himself hard. He’s gaining on them.

"Hey!" he yells. Bakugou whips his head around. His eyes are crazed and his smile is manic. There’s already sparks crackling between his fingers. Shoto smiles back and flashes a thumbs up. "Good luck!" And then says a quick prayer hoping that Bakugou understands.

It's like that time he fought Dabi under the half-finished bridge. Both sides of his quirk flow into each other and a shock goes through him. He switches from hot to cold to hot again, like racking a shotgun. There’s a look of confusion in the red eyes. At the last possible moment, Bakugou angles the palm of his free hand down, away from Shoto. The air dips into freezing, everything feels shrunk down and thin, and then Shoto releases a flash of heat so bright it's like the sunrise happens in fast-forward.

The burst of hot air blows the group of heroes forward at breakneck speed and lifts them up as the heat expands under them. Shoto, at the epicenter of the inferno, gets rocketed backwards. There’s a second shockwave, an explosion that hitches a ride on Shoto’s blast. The last thing he sees is the look of shock on Bakugou's face.

He tries to level out his landing with fire, but he still hits the rooftop hard. He doesn’t go unconscious, but it’s damn close. He stays down, though, listening to the distant sounds of battle like it’s happening underwater. He stares up at the stars and there’s twice as many as usual.

I was doing something before this. What was I doing that was so important?

Touya. He was trying to get his brother to wake up.

He tries to get up, when suddenly his limp body is yanked forward. Magne’s quirk. He’s pulled over the edge of the roof and starts hurtling down towards the ground. There’s a streak of fire in the shape of a man standing at the edge of the battlefield.

Dad.

He doesn’t even have time to feel anything other than cold. He’s being pulled towards Himiko, who is standing over by a warp gate. Touya, still unconscious, smacks into him as they’re all yanked forward by the magnetism quirk and then they shoot through the gate. Shoto twists his head to keep the burning figure of his father in his field of vision. Just to make sure he’s not coming after them.

They land in an empty hangar. The quiet is deafening after the battlefield they were just on.

“What happened? Where is the brat?” Spinner yells.

“He got away.” Shoto coughs and flops down on his back. “His damn friends came to rescue him. I tried to get him and he blasted me out of the sky.”

“I saw. That was some explosion.” Compress pats his shoulder. “You were very brave for going after him. And very stupid. You’re lucky your brother didn’t see that.”

“Yep. My plan backfired pretty hard.”

“Was it you or Bakugou who made that flash?” Twice asks. “ So pretty, do it again!”

“I guess both?” Shoto lies. “We were in a cold air layer and he tricked me into igniting his stored-up sweat. The blast shot them forward and knocked me back.”

“Very smart,” Compress nods. “It is clear why Shigaraki wanted to recruit him.”

Speak of the devil, a very upset Shigaraki gets pushed through the portal that immediately blinks out of existence. Shoto shuffles away from all the yelling and finds his brother. Touya is finally starting to stir. His eyes open but don’t find their focus just yet. 

Shoto sits down on the ground next to him and starts mopping the blood out of his hair with the cleanest part of his shirt. Touya hisses and mutters a swear. So he’s probably going to be okay.

Bakugou. The League doesn’t deserve him. Shigaraki has no right to try and claim him like he’s a thing. He’s the best Shoto has ever seen, and he wants him all to himself.

He’s terrifying. He’s breathtaking. And he kinda owes me a favor now, doesn’t he?

Chapter Text

They couldn't go back to the hideout after the bar got raided. On Shigaraki's orders, the League scattered themselves all over Japan. Just for a few weeks, to shake off any potential heroes on their tails. 

Kurogiri warped them all away to random cities around the country. All communications were suspended and no one knew where the other ones were, so if someone got caught they couldn't rat anyone out. Only Shoto and Touya were allowed to stay together, everyone else was on their own.

They ended up in Okayama, a city neither of them knew very well. Not that they were gonna see much of it beyond the mold-infested rooms of the condemned house they ended up in. Kurogiri warped them into one of the many safehouses Shigaraki's "master" had acquired, dotted all over the country.

The master who turned out to be a mythical, immortal superbeing who can stockpile quirks. Shoto was going to try not to think about that too much.

It took the better part of a week to nurse a concussed Touya back to health. Even when he could barely move without throwing up, he made an awful fuss about Shoto going out on his own to lift a few wallets. Too bad, it was either that or they both starve to death. So Shoto went out. Not too far, and never for longer than an hour. He has quick fingers and he has learned enough over the last few years to stay out of trouble. And it felt weirdly good to be the one taking care of Touya for once. 

On day six, Touya could get dressed and make it down the stairs without help. He resolutely shifted their dynamics back to the old ways, and Shoto was once again the little brother being told to stay put. He absolutely fucking hates it, but decides not to push the issue until they are out of hiding.

At least there are some moth-eaten books left in the house so he can kill time when Touya goes out.

***

He's reading on the dusty couch on the ninth evening when Touya comes back from whatever the hell he was doing. He marches straight over to where Shoto is sitting and slaps him across the back of his head. 

"You idiot. "

"See, not that I doubt your assessment, but please explain what I did this time?" Shoto asks, flinging his book face-down on the floor and rubbing at his head.

"You took your mask off, didn't you?" 

Ah. That. Whoops.

He does his best to not look too guilty. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You have no idea why I was just informed that the cops have opened a new file in the League of Villains case with codename Ruin on it, and why in identifying marks it says facial scar with staples on left side ?" 

"They made a very good guess?" 

"Oh, don't even try it. The UA brat saw your face and the cops milked him for intel, that’s what happened. You have a villain file now, dumbass. They're gonna be looking for you." Touya’s face shifts from annoyed into something much more dangerous. The face of an older brother who has found some wonderful ammo to use on their sibling. "Were you flirting with Bakugou? Is that why you took it off?"

" No. " He blushes scarlet. 

"Oh my God, you were. " Touya throws his head back as he cackles. Shoto feels the blush spread all the way up to his scalp. Touya’s laughter dies out into a chuckle and he rubs at his eyes. He looks almost fond under the exasperation. "Okay, not that this isn't weirdly adorable, but maybe… don't make your first crush so hard for yourself? Pick someone who isn't training to be a supercop, for instance."

"I didn't pick him, it just… happened," Shoto mumbles defensively. Touya clicks his tongue.

"Well. Rest in pieces, brother dearest." He pats his shoulder and starts to walk away. 

"Wait, that's it?" Shoto throws himself over the back of the couch to chase after his brother. Touya keeps walking up the stairs, already shrugging out of his coat.

"What more do you want from me? The file doesn't go away anymore, you'll have to deal with that yourself. No more going out without a disguise for you, little Akio. Actions have consequences."

"Yeah, yeah, I get all that. Don't you have any advice for me?" 

"About what?" Touya frowns and holds still halfway up the stairs

"About Bakugou? "

Touya eyes him for a moment, the annoying smile slowly coming back. He rolls his eyes and gestures for Shoto to follow him.

They don’t talk until they’re seated on the low wall circling the edge of the flat roof, both of them holding a cigarette and staring out at the city lights. They don’t know if the house is bugged or not, but just in case it is, there’s too much noise up here for them to be overheard.

"Did you help him escape?" Shoto was expecting the question. Touya knows him too well. He takes a long drag before he answers.

"Fuck the League, right?" He blows a few smoke rings in the silence that follows. "Shigaraki has no more right to own a kid for their quirk than dad had to own us. He wouldn’t give a shit about Bakugou if he didn’t have a useful power. He only wanted to use him for his own ends, just like Enji did to us." Shoto looks down over the edge of the roof. “I’m so fucking sick of all these assholes treating other people like pawns. The League talks a big game, but when it comes down to it they’re just as willing to use a kid as a weapon as the heroes are. It’s bullshit.”

Touya runs a hand through his hair to try and mask his surprise. He gives a low whistle. "That's… yeah, that tracks, I have nothing to say about that."

“So now what do I do?”

"You can't pursue a hero. Let’s get that simple fact out of the way first. Even if you forget about opposing ideologies, it's just not very practical, what with the whole 'arrest warrants' and 'heroic duties to society' and all that."

"So, what then?"

Touya holds up one finger. "One: you forget about Blondie and you find yourself a cute little criminal your age." He holds up a second finger before Shoto can let out the whine that was building in his chest. "Or two: you somehow manage to recruit the hero to our side after all, so that you can attempt to date him. But I have no idea how we'd swing that, considering he most definitely hates our guts after that kidnapping stunt and All Might's fall." 

“I guess.”

"Option one might seem painful right now, but it's what I would advise. It's easier and it doesn't end with you pulling some dumb stunt and getting exploded into an early grave."

"Sure." Shoto stares down at his dangling feet. He kicks his heel into the crumbling plaster.

"Akio, I'm serious.” Touya elbows him in the shoulder. “You're allowed to mope and sulk about it for as long as you need, but you'll have to let it go. Heartbreak is a part of life, kid, and people like him aren't meant for people like us. Don't fly so close to the sun next time." He swings one of his legs up so he’s straddling the wall and facing Shoto. The big brother grin is back when he blows a stream of smoke in his face. "But do tell me, did you like him because you thought he was cute, or because he could kill us all with his quirk?" 

"Both?" Shoto shrugs. Touya chuckles.

"Thank God, at least you have taste." They put their smokes out on the side of the wall and flick the butts over the edge. "Jokes aside, now I'm curious about what else he told the cops. I'd love to get a look at that file of yours, but unfortunately not even Shiggy's hacker buddy can get into those encrypted files. We can only see the base info they shared with the cops, but there's more in there that only assigned heroes can see. At least they only have a few security camera pictures of you with your mask on and your hood up, so there's that. Let’s just pray that this whole villain glow-up of yours is striking enough that they don’t match your villain file with that old missing persons report."

Shoto just nods. He knew Bakugou would get interrogated, what else did he expect? He’s a hero student, of course he told the cops everything he knew. And yet he can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

***

After two weeks, Shigaraki calls them all back. A warp gate springs up in the grimy living room of their safehouse, and when they step through they find themselves in a big, cold, dimly lit warehouse. Shoto doesn’t have time to properly look around, there’s an immediate shriek to his right and then Himiko crashes into him.

“Oh my God, finally, I missed you so much and I was so bored without you!” she yells muffled into his chest as she’s crushing him into a hug. “Next time we have to split up I’m coming with you, I don’t care what mean, old Tomura says!”

Touya gets dragged away by Shigaraki and Kurogiri for a debrief, and for once Shoto is grateful that he and Himiko get treated like children. They spend the rest of the day huddled up like a little unit in a quiet corner of the warehouse. Himiko rambles about how she spent the past two weeks (including all the bloody details) and he tells her what he and Touya got up to. And he sort of tells her about Bakugou.

Shoto isn’t dumb enough to tell her about the hand he had in Bakugou’s escape, but he does tell her about his ‘slight crush’. He couldn’t hide that from her anyway, she can literally smell it on him. She squeals and claps her hands.

“Oh my God, so your future husband and my future wife are classmates ! We’ll have to do a double wedding! I want to get married in the spring, what about you? Oh, and we’ll need matching outfits to crash their graduation from UA! Something practical that we can fight in, because the dumb teachers definitely won’t let us in-”

“Himiko, I’m begging you, don’t call him my future husband,” he groans. “Also, you can’t tell anyone else about this.”

“ Why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want the rest of the League to know that I have a crush on a hero student before I know what to do about it.”

“Well…” Her eyes get that manic shine when she grins, “A little birdie told me that your future husband,” she dodges his slap, “failed his provisional license exam and had a bit of a scuffle afterwards.”

“When?”

“Like, two days ago? He got in a big fight with one of his classmates and he got in trouble. ” She giggles and pokes him in the cheeks. “Looks like Akio fell for a bad boy.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Hey! Be nice to me!”

“Or what?”

“Or I won’t tell you that there’s video footage.” She smiles like the Cheshire cat. “And that I have access to said footage, because my hacker friend is so much more creative than Tomura’s.”

“ You have what? ”

***

“What’s your hacker friend’s name again?” Shoto asks, his eyes never leaving the screen. God, this is his new favorite movie of all time. His face is glowing and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Manami. But she goes by La Brava.”

“Next time you hear from her, thank her for me.” 

Bakugou is a fucking menace and it’s so hot. He’s different from when he fought the League, somehow even more unhinged but also more focused. Like he’s actually fighting for his life against his classmate. (It’s that Deku kid again. Why is it always him?)

There’s no sound to the video, unfortunately. Shoto would give his right arm to be able to hear what’s happening. Not that he’s not grateful for these five minutes of silent footage that Himiko’s friend somehow stole from the UA security database.

“We can tell her right now. Give me a minute…” Himiko boots up an app on her phone and logs into an encrypted chat.

>stabbykitty: M, you there?

>StupidCupid: hi H <3

>stabbykitty: thanks for the video. my friend is here too, he says hello and thanks as well!

>StupidCupid: ooh, the baby villain with the new file? hi honey, glad you liked the footage n.n

>stabbykitty: so how about that order i put in? <3

“What order?” Shoto asks.

“You’ll see when it gets here.

>StupidCupid: almost done! I can send it out with a runner tomorrow. same place as usual?

>stabbykitty: you’re the best, M

>StupidCupid: the best there ever was or will be. <3

***

The next day, Toga plops down on a crate next to him with a look on her face like the heavens have opened and she has seen the afterlife. She’s clutching something to her chest.

“This is fate,” she whispers. “I ordered this from Manami while we were all still in hiding, she’s an amazing forger as well, and I got one for you too because I wanted you to come with me, and now you have fallen in love with a boy who goes to the same school as my dear Ochaco, and they even live in the same dorm building-”

“Himiko, you’re babbling,” Shoto interrupts her. He doesn’t even bother correcting her about the whole falling in love bit because he knows perfectly well it’s just a silly crush. She takes a deep breath and finally shows him what she’s holding.

Two UA student ID’s. The names and faces aren’t theirs, but he still raises his eyebrows at her.

“Are those functional?”

“They won’t pass a physical inspection, obviously. The pictures and names are fakes and I couldn’t get ahold of two uniforms in time, so if we get caught we won’t fool anyone. But they should be good enough to pass the automated security system.”

Shoto snatches up one of the ID’s and a wide grin starts to spread on his face. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

Himiko giggles and leans into him. “Will you come with me? You and me, on a mission for romance, to go cast longing gazes at our loves? We’re within driving distance of UA, and I already checked the storage room, there are two sets of climbing gear in there.”

“Compress robbed another transport, huh?”

“No dude, wait, this is wild. It's the same stuff from before!" Himiko cackles. "Compress is fucking crazy. That night, while we were all being warped away, he convinced Kurogiri to first send him back into the bar, counting on the fact that the cops and heroes wouldn't have returned yet to search the crime scene while there were still Nomu on the loose. He grabbed everything he could fit into his marbles and warped back out. It's hilarious, the cops must have been so mad!"

"Everything? So we have our stuff back?" Shoto has never been particularly materialistic, but he had been pretty bummed about losing his collection of books and manga. Some of those had been with him since his first month with Touya and they hold sentimental value.

Himiko points to a set of stairs in the back. "Yeah, yeah, you nerd, Compress saved all your books. And I already set up your room, because I'm a good friend. You're still rooming with your brother, but it's a big enough space for the both of you. I think it used to be an office. And there's even a skylight, it's fancy as hell. My room is just a converted broom cupboard."

Shoto leans into her. "I'll get you all the string lights you want. Thank you."

"You're welcome. But that's not the point right now!" She snaps her fingers. "Back to the matter at hand: UA! We can hop over the perimeter and scale the walls of their dorm building all the way up to their windows. We’ll be so close. ”

“We can’t be seen,” he warns her.

“We won’t be! I just need to be close to her, just a glimpse, a whiff of her hair.” Himiko’s eyes are half-closed as she sighs, “She smells the best out of anyone I’ve ever met. I swear to God, I can never eat anything peach flavored again without crying.”

“Alright. When?”

“Tonight?”

Shoto casts a glance over at the improvised ‘living room’, the cleared space in the middle of the warehouse where the League has set up two big couches and an expensive TV with a console hooked up to it. All of it was undoubtedly stolen by Compress. Touya is splayed out on one of the couches and is loudly heckling Shigaraki as the latter chases Spinner and Twice across Rainbow Road. None of them are paying attention to the two of them.

“Yep. Let’s do it.”

“Our first mission together! How exciting! Do we need disguises?” Himiko bounces while she says it.

“I have my mask and I’ll put my hood up. You can just use your quirk, right?”

“But that’s boring, that’s what we do every day. And I don’t want to look like someone else when I go see my love.”

“She won’t see you, though.”

“It’s the thought that counts! It’s not romantic if I’m not me. ” Something dangerous glints in her eyes. “I can think of something much more fun.”

“That can’t be good.”

“I dare you to steal Tomura’s coat as a disguise.” She bares all her sharp little teeth as she says it. Shoto meets her gaze head-on and mulls it over. He chews at his tongue piercing and smirks.

“Fine,” he says and she squeals. “If you steal Dabi’s.”

“Oh, that’s a deal. ”

They get up and cross the hall as casually as they can. Shoto bends down to whisper a Thank you at Compress as they pass by, and he gives him a weirdly sappy pat on the head. Looks like Kurogiri is already back to mixing whiskey sours.

On their way up the stairs to the offices that have been converted into bedrooms and storage rooms, Toga suddenly stops him.

“Hold on, we can’t just break into UA and scale their walls only to show up empty handed. That’s so rude. How much cash do you have on you?”

“Like two thousand yen. Why?”

Her eyes glitter like Christmas morning. “We should go buy them gifts. ”

***

"You couldn't pick a smaller gift?"

"It needs to be as big as my love for her," Himiko grins over the top of the pink axolotl squishmallow as she pushes her surgical mask down. She’s wearing a black wool hat to cover up her too recognizable hair. "Plus, the color reminds me of her cheeks."

Shoto mimes throwing up and stuffs his much more reasonably sized gift in the inside pocket of Shigaraki's coat.

They find a pair of motorcycles parked close together on a quiet corner. Wordlessly, they each pick one to hotwire. Shoto is still faster than Himiko. She’s struggling with Dabi’s coat, the heavy cuffs at the end that come to his brother’s elbows cover her nearly down to her wrists and they keep getting in the way. She hisses in frustration, and chucks the squishmallow at him.

"Hold this for me."

"Hurry up, we've got company," he states calmly and revs the engine of 'his' bike when he hears an enraged Hey! from somewhere down the block. Himiko's bike finally turns over and she snatches the axolotl back from him, clamps it between her knees and roars away. Shoto skids away after her. Their borrowed coats trail behind them like capes.

***

It's embarrassingly easy to get inside the UA grounds. The fake ID's do their job, there isn't a single sound when Shoto and Himiko sneak past the gate. It's not long before the Heights Alliance dorm buildings come into view. They made excellent time on their stolen bikes so it's still a bit more light out than Shoto is comfortable with. He throws an arm out in front of Himiko. 

“We can’t be seen.”

“I know.”

“ Himiko. We can’t be seen.”

“ I heard you the first seven times.” She chucks one set of climbing gear into his chest and starts making her way around to the other side of the dorm building. “We have five minutes! Start climbing, Romeo!” The pink and purple hues of the sunset paint her in the exact right shade of reckless romance as she dashes from his sight.

Shoto sneaks along the side of the building under a long line of windows to try and find a blind spot where he can risk the climb. Manami was kind enough to also peek into the dorm assignments, so in theory he knows which room is Bakugou's, but it takes him a while to find his position. As he’s crouching under an open window, he catches snippets of conversations.

“...it’s not like I wanted to hear you two!”

“Then maybe stop bringing it up? Momo, tell your girlfriend to stop spying on me and Shinsou! It’s creepy!”

“Watch it, Pikachu.”

“Kick his ass, babe.”

He keeps going, and finds himself by a quiet part of the building. He counts the windows until he’s sure Bakugou’s is the one he’s looking at.

He straps on the climbing gear, a belt with a wireless battery pack and metal-plated gloves and shoe covers. It’s rescue hero gear that allows you to climb on any surface without damaging it. Within days of this particular tech being debuted, every cat burglar in the country had acquired a knockoff version. Heroes truly don’t think beyond their own noble intentions. It would be endearing if it wasn’t also so goddamn nauseating. It’s almost like they enjoy creating their own problems.

The climb is a breeze. Shoto crawls up the wall like a bug, quiet and fast. He ends up level with Bakugou’s window and peeks inside.

He doesn’t know what he expected. It’s a normal boy’s room, perhaps a bit too tidy. The lights are off, save for the desk lamp that illuminates a few textbooks and a laptop. The window is closed, fortunately. He’s not sure if he could have resisted sneaking in to snoop around otherwise.

Shoto releases one hand from the wall to reach into the inside pocket of his borrowed coat and places the gift on the balcony where it will definitely be spotted. The sight of it makes him grin.

The door of the bedroom slams open, spilling out bright yellow light. Shoto yanks his head back. He recognizes the spikey-haired silhouette barging through the illuminated rectangle. He can hear the muffled bang when Bakugou swings the door closed behind him.

No time to crawl up or down, and if he drops from this height he’s definitely breaking something. He hides in the only spot he can think of: the underside of Bakugou’s balcony.

As he’s clinging to the concrete, upside down with the tails of his coat dangling down, praying the support gear is charged up enough to hold his weight like this, he hears the window above him open. Bakugou makes a confused sound, something between a huff and a grunt. Shoto can hear him bend down to pick it up. They’re so close. He can’t help himself, he smiles.

He waits a few seconds after Bakugou’s window closes again, then Shoto half-crawls, half-slides back down the wall on wobbly legs. He’s not sure if it’s only the adrenaline that is making his heart beat in his chest like a hummingbird.

He just makes it down to solid ground when Himiko comes flying around the corner. She’s running so fast she wipes out on the turn and she’s running again before she’s well and good back on her feet.

“Slow down!” Shoto hisses from where he’s crouched down.

“Run!” she whisper-yells back. “There’s someone patrolling the grounds and he’s coming this way!”

Shoto immediately gets up, rips the climbing covers off his shoes and stuffs them in his back pocket while running. He keeps the gloves and belt on. As they flee into the trees behind the dorm buildings, they hear a distant growling.

Then something gives chase. Something on four legs.

Shoto risks a look back and Jesus Christ why didn’t anyone tell him UA employs a werewolf as a guardsman?

It’s probably (hopefully) not actually a werewolf, but it’s still a hero with a terrifying looking mutation quirk hunting them down on all fours. As fast as he and Himiko are, the wolfman is gaining on them. Shoto grabs Himiko by the hand and pulls her forward, sprinting faster than he ever has in his life.

They don’t slow down when they see the wall of the grounds ahead of them. They kick off at the same time and jump, the gloves do their job and stick. They crawl up and Shoto throws himself off as soon as he reaches the top, Himiko hits the ground next to him a second later.

Their bikes are close by. Dear God, please start right away. Himiko hops on her bike and it turns over immediately. She hesitates. Shoto’s won’t start.

“Go!” he yells at her.

“ Like fuck I will! ” 

The mutant hero leaps over the wall just as his bike finally roars to life. They’re speeding down the road like twin bullets, but the hero is even faster now that he’s no longer impeded by trees and he has a clear line of sight. He’s clawing up gravel with every step. Shoto can hear his breathing over the engines. He’s almost on top of them.

He risks letting go of the handles one hand at a time to slip out of Shigaraki’s coat until he holds it balled up in his left fist. His quirk flashes and the coat lights up like a torch. He chucks the burning ball of fabric behind himself, he hears the wolfman change directions to dodge, and then he cuts the steering wheel hard to the right . 

The tires snarl and the bike bucks like a wild horse as the front locks up. Shoto uses his fire to blast himself high in the air when he’s flung from the bike. If there’s one thing he knows about riding a motorbike, it’s how to completely and horrendously wipe out.

The wolfman didn’t see that coming and he runs straight into the wrecked bike as it somersaults over the road. Shoto lands and Himiko slows down just enough to let him swing himself onto the back of her bike. He wraps his arms around her as she speeds off into the dark, leaving their pursuer and the destroyed bike in a big cloud of dust.

***

Of course they couldn’t go missing for hours on end without someone noticing. The cutesy note that Himiko stabbed onto her bedroom door with a throwing knife, “just running a quick errand with Akio, no worries <3” clearly wasn’t enough to make up for them not answering their phones. Touya is waiting by the warehouse entrance when they roll up on the bike. There’s wisps of smoke rising from every stapled seam. He looks like he’s planning murder.

He doesn’t actually kill them, he just yanks his coat off Himiko, confiscates the climbing gear they’re both still wearing, and drags them inside by the scruff of their necks like they’re misbehaving pets.

“Yeah, so we’re not letting the littles around the stolen tech anymore,” he calls out into the main hall. “I think we need a lock on that room.”

“We were just having some fun,” Toga pouts and shakes out of Touya’s grip. “Let us live, old man.”

“And did anyone see you having fun?”

“Noooo…” She tries to lie.

“Toga,” Compress says sternly.

“Ugh, it’s not like he saw our faces! I think. And besides, no one got hurt.”

“Well, that hero possibly got a little hurt,” Shoto mumbles.

“ What hero?” Touya again.

“Just the night watchman at UA, it’s fine, ” Toga huffs and tries to skip away.

“You broke into UA?” Touya and Shigaraki say in unison. Magne chuckles something that sounds suspiciously like “Aww, cute.”

“How did you even get in?” Touya.

“A magician never reveals her tricks.” Offended sputtering from Compress.

“Forget how, I want to know why, ” Shigaraki. Touya’s eyes cut over to Shoto. He blushes a very guilty shade of pink and his brother runs a hand across his face as he gives an exhausted eye roll. Busted.

“Oh my God, those brats are just fun to mess with,” Toga blows him off. “And fun to look at,” she adds with a giggle.

Shigaraki looks like he’s considering dusting one of her space buns but he’s interrupted by Kurogiri.

“Tomura, don’t forget you have a meeting with the Korenaga gang leader in thirty minutes. They’re considering joining forces and they control a not insignificant portion of Yokohama.” The leader makes a face but lets it go.

“Ugh. Fine, we’ll deal with you two dumbasses later. Let me get my coat.”

“Yeah, so, about the coat…” Shoto calls out from where he was already trying to sneak out of the room.

“Don't even fucking TELL ME, Akio!” 

Shoto and Himiko make a run for it and barricade themselves in her room until they can no longer hear the boss ranting and raging. They’re both laughing so hard they’re crying and holding their aching stomachs.

***

Katsuki leaves the sound of his bickering classmates behind as he’s stomping upstairs to his dorm room. Kirishima sometimes gives him shit for his sleep schedule, but why would he stay awake? To stand around and watch Ears chase Dunce Face around the kitchen while Ponytail cheers her girlfriend on? What’s the damn point? He’d much rather get an early night’s rest so he can get a decent workout in before the start of class in the morning.

Katsuki will not fucking apologize for being focused. It’s not his fault that none of these damn extras actually know how to work for their goals.

He should probably take another look at his English homework before bed, but he already knows he won’t be able to concentrate. He’s been distracted all night, it’s why he went downstairs in the first place. But not even the deafening chaos of his classmates could distract him from the memory of that one gunmetal eye tracking every twinge of his arms as he struggled against his heavy shackles.

Katsuki does not need therapy.

…

Okay, well, he doesn’t need to go to counseling for the kidnapping thing, as he keeps telling Aizawa. He’s fine. He’s not scared or anything. If they ever try something like that again, he’ll be ready.

There’s a much worse reason for why he can’t get his mind back on track.

He reaches up to his face and the glowing eyepiece goes dark. He lowers the mask and runs a hand through his inky black hair before looking up. Katsuki forgets to fight his shackles for a second.

The first thing he notices is the burn scar. Not the same deep, dead purple like on the tall fire wielder. More red, but it screams pain just as loudly. It covers his left side from his cheek to his hairline, as if the heat still has a hand clamped over his face.

He also spots a line of silver staples along the edge. They catch the low light of the bar every time he moves his head. It is almost as distracting as the click of the tongue stud behind his teeth.

But it is the startling, almost luminescent blue of his left eye that truly gives Katsuki pause. It is so unexpected that his gaze goes back and forth between both eyes just to make sure he sees it correctly.

Later, when he's giving his statement to the cops and the pros, he will fail to mention that little detail. He will blame his forgetfulness on shock, exhaustion, grief over All Might, guilt for being too weak to save himself.

He won't tell anyone about the way he noticed the junior villain's mismatched eyes, out of fear that he'd give himself away. He's sure that they'd hear it in his voice or see it in his face, that he cataloged it in the same file with the first time he saw Kirishima take his shirt off, or when he saw Kaminari casually stretch into a full split after training, or even the first time he noticed Deku's fucking freckles.

Fuck, I am so gay. 

And he definitely doesn’t tell anyone that he thinks the young villain who set off this newest flare of unfortunate feelings kinda-maybe helped him escape. Because that implies a whole lot of complicated shit he doesn’t want to think about. It would be best to pretend that that last part didn’t even happen. But he can’t burn that goddamn smile out of his brain.

He shakes his head angrily, as if he can leave the thoughts behind in the stairwell if he tries hard enough. It hasn’t ever worked before, why would it now? But a villain though, good God Katsuki… 

By the time he reaches his floor, the building is perfectly quiet except for his footsteps. He stomps extra loud across the landing and slams his door behind him. He hopes UA has invested in quality building materials, or that door frame won’t survive the semester.

He pauses mid-movement when he leans forward to close his curtains. Is that…?

He yanks the window open and closes his hand around the object that is sitting on his balcony but most definitely doesn’t belong to him, and seems too deliberately placed to be an accident.

Which one of these goddamn extras left a bright orange dragon plushie on his balcony?

Chapter Text

Dabi is lying on his bed, blocking the evening sun from his eyes with his hand. The staples on his wrist shine when they catch the light. He’s staring at the glittering metal and putting off tonight’s task for as long as he can.

I really should have been an only child, he sighs to himself. Lately, Shoto has been gunning hard for the title of ‘biggest menace in the Todoroki family’, which is a badge of honor Dabi has worn with pride since the day he could walk, and he’s not eager to part with it. Especially not if that would make him the responsible adult in return.

He was always a bit of a gremlin, but holy shit was Dabi not prepared for the storm that would be unleashed when Shoto got his first crush. Trying to keep a hormonal teenager in check is not something he signed up for. And that’s not even taking into account that his villain brother has made the deeply stupid decision to fall for an overpowered, cocky, belligerent hero student.

The ill-advised romantic impulses resulted in Shoto and Toga actually breaking into UA fucking highschool last night to go stare at their respective crushes or something.

(Yes, his adopted stray has also hopped on the horny-for-heroes train. Glee.)

When the twerps rolled up last night on that stolen bike, with Toga dressed in Dabi's stolen coat, he fought the urge to rip them both a new one right then and there. Instead, he decided to wait it out and let Shoto stew for a bit. Dumb teenagers tend to talk themselves into a corner when they're anticipating the worst. He'll get the whole story out of him later. 

Plus, Dabi needs to control his damn temper around the League. He can't afford being overheard laying into the kid and accidentally revealing something. Best to bite his tongue for a day and just vent his anger by wafting ominous clouds of smoke in Shoto's direction. The kid has been sweating bullets around Dabi all day, so it works.

Or at least, it works on Shoto. Nothing works on Toga, so disciplining her can be someone else’s problem. The boss gave it a shot early this morning and it did not go well for him.

After Shiggy got back from his meeting with the Korenaga gang leader, and after he’d calmed down about the Burned Coat Incident, the boss had laid into Toga hard. He had demanded she show him exactly how she got into UA, and that she take the entire League inside with her. He wanted to make another grab for Bakugou, or to go kill the little green All Might in his bed. He was fucking manic, screaming about releasing all their remaining Nomu on the school and wiping out the entire teaching staff, as a show of the League’s power. 

Their leader is worse than both kids combined when he gets like this. He is so fucking shrill when he yells.

Toga got so heated she climbed on top of a chair to scream back at the boss right in his face. “Tomura, that is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard! This is exactly how you lost your entire first crew during the USJ raid! We can’t take UA head-on!”

“ I am your boss, you damn brat! Now tell me how you did it!”

“Oh my God, it’s not rocket science! I bought two fake school IDs so the security system didn’t get tripped, that’s all. They still have cameras and guards all over the place, Akio and I only made it as far as we did because we look like students and we didn’t actually cause trouble on campus.”

“Fine! Then you go back and you drag that explosive brat back here-”

“And do what? ” Shoto was at Toga’s side in a flash. Dabi had never seen him get in the boss’ face before. Usually the kid’s approach is a lot more apathetic and blunt, confrontation is more Dabi’s style. He would have cheered if he wasn’t still pissed. “Do you think Bakugou will be any easier to sway on a second kidnapping attempt? And what do you think the heroes will do to us if we grab a kid right out of UA? Or God forbid, if we kill a student on campus? We’d be lucky to survive to see the inside of Tartarus!”

“Then what was that little field trip even for?” Shigaraki yelled, exasperation clear on his face.

Toga let out a sinister little giggle, Shoto blushed and said nothing. Shiggy's eyes bounced back and forth between the two until it clicked. He deflated like a balloon the second his anger got overtaken by disgust.

"Oh. Oh, for fuck's sake, really? Gross. "

"It's not gross, it's love, " Toga declared emphatically. Shoto made a muffled little noise in an embarrassed protest.

"So, what, Akio has a thing for Explosion Boy? And when did you even have time to meet a hero student, Toga?"

"During the camp raid! I can multitask!”

"Don't forget to tell Shiggy all about her, Toga," Dabi called over from his spot by the bar, enjoying his chance to rile the boss up even further. Shigaraki immediately whirled around. 

" You knew about this?"

"They're my kids, of course I knew. Not about their ridiculous plan, obviously, but I knew about their adorable little crushes. " As much as the two monsters drive him up the wall sometimes, Dabi never misses an opportunity to rub it in the League’s faces that the kids' loyalty belongs to him first.

Steaming, Shigaraki turned back to the duo, Shoto still refusing to make eye contact and Toga still standing on a chair and staring him down with a sharp grin. "This conversation is not over. If you two wanna break into UA so badly, you better find a way to make yourselves useful while you're there."

That had been the end of it, for now. Shigaraki still insisted the two teenagers be punished for their stupid stunt, and for once Dabi finds himself fully agreeing with the boss. They took unnecessary risks, used gear without permission, didn’t tell anyone where they were going so they couldn’t even count on backup, and they damn near got caught by the UA night watchman, which would just be the most embarrassing way to get arrested.

He won’t admit it out loud, but Shoto nearly gave Dabi a heart attack when he realized his brother had left the League warehouse hours ago and he hadn’t even noticed. That’s a skill he didn’t know the brat had, and Dabi really believed he was better at keeping tabs on the little shit. Ugh. That drop in his stomach is something he never wants to feel again.

And adding insult to injury, Shoto sneaking out not even two weeks after he got his very own villain file made it all so much worse. Where before he could easily blend into a crowd as just another dirty, underfed delinquent that nobody wanted to pay any mind to, now he is on the law’s radar. Drawing this much attention isn’t good for anything.

Is the kid trying to force Dabi’s hand into letting him join the more serious League missions? He picks at the staples running across his cheek. He knows he should start putting Shoto in the lineup, especially after they lost three heavy hitters in the camp raid. Shigaraki will want him in the field to compensate for the losses, and Dabi is running out of excuses fast. 

Shoto needs experience and practice. But he can’t use his ice side with the League, and that’s the part of his quirk that needs the most work right now. Their plan can’t advance until Shoto has fully developed his power. But the idea of putting him on the frontlines by himself makes Dabi’s skin itch all over.

Dabi swings his legs over the edge of the bed and sits up. He’s gonna try to meet his brother halfway, and this punishment is the perfect cover. They’ve been putting off his ice training for way too long. Time to kick the plan into the next gear.

He walks downstairs to find nearly the entire League sitting around a strange phenomenon: Toga has Twice pinned to the stained carpet that marks the improvised ‘living room’. The much taller and heavier man is whimpering and squirming, but Toga has him in some sort of wrestling arm bar and doesn’t budge. She’s keeping his arm trapped with both legs and holds his wrist steady with her left hand. Her right is wielding a nail polish brush.

Spinner, Compress, Magne and Shoto are all sitting around on the couches and watching the manicure torture session with mild amusement, while Twice complains loudly, “Lavender clashes with my color scheme!” 

Toga wrenches his arm back a bit further until he yelps in pain and blows gently on his nails to help the polish dry.

Dabi walks around the couches and pulls Shoto up by his shirt collar.

“You're on the shitlist, soba-brain, you're coming with me.”

Shoto whines as he’s pulled to his feet. “Why me? Why doesn't Himiko have to come?”

“Because Toga wants to come, so Kurogiri requested her help for a boring grocery run.” Toga groans from down on the floor. “Your punishment is having to deal with me for a whole evening while I tell you what to do. Can't punish Toga with that, because she doesn't listen to me anyway.” 

“Please, someone make her do something before she's done with my hands and she decides to paint my toenails as well,” Twice laments as he’s still trying fruitlessly to break out of Toga’s grip.  "Ooh yes, please. I need a pedicure and a glass of wine after the week I've had."

He’s lucky that Toga has the attention span of a beagle, because the second she hears him mention pedicures she lets go of his arm and lunges for his legs to start untying his shoes. Twice kicks at her, gets up and flips himself over the sofa. Toga gives chase, the nailpolish abandoned on the carpet as she pulls a knife. Twice lets out a squeak and looks around for help. His eyes find Dabi.

Don’t you dare, he wants to say, because he knows what his doubles are capable of; if Twice sends an unrestrained Dabi-clone after Toga they’re about three seconds away from losing another hideout.

Turns out Twice is smarter than that, and also has a death wish. Because instead of just having the Dabi-double cover his back while he escapes, he makes the clone sit down on the carpet and hold out his hands. Magne cackles and snaps a dozen pictures of an unnaturally docile Dabi smiling serenely as Toga starts to paint his nails.

“At least the color matches your aesthetic a bit better.” Compress leans over the armrest of the couch to mock the real Dabi to his face. His laughter turns into a slightly panicked yell, and he marbleizes the couch on instinct when Dabi brushes a hand across the armrest and flames instantly blaze to life. Both Compress and Spinner crash to the floor when the couch disappears.

“This place is a fucking insane asylum,” Spinner groans up at the ceiling. “Every day I get closer to just turning myself in.”

“For fuck’s sake, can’t I leave you people alone for five goddamn minutes?” Shigaraki storms into the room. He barely blinks at the sight of Toga and the clone. “You,” he points at real-Dabi, “I thought you were taking your headache of a little brother out of here for the night?”

Dabi gestures annoyedly at himself and Shoto. “We are obviously on our way out the door, get off my case.”

“You could have been halfway across town by now, you damn slacker. Get moving.” Dabi rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers at Shoto. They’re nearly at the door when Shigaraki calls after them. “Actually, before you go, get back here for a minute.”

Dabi closes his eyes and counts to ten as his fingers twist at his sides. One of these days he’s gonna push me to the edge, I am gonna roast him where he stands, and it will be his own damn fault.

Shigaraki waits until both brothers have rejoined him (Shoto looking pissed, Dabi grinning from ear to ear and looking three seconds away from murder) and until Twice has also snuck back in to address the group.

“I have a new assignment for all of you. I’m specifically addressing Dabi, Twice and Compress, seeing as how they’re our main recruiters, but if anyone else feels inclined to give it a try, feel free. We need to find a spy in the heroes’ camp. And I do mean a hero. No students, no vigilantes, no independent contractors. We need someone with clearance for the investigation running against us, so either a licensed hero or at the very least a high-ranking police officer. I want access to the entire League of Villains file and intel on their moves against us, so they don’t take us by surprise again.”

“That’s fair,” Magne nods. “Can’t be that hard to find a hero with a bit of a grudge against society who is willing to switch sides if the reward is good enough.”

“I don’t know,” Compress muses. “The higher up on that ladder, the harder they will be to sway. It will be tricky to find someone who is both important enough and willing to throw their life and career away for our cause.” He adjusts his tie and says with an audible grin, “But I do wonder how many drinks it would take to make Eraserhead spill a secret.”

“Oh no, absolutely, there’s no way a high-ranking official could ever be corrupt and power hungry,” Dabi bites. “Still, I’m sitting this one out. Compress and Twice can try their hand at tempting a Jedi over to the dark side, but that’s not really my forte.”

“I would appreciate it if you at least tried, Dabi.” Shigaraki’s voice is full of venom.

“Nah, I’m good.” Dabi grabs Shoto by the sleeve and pulls him with him towards the exit. “Besides, you don’t want me anywhere near this. I don’t exactly play nice with heroes. Odds are I’d burn your precious spy on sight.” He walks out of the building and calls over his shoulder, “But hey! Wishing you the best of luck, friends!”

“That’s a suicide mission,” Shoto states once they’re outside.

“No shit.”

***

The first half of the night is just a dull patrol of the part of the city that is under League control, through deals with various local gangs. It’s mind-numbingly boring on purpose, because this part is Shoto’s actual punishment for his UA shenanigans. They’re dressed in all black, as usual, with the addition of black ski masks. Dabi even left his trademark edgelord coat and boots at the hideout and dressed down in sneakers and a hoodie.

They’re halfway up another fire escape when Shoto huffs out a complaint at Dabi’s back.

“This fucking sucks.”

“Don't fucking swear,” he replies. He can hear the kid’s confused face and grins into the darkness. He can’t help himself, Shoto is just so much fun to mess with.

“Did you just- do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“I can hear better than you, considering I have to keep telling you not to fucking swear, pipsqueak.”

Shoto tries to push in front of Dabi on the fire escape, but he’s using his full height advantage and long arms to keep the kid behind himself. Shoto swats at his shoulder.

“First of all, you're not that much taller than me without those stupid boots of yours. Second, you swear every other sentence. And third, how are you going to draw the line at me saying 'fuck', but then murder and arson are okay?” 

“A man's gotta live by a code. My code is that I don't want to raise a child with a potty mouth.”

He knows exactly which face the twerp pulls when he finally catches on and says, “You're fucking with me.”

“Again, language or I'm kicking you down the fucking stairs.” Dabi spins around and threateningly raises a leg, taps his sneaker against Shoto’s chest with a smirk. He frowns at Dabi through his ski mask.

“...my head hurts.”

“Good, that's part of the punishment.”

They reach the roof and Dabi guides Shoto over to the part that’s a large glass dome with a clear view of the area three storeys down. He puts a finger to his lips and points down. This is where the punishment ends and the kid’s training begins.

During the day the high-ceilinged room below them is a reception area with a big crescent moon desk flanked on both sides with three levels of open staircases leading to offices and labs with milk-glass walls. At night most of the lights are off or dimmed and the desk is manned by a lone man in a security guard uniform, lazyly clicking through screens of security camera footage before going back to his phone. The building is home to a small, up-and-coming hero tech lab. They’re not making enough money just yet to move to a better area of town, or to afford a better security system than some rent-a-cop with a handful of grainy monitors.

This place is a perfect testing ground. Because of the heavy presence of rivaling gangs, the police only come around when they absolutely have to, and even heroes are something of a rarity here. The closest agency is a good distance away, so they can get into a decent bit of trouble before having to worry about a patrol crashing the party. And now that the most powerful gangs are being puppeteered by the League from the shadows, Dabi knows he can have free range of these streets for a night if he wants to.

It’s a fair exchange, he thinks. Dabi will steal a few harddrives to buy another gang leader’s loyalty, and in exchange the criminals make themselves scarce and draw the law’s attention somewhere else for the night. They’ll need as much privacy as they can get for what they’re about to do. Dabi is gonna use this punishment as a sort of field test: taking the kid out on a job with no one else around, just to see what he does in an actual fight when he has permission to use his ice. And Dabi will be there as backup just in case.

He’s aware that this means they can’t leave any witnesses.

It’s a good thing Dabi has stopped counting his kills.

As they’re looking down the dome, a second guard walks into view, then leans over the desk to chat with his coworker. One on the monitors, one doing rounds. That tracks. They can’t have more than two security guards in this place. He’ll let them chase Shoto around for a bit, let the kid flex his ice quirk while Dabi steals the drives, and once the guards are restrained Dabi will finish the job. No loose ends.

Shoto doesn’t need to actually take a life just yet, not during a practice run. Much too risky. If the kid is not prepared for the recoil it’s gonna set them back months, and if he hesitates they risk ending up in a shootout. Dabi has no problem with doing the dirty work here. It’s not like he ever had much of a conscience to begin with.

Shoto is drifting back from the dome, already bored with what he still believes to be a simple patrol. He keeps snapping his fingers on his left hand and making flames spring to life. He’s getting better and better every day at controlling his fire.

While weaving a long trail of yellow flames between his fingers and up his arm, Shoto’s eyes find his brother. He gestures for him to come closer.

“Hold this for me?” he asks with a glint to his eyes. Dabi sighs and holds out his hand. This is one of Shoto’s favorite games.

As soon as their fingers touch, the flames leap from Shoto’s hand to Dabi’s. His quirk flares up on instinct, drawn out by the sudden external source of heat. Dabi rolls the flames through his fingers like water, and they both watch as the color changes from yellow to blue. Shoto laughs and holds his hand out.

“Now back to me.”

Dabi shakes his head and sighs, “You can’t take it.”

“Bet you I can.”

“They’re too hot for you, twerp.”

“Let me try .”

“Fucking Christ. Here.” Dabi reaches out and tips the flames into Shoto’s outstretched palm. He immediately yelps and douses them with his right.

“ Fuck. How can you stand that?” Shoto hisses.

“Clearly I can’t,” Dabi snaps.

“You can use them, though. You can fight with them. I can’t even touch them. Damn, that hurt.” He presses the thumb of his right hand into the angry red patch of skin on his left palm.

“Are you done playing?”

“One more time? Please? ” Shoto makes the most exaggerated pleading face. Dabi bites down on the mean words trying to crawl out his mouth and relents. He sticks his hand out again and lets Shoto pass him another tangle of flames. The sight of flashing yellow fire slowly turning blue in his touch sets off a rumble somewhere inside of him. He tries to push it down, but the memory hits him like a truck.

I can't turn it off, I can't turn it off.

Dabi has exactly one happy memory of Enji: he is three years old and his quirk has just manifested. Fire, just like his dad. Enji had seemed so proud, hoisting a squealing Touya around with one arm, swinging him up to his shoulders and galloping around the estate, all the while hollering 'Look out, everyone, there's a new number one hero in town! Villains and evildoers, beware of Touya!' . 

Dabi can still taste the simple, childlike joy and wonder at seeing the yellow flames burst from his fingers and thinking I did good. This is good. Dad loves me because I am good.

It made it extra bitter, in hindsight, to realize what it had really been about. Enji was excited because he thought that fire powers combined with latent cold resistance would translate into a flame wielder who could regulate his body temperature at will. He thought the Todoroki legacy would finally overthrow All Might, and he would get to bask in the glow of his perfect child.

Looking back, that was probably what actually killed Touya: realizing that his father's love was conditional, and he was simply too broken to qualify. It was nothing he could fix, nothing he could strive to improve. He, Touya, at the core of his being, just wasn't good enough. Nothing but a failed project that was abandoned when his yellow flames were consumed by blue.

So really, when he says happy memory, he actually means the one memory he can't touch.

He flicks a few sparks at Shoto’s face and the brat ducks away, giggling. Dabi uses it as a cover to quickly scrub away the drops of blood under his eyes.

“Come on, you little shit. We actually have a job to do here.”

“You mean it? No more stupid patrol?”

“No more stupid patrol. I have a surprise for you.” He pulls his mouth into something that hopefully passes for a smile under the cover of darkness. “You get to use your ice tonight.”

He keeps smiling until his face feels stiff with it as he explains tonight’s mission to Shoto, but his thoughts are elsewhere.

Ever since that talk they had on the safehouse roof in Okayama, Dabi has been trying his hardest to not think of Shoto as ‘his’. Yeah sure, he still ‘belongs’ with Dabi, as his pain-in-the-ass little brother. But not in the sense that the kid is his weapon, the key to his revenge plot. He’s just… Shoto. A kid with a powerful quirk that Dabi has no right to claim, because that is what Enji bred them for, and that is the same kind of bullshit that Shigaraki tried on Bakugou. 

He keeps replaying the scene over and over in his head, Shoto’s face almost sheepish as he said it, but also so sure that he was right. The memory is so crystal clear and sharp, Dabi is still cutting himself on the words the more he rolls them around in his mind.

“Shigaraki has no more right to own a kid for their quirk than dad had to own us.”

It has fucking thrown him for a loop. Every time he looks at the brat now, he’s so aware that he’s alive. That there’s a mind working in there that sees things and knows things and, worst of all, that Shoto is on his side.

He’s not mine. Shoto isn’t mine or Enji’s or anyone else’s.

I don’t need to own him. He walks beside me out of his own volition now.

He’s real. He’s real and he’s here and he trusts me.

He will march to the gates of hell with me if I ask him to.

And I’m still lying to him.

The brotherly bonding, their banter on the fire escape, the silly game with the flames, they’re all just little pieces of a puzzle Shoto can’t see yet. On some days it comes so easily that Dabi feels almost human, until he remembers the big picture he’s putting together.

God, this was so much easier when he still hated the kid. 

It’s still all about the plan. The plan will always matter most to Dabi. And therein lies the problem, because the plan won’t fucking work without the final step. 

Dabi knows he’s running on borrowed time, and he knows that a confrontation with dear old dad will take more than he has to give. If he’s gonna die anyway, he’s gonna damn well choose when and how, and he’s gonna use it as a tool to cause Endeavor as much pain as he possibly can. It is imperative that they all go down together, and that Endeavor knows any chance he had at a legacy dies with him.

But the final step is no longer as easy as just lighting Shoto up. As much as he hates to admit it, the kid has started to grow roots inside Dabi. It's not right. 

That’s the glaring flaw in the plan. Shoto will follow Dabi to the gates of hell, but he won’t walk through with him. Somehow, the stupid brat still believes that they’ll survive this together. He keeps talking about the future, like that is something Dabi wants or could have. But he also can’t use the kid for his power and then discard him once he’s done.

Dabi knows what he wants, and he wants to do it together. Shoto has to be part of the plan. He has to choose his brother’s side. So Dabi will have to wait until the last possible moment, and then…

If he truly wants this, if Dabi is going to see this thing through to the end no matter what… 

He will have to make Shoto want to die.

Shoto is not a weapon, he is not a thing for anyone to own. In his own twisted, terrible way, Dabi cares about him, as much as he is capable of, too much to repeat what Enji did to them. They both deserve a better ending. 

So he won’t toss Shoto onto the pyre, but he will offer him a choice:

Live, bury your father and brother, learn the truth about every horrid lie I spun to get us here, live on with the knowledge of what I made you do. 

Or come with me.

Shoto flashes him an enthusiastic grin over his shoulder as he shatters the frozen lock of the service door. He flexes his right hand and frost covers his skin. Dabi grins back. It feels more like a skeleton baring its teeth.

The more he loves me, the more I'll break his heart, the better my chances that he'll choose to die with me. It will hurt less if we just go together. 

(I told you I’m the monster at the end of this book.)

***

It wasn’t hard to break in through the service door on the roof. It wasn’t hard to burn through the wires of the alarm system. It wasn’t hard for Shoto to draw the attention of the guards and lead them on a merry chase around the building, as he froze doors shut and slicked up floors with sheets of ice. It wasn’t hard for Dabi to wait behind a door for them to pass him and then burn open the lock of the tech lab.

Usually, Dabi is a pessimistic bastard who never trusts an easy job. He’d normally be on high alert, quirk at the ready, body radiating aggressive heat. Tonight, he tries to just take the win as he cracks open the panel of a second computer and disconnects the harddrive. He slips the hand-sized rectangle into his hoodie next to the other one, feels them scrape together. Done. Now all that’s left to do is tie up the loose ends.

That’s when he hears the gunshot.

He’s out in the hallway in a flash, whipping his head around to gauge where the noise came from. There’s just the echo of the shot followed by ringing silence. No voices, no cries of pain or running footsteps, which makes it worse.

A second gunshot.

Straight ahead, same level. Followed by footsteps rattling on a staircase.

Dabi doesn’t wait to listen for a third shot, he just takes off running. He’s stomping as loud as he can and yells “Hey!” into the silence of the building. He hopes Shoto is close enough to recognize his voice, that he has the wits to remember to circle around and try to come up behind Dabi, to keep his big brother between himself and the gunfire. He hopes the kid is conscious and he hopes he can move. Fucking Christ, what if he rounds the next corner and there’s blood on the floor? What if he finds a body? I’m erasing this entire city from the face of the planet, that’s what.

There’s no blood around the next corner. There’s no dead body. 

But there is the distinct click of a hammer getting pulled back on a gun right behind him.

He slowly turns around to find himself staring down the barrel. The guard hid around a blind corner, a move he was only able to pull because Dabi announced his arrival like the fucking amateur he suddenly became. 

He’s fast, he knows he is. His reflexes are excellent and his quirk control is usually near automatic. But he’s so shocked at being taken unawares, and he’s still so desperately looking around for a sign of Shoto that he freezes up.

This can’t be real, this can’t be how he goes out. Gunned down by a fucking rent-a-cop, the file with his fake name stamped with DECEASED and left to collect dust on some shelf…

It takes less than a second.

The guard's finger is already squeezing white around the trigger and Dabi is telling himself don’t close your eyes, don’t you fucking dare die a coward-

-when there’s a sound like the earth’s tectonic plates scraping together.

A wall of sharp spikes of ice the size of surfboards fly up between him and the guard. The guy backs away with a startled cry. Dabi snaps his head around just in time to see Shoto swing himself down from the banister of the staircase above them.

The guard is now trapped between the two of them. Dabi is in front of him but he has cover behind the ice wall. Shoto is open.

Before the guard can make a decision, Dabi levels both arms in front of him and lets out a wild burst of blue flames. The eruption is powerful enough to shatter all the opaque glass walls around them. Shards go flying, a huge portion of the ice wall melts in the blink of an eye. Shoto knows his brother well enough to dodge to the left and take cover. He throws up an ice shield in front of himself. Good instincts, Dabi thinks as if he’s still judging the kid in a training exercise.

The hallway fills with steam. The guard, who took cover against the ice wall before Dabi launched a fireball straight through it, pops off another two shots over the sound of wordless screaming. Dabi ducks to the floor as a bullet whizzes by way closer than he’s comfortable with. How is that guy still on his feet?

He tries to get back up, but the water from the melted wall and the shards of glass have him slipping all over. He’s scrambling to his knees only to find himself face to face with the guard again, and oh God. 

He’s horrifically burned. The flames were apparently doused by the melting ice before they could fully take him out, but not fast enough to save him. His hair is gone, his face is blackened on one side. One eye is either fused shut or missing. His left arm hangs limp in the smoking remains of his burned uniform. There’s glints of white bone peeking though at his jaw and shoulder. He won't stop screaming. 

He has to be in indescribable pain, but he still levels the gun between Dabi’s eyes, functioning on what has to be pure adrenaline and rage. It’s happening so fast and Dabi is so distracted by this walking horror movie prop that he can’t find his footing-

A dozen shards of ice pierce through the burned man from behind. His chest is run through, his arms, his legs. He gurgles around the biggest of the spikes, the one that nearly decapitated him, then he finally goes still. The gun clatters to the floor.

Shoto is crouching at the mouth of the hallway, white as a sheet. His right hand is still pressed to the floor where he launched that final attack from. Dabi pushes around the impaled corpse, careful not to touch it, and skids to a halt next to his brother.

“You good?” he asks and reaches a hand out to pull him up. He’s weirded out to find himself needing to touch the kid, to feel a steady heartbeat and the distinct lack of bullet holes. He pushes that to the side and just squeezes him by the shoulders. “Akio, talk. You good?”

“He was going to shoot you.” He sounds so small. “He had the gun aimed at your head and I didn’t know what else to do. I had to make him stop.”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. Hey, breathe, okay?” The kid’s breaths are still too high and fast. Dabi turns him around and starts walking them both away from the corpse. “You’ll be okay. And I’m fine, see? Not a scratch on me. You…” You saved my life. “You did good. And I have the drives. We can leave, we’re done for the night. Let’s go. Where is the second guard?”

“Trapped him on the top floor. Dead end hallway all the way at the back.”

“Okay. You go wait for me on the roof. I’ll take care of it.”

“I don't want to go alone.”

“I’ll be quick, I promise. Get some air, take a seat, and calm down. I’ll be right with you.”

Shoto nods and takes off towards the service stairs for the roof. Dabi turns around to go find the second guard.

He finds him on the top floor, just like Shoto said. He’s not hard to locate, even if he hadn’t been yelling his head off. The entire hallway is an ice cave, coated floor to ceiling in thick, glittering sheets. It’s the first time Dabi is truly confronted with the extent of Shoto’s powers, and he knows this is only the start. This is his untrained side. The fifteen year old who caused all of this is currently waiting for him on the rooftop, perfectly lucid and not even out of breath. Other than the shock from taking his first life, there’s nothing about Shoto that suggests he just turned a building into a gletsjer.

Fifteen. The same age you were when you became a murderer. Remember?

Fuck, he's gonna have to burn this entire building down to get rid of the evidence. That's a lot of unnecessary attention for a simple burglary job. Shigaraki is gonna be so fucking pissed. 

The cop is screaming for help, struggling against the bands of ice that shackle him to the wall. He cranes his head towards Dabi as he approaches, slowly melting a path for himself.

“Oh thank God, please, help me, help me!”

Dabi raises his left hand. He’ll make it quick.

Screaming, then silence. 

***

“So how was your night?” Spinner calls out from behind the console as the brothers walk back into the hideout just before dawn. When neither of them responds, he takes one look at their faces, switches off his game and makes himself scarce. They walk over to where Kurogiri has set up his new improvised bar. Other than the warp villain there’s no one else around.

Dabi slams the harddrives down on the bar and gestures for Kurogiri to fix him a drink. Shoto just walks around the bar and swipes a bottle of vodka. He dodges deftly when Kurogiri tries to yank the bottle back.

"Akio, you're not even old enough to drink." The kid pretends to be deaf, snatches a glass off the bar and pours himself two fingers of vodka with shaking hands.

"If I'm old enough to be a wanted terrorist, then I'm sure a shot of vodka won't be what ends me." He slams the drink back, makes a face like he’s about to puke, then immediately refills the glass nearly to the top. 

Dabi finishes his own drink in a single gulp and lets his head hang down. "Let him have a drink, Giri. It's been a night."

The warp villain looks between the two brothers, sees the state they’re in, and relents. Shoto takes his glass upstairs, probably to his room, maybe to go find Toga. Dabi stays seated on his chair by the bar and stares at the woodgrain. He draws wet circles with the bottom of his glass and tries his damndest to stop thinking.

"What happened?" Kurogiri asks. Dabi doesn’t answer immediately. He digs a bottle of painkillers out of his pocket, pops two in his mouth and swallows them dry.

"He killed a guard."

"Ah. I see." Kurogiri takes the bottle Shoto left on the bar and refills Dabi’s glass without him having to ask. "His first?"

Dabi rubs at his eyes. "He saved my life, Giri. I'd be dead right now if Akio hadn't taken that guy out when he did."

"Well then, a toast to silver linings." Kurogiri clinks the bottle he’s still holding against Dabi’s glass. When he doesn’t respond, he sighs, "It's a part of our way of life, Dabi. Just take care of him. He'll be okay."

"Yeah, that's the problem."

"It's a serious price, and we've all paid it. Most of us many times over. If you have a better alternative, please, I'm all ears."

"I know," Dabi sighs. There's an unfamiliar feeling prickling at the back of his throat. He realizes it's sadness. "I just wish he'd stayed a dumb kid a little while longer." 

"Because you never could?" There's a sharpness to Kurogiri's voice that's uncalled for. 

"Because there's no turning back for him now," Dabi snaps. Fuck him, he doesn't have to explain himself to this talking cloud. 

"That depends. If Tomura's vision for society comes true, our sins won't matter anymore. We will create a world where people like you and Akio have a chance."

That's not what I meant, he thinks to himself. He grits his teeth, keeps quiet, and taps his glass on the bar for a refill.

***

He’s drunk for the first time in his life. The room won’t stop spinning, and his brain won’t stop thinking. He can still hear it. He will never be able to un-hear what it sounds like when a body gets impaled on spikes of ice.

He did good. He knows he did. Touya would be dead if he hadn’t done it.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel fucking awful.

He’s lying on his back in the middle of the room. Through the skylight he can see dawn start to creep into the black. Maybe he’ll stay here until noon and let the sun bake him like a little loaf in a giant oven. Hopefully that will switch his brain back to factory settings and erase the memory.

The door opens. He knows it’s Touya. He can tell by sound alone, by the way his brother moves, his footfalls on the creaking floorboards. When he gets close enough he can smell the eternal aroma of cheap cigarettes and warm metal that clings to him. Touya stands over him, at the periphery of Shoto’s vision, silently staring down at him. After a minute he moves again, dragging his bedding to the middle of the room before lying down next to him.

Shoto knows he’s overdue for a scolding and a long lecture about what he and Himiko did at UA. He’s pretty sure that being a murderer doesn’t get him out of that verbal ass-kicking. He can tell Touya is still pissed at him, but he’s also uncharacteristically careful. He’s holding himself back, and not just for the sake of not being overheard by their teammates. It feels more like he’s worried.

Great. I have one freakout and he’s ready to lock me back up in my tower. Am I really that weak?

Touya finally speaks, and thank the gods he doesn’t start with an apology or by asking if Shoto is okay. His tone is familiarly harsh. It shakes some of the cotton balls out of Shoto’s brain.

“Why did you even go spy on Bakugou?”

“I don’t know. Himiko suggested it. And I wanted to see him again.”

It was nice to see him, even if it was only a split second. And it felt good to be so close to him, even knowing it was stupid and dangerous. Everything about that evening, especially picking out a gift and leaving it for him, made me feel almost normal. Like those are all things Himiko and I could have done for our crushes if we had just met at UA like regular kids. Not that I want that… It just made everything so easy for a moment.

It's a nice memory. I think I'm gonna live in it for a while. Sure beats thinking about the sound that guard made when I impaled him-

Touya snaps his fingers by his face to stop him from spacing out. “Akio, I’m warning you, this will end in tears. I really don’t want to have to murder your first crush when he tries to turn you in to the heroes.”

But I want to see him again. I want to talk to him. He said he could take me, well I'm gonna make him put his money where his mouth is. I want to fight him, actually fight him with both sides. He'd like that. 

Touya groans. “I know that face. What are you up to, brat?”

“I'm not making a face . I just-” Shoto groans. His arm is weirdly heavy when he reaches up to rub at his eyes. “He’s so good, Dabi. I want to fight like him.”

“You’d better not go try to pick a fight with that little maniac to get his attention. ”

“Not for attention. For practice,” he mumbles.

“ Shoto. ” Touya hisses his real name under his breath and Shoto winces like he's been slapped. Touya only ever uses their real names as a last resort. “Listen to me very carefully. You are a wanted villain. You are not a UA student, and Bakugou is not one of your classmates. That is not your life. Fighting him means fighting for real, means there’s a very real chance one of you bites it. I’d really rather not have it be you, and I’m also not in the mood for digging a shallow grave for a burned-up teenager.” Touya sits up and pokes at Shoto until he looks him in the eyes. “I get it, okay? You like him. I’m not mad about that. But you can’t keep pulling stupid shit like this.”

Shoto sits up too. Whoa, way too fast. The room is spinning like a teacup ride. “But if I could just talk to him-”

“And say what, exactly?” Touya interrupts him. His voice is getting louder.

“I’ll figure it out! Maybe I’ll just ask him to spar. He looks like he’d love to have a nemesis!” Shoto realizes he’s nearly yelling and drops his voice back to a whisper. “If I could practice both my quirks against someone like him, I’d be unstoppable.”

Touya nearly hits the roof. “ That’s what this is about?” he whisper-yells. “You were planning on revealing your quirk to him?”

“I don’t know! Maybe!”

“Okay, no. No, no, no. Very bad idea. You can practice your ice right here, with me. I don’t care how long it takes, how many missions I have to fabricate for the two of us. I’m not letting you run off to go play deathmatch with a hero student. That’s the shortest way for getting yourself killed I’ve ever heard.”

Shoto groans and gets up on his knees. He crawls over to the corner where his mattress and his hoard of soft blankets and pillows are waiting for him. Most of them were given to him by Himiko, as was the ribbon of orange string lights pinned to the wall over his head. His improvised headboard is made of cardboard boxes displaying his collection of books. It’s his own little corner of the world.

Touya follows him and sits against the wall by his feet. He’s playing with his pack of cigarettes. Shoto knows he’s jonesing for a nicotine fix, but they agreed that neither of them can smoke in the bedroom. He just needs to wait until Touya’s craving wins out and he has to step outside to go smoke, and then he’ll finally get to sleep. He can tell his body will give out on him the moment he closes his eyes.

“You don’t need that UA brat. Look at what you did tonight.” Touya sounds almost gentle. “You did good, kid. I can tell it doesn’t feel good, but…” He doesn’t say it, but Shoto is fluent enough in Touya-speak to hear a Thank you when it’s in there. The nausea starts to eb away. “...but it will get better. All of it. We’ll get you there. You and me, okay?”

“You can’t protect me forever, you know.” He doesn’t know why he says that.

“That doesn’t mean I have to let you run full-force into a pair of handcuffs or worse.” Touya keeps flipping the cigarette pack open and closed. “You and me against the heroes. If not, then what are we here for?”

I’m here to keep you alive, and you are making it incredibly fucking difficult. I need to train, and these missions aren't gonna cut it.

Touya said he doesn't care how long it takes for Shoto to master both his quirks, but the problem is that they don't have infinity. Touya's life is the ticking clock, and if he runs out of time before Shoto ends Endeavor, then all of this was for nothing. 

Touya finally stands up. He gently kicks at Shoto’s legs. He can already feel his eyes sliding closed.

"Put it out of your head, do you hear me? No fighting Bakugou. Not for practice, not to get his attention, not to steal a damn kiss or whatever the hell kind of stupid shit Toga's romance movies have planted in your brain. You stay away from him."

Shoto turns towards the wall so his brother can't see him smirk. "Whatever you say, Dabi."

Not a fucking chance, brother dearest. Bakugou is gonna help me save your life.

Chapter Text

“Kurogiriiii?” Shoto pokes his head into the warp villain’s room the next Tuesday evening and whines his name in the same tone Himiko uses when she wants something she shouldn’t get.

“Oh, that can’t be good.” The man-shaped mass of black clouds puts down the book he was reading and sits up on his bed. “Yes, young Akio? What can I help you with?”

“A warp gate,” he starts tentatively. He’s messing with the hem of his shirt and scuffing his sneakers like a nervous child.

“Hmm. And where exactly do you need to be warped to that you can’t walk? You’re still young, exercise is healthy for a growing body.”

“It is a bit far.” Pause. “And I probably shouldn’t go there.”

“I figured as much. Does me warping you there also entail me being sworn to secrecy if anyone asks me about your whereabouts?”

“Yes? At least until I’m back. I’ll take the heat if anyone gets mad about it. You could tell them I tricked you or overpowered you?” Kurogiri doesn’t have facial features, but something about the way the clouds of his head swirl sort of reads as him holding back a smile.

“Start by telling me where you need to go.”

“UA campus?” he tries. “The class 1-A dorm building. Fourth floor balcony, third room on the left.”

“Hmm.” Kurogiri leans forward and stares at Shoto with his luminous yellow eyes. “This wouldn’t perhaps be young Bakugou’s room, would it?”

“Eh…”

“Akio, this is very risky. He didn’t seem receptive to our cause before, he won’t be any easier to sway on his home turf. If anything, he’ll be emboldened to attack you outright.”

“I think I had the best report with him out of anyone.” Shoto straightens up. He needs to sell the lie with a nice coating of truth. It’s imperative that Kurogiri believes he’s doing this for the damn League. “We’re the same age, and we talked a bit when he was held captive before. I think I can talk to him. Maybe if I build up a friendship with him, without, you know, kidnapping him? He might come around and join our side.”

“And how will you attempt this?”

“I’m gonna ask him to spar with me. I rewatched his fights from the sports festival, and the security tape from that brawl he had with his classmate. He has this desperate need to prove himself, to show that he’s the best. I think sparring might be the best way to get him to talk. He also seems to have an issue with people not using the best of their abilities when they square up with him. He considers it an insult. Likewise, he only respects people who can measure up to his quirk and fight him all-out. I can do that. If I can make him fight me, perhaps we can foster some mutual respect and he’ll hear me out.”

“And you are considering the possibility that he won’t give you the opportunity to speak? He has shown to not exactly shy away from violence as his first response.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

“And what if he calls for backup? You can’t fight all of his classmates by yourself, let alone if a teacher steps in.”

“He won’t,” Shoto smiles. He’s like ninety-seven percent sure of this. “If a villain shows up on his balcony, he’d make it a point of pride to deal with me by himself. He would never allow himself to need to be rescued twice.”

“One more question. Why exactly is this a secret? If you believe this mission to be beneficial for the League’s cause, why not go directly to Tomura and lay out your plan? We could have involved the others in this, set up some backup in case things go wrong.”

Shoto feels a blush climb all the way up to his ears. “I didn’t want to tell everyone in case I’m wrong and it didn't turn out well. I don’t want Shigaraki to be disappointed in me if I come up with my first plan and it immediately goes off the rails and I need to be saved. But if you could just warp me through and leave the gate open for a minute so I can hop right back if things go south, then nobody would have to know. I could play it off as me messing with one of the UA brats again.” Shoto bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet. “But anything beyond a minute without explosions would be a win. Bakugou might not take the bait immediately, it might take me a few sparring sessions to win his trust. But as long as I can get him to talk, I can find a way to make this work.” Pause. “Also, Dabi would never let me go if he knew.”

“That, I agree with.”

"I promise I'll explain everything to Shigaraki as soon as I'm back. He'll have an easier time accepting it if I come in the door with a positive test run."

And I need Shigaraki to sign off on this plan so Touya can’t make me stop once he finds out. He’s gonna be fucking furious, but if the boss knows about it before Touya does, and he gives me the go-ahead for an official League mission, Touya will have to let me go.

Kurogiri stares at him again for a good long while, and eventually sighs. “You will return immediately at the first sign of trouble. And you will check in with me over text every hour, or I am sending in the cavalry.”

Shoto does his best to bite back an eager smile. “Thank you,” he nods.

“And please go change your shirt, and don’t you dare wear that ghastly mask. He has already seen your face anyway.” The cloud actually raises his version of eyebrows at him. “You should always dress to impress on a first date.”

“It’s not a date,” Shoto squeaks out as he feels his cheeks start to glow, but Kurogiri merely picks his book back up and shoos him out of the room.

“You have five minutes, better hurry.”

***

Kurogiri is nothing if not precise. Shoto peeks his head through the warpgate and finds himself four storeys up in the air, one step away from Bakugou’s balcony. His lights are on and he can see a glimpse of the boy hunched over his desk. Shoto jumps through the gate and lands on the railing, cat-quiet. Thank all the gods, apparently his fake ID still works if he gets warped onto school property because the security systems stay dead-quiet. He balances for a bit, feeling pleasantly nervous from the candid view of the blond boy.

It’s the first time Shoto has seen his face without an angry snarl or a feral grin of some kind. There’s still a frown of concentration pulling at his features, his jaw working tensely as he chews on the end of his pen. Shoto makes good use of these last moments when Bakugou is unaware that he’s being watched and greedily takes everything in. The sharp line of his nose, the soft-pink hue of the shell of his ear, the frankly ridiculous shape of his arms and shoulders in that tight black tank top. There’s a cord of muscle right by his collarbone and Shoto doesn’t know why, but just the look of it makes him want to bite it.

Well, here goes nothing. He steps off the railing onto the tiny balcony and pushes his hood back so that he’s recognizable. He hopes that will make it better instead of worse. With one last exhale, he knocks on the glass.

Bakugou tenses up. Shoto can see every muscle in his arms and back snap to attention for half a second before he spins around. His eyes widen when he catches sight of the black-clad figure by his window and for a moment there’s something almost close to fear in his eyes. Then there’s recognition, and his features morph into a more complex mask of anger and disbelief and that one face that Shigaraki makes when Spinner beats him at Mario Kart.

Bakugou pushes his chair back with so much force it almost clatters backwards. He’s at the window in two angry steps and yanks it open. Shoto holds both hands up by his face in what he hopes looks like a gesture of ‘I come in peace’. 

Before Bakugou can open his mouth and yell what he’s sure to be a long string of expletives, Shoto says "Don't scream." 

"What in the fuck are you doing here?!" No explosion. No screaming for backup. Only a raised voice and an incredulous look on his face mixed with a smidge of fury. Best case scenario. Shoto tries out his most non-threatening smile.

"I was bored. Wanted to say hi." Something flashes in the red eyes and a strong hand digs into Shoto’s front. He lets himself get pulled almost nose to nose with the furious junior-hero and doesn’t flinch when he puts his other hand at a lethal distance next to his face. He wonders if Bakugou realizes he just dragged Shoto over the threshold into his room with that move.

"You are actually insane, aren't you?" Bakugou snarls.

"Quite possibly, yes. Is that a problem?"

"The problem is that there's a member of the League of goddamn Villains on my balcony like he's here for a social call. That's where my problems start right now." 

Shoto carefully stretches a bit further back so he can look Bakugou in the eyes without going cross-eyed. He’d like to put a hand on his wrist to take some pressure off his collar, but that would definitely get him blasted halfway across school grounds.

"Well, I didn't think it was wise to use the front door. Didn't want to start a brawl with your entire class, since I'm not actually here for, ah, villainous activities? And I already knew which window was yours from last time, so I figured this was the easiest way to reach you." 

In his confusion, Bakugou’s grip goes slack and Shoto gently slips out from between the fingers. He doesn’t take a step or move his arms, keeping his hands in view and his posture open. He’s been around plenty of crazy over the last few years, not to mention being raised by Touya. He knows how to handle an ‘explosive’ personality.

"Last time… Wait. So you left that- thing on my balcony?" Bakugou whirls around towards his desk. He grabs the little orange plushie that was sitting next to an All Might mug full of pens and accusingly points it at Shoto. Shoto makes a guilty face.

"Did you like it? 

"Well not anymore, I don't!" Bakugou’s face wrinkles up in a look of disgust as he flings the stuffed dragon into the farthest corner of the room. He doesn’t blow it up, though, even if a small explosion does go off in his other hand, muffled when he quickly closes his fist. Shoto listens for signs of classmates running over to check on the commotion, but either Bakugou’s nearest neighbors are all still downstairs in the common room, or it’s not that abnormal to hear sounds of explosions and barely contained rage coming from his room.

Shoto decides to push his luck even further and slowly moves into the room. He walks to the corner, turning his back to the volatile hero-in-training. He can hear Bakugou actually growl at the disrespect but he doesn’t get blasted through the wall right away. Tally that up as another win. He bends down to carefully pick up the plushie and turns back around with the thing cradled in both hands. Outside the window behind Bakugou, he sees Kurogiri’s warp gate blink out of existence. 

"I'm sorry if I overstepped. I promise I paid for it, if that's what you're worried about." He tilts the corner of his mouth up in a careful smile, the one that always makes Himiko share her favorite candy with him. Bakugou is at a loss for words for all of three seconds, angrily flapping his mouth open and shut and gesturing wildly like he wants to throttle Shoto.

"We're… we're not friends, you scar-faced bastard. I'm a hero student. You're a villain. You kidnapped me. What's not clicking?"

Shoto smiles wider. "Then alert someone. Or you could stop whining and come with me for a sparring match." 

"A what now? "  

"You know? A fight, except I don't kill you and you don't call the cops?"

"I know what it means, you dense fuck.” Another muffled explosion in his fists. “I'm saying, why in the hell would I let you lure me out to a secluded spot for a fight? Do I look stupid to you? If you're gonna try to kidnap me again, you can make your move right here and I'll kick your ass up and down campus!” He takes a step forward, suddenly crowding into Shoto’s space. “Oh and what was that about killing me? Do you think you can take me without the rest of your cronies around to pull dirty tricks like last time? I'll crush you into dust!" 

Shoto understands that Bakugou is getting in his face to try and intimidate him, to show that he’s not afraid of a villain sneaking up to his room. Truly, he gets the intention. It’s just that it doesn’t exactly work if all Shoto can focus on is the sudden cloud of citrus bodywash and spearmint toothpaste washing over him. He forces his brain to return to the conversation.

"Well, I guess we won't know until you come with me. I won't go easy on you, but I promise I wont kill, maim, or kidnap you."

"I'd like to see you fucking try! I'm still not going, but if I was, I would kill you. I should rip you limb from limb for what you and your league of dirtbags did to me!" 

Shoto can’t help it, he rolls his eyes. He's tempted to chuck the plushie at Bakugou’s angry face. 

"Don’t be dramatic. You weren’t harmed. And you got out, didn't you? You're still welcome for that, by the way."

" I got myself out," Bakugou bristles. He’s still so close, and he still hasn’t called for help or blasted Shoto out the window. He’s shaking with the effort of holding back his temper, and that’s the biggest win Shoto has marked up so far. It confirms his theory that Bakugou knows he kinda owes Shoto for blasting him to freedom, and that it matters enough to him that he’s not gonna take a swing unless he absolutely has to.

"With ample help from your friends. And a little push from me."

"Those extras are not my friends ." Oh, that’s interesting. He looks almost embarrassed at that, like it’s shameful to have people put themselves on the line for him.

"Really?” Shoto quirks an eyebrow in actual disbelief. “They risked their lives to save you."

"That's their problem." Hmm, he really can’t deal with being in anyone’s debt. Another button Shoto can push to get him to agree to this deal.

"And what about me? I risked a lot to help you get away. Doesn't that make us friends?" 

"You're delusional,” Bakugou growls and pushes Shoto in the chest, hard. He turns around to go sit back down at his desk like he could care less about the intruder. “Get the fuck out of my room."

"Ah, so no security? That's a start, right? Letting the villain get away?" Shoto smiles.

"Oh my God, I changed my mind!” Bakugou whirls around like he’s been stung. He’s actually loud now. “I'm gonna Howitzer your face off!"

"I don't know what that means. But if it means you'll fight me: good. That's why I'm here, after all."

"I…" Bakugou stalls mid-windup. He drops his arms, raises them again, then grabs at his own hair with a sudden look of stunned exhaustion on his face. "I fucking can't with you. You're the human incarnation of a headache, you’re worse than Deku. What is your deal?"

Shoto frowns in confusion. He can’t make it any more clear, can he?

"Do… Do you have memory problems? Or am I doing this wrong? I already told you, I want to have a sparring match with you."

" Why? " Bakugou yells. He throws his arms out wide. He seems so confused he even forgets to tack on an insult or a threat at the end. 

Okay, fine. Shoto’s gonna have to spell this out.

"First, because I'm really bored and no one else will spar with me.” 

That part isn't even a complete lie. Spinner and Himiko don’t have useful combat quirks and there’s only so much they can teach him about knives and swords. Kurogiri and Compress aren’t hands-on fighters. Magne relies heavily on her quirk and doesn’t have a good defense against fire. Endlessly taking out Twice’s doubles has become incredibly tedious. Shigaraki only practices his quirkless fighting on League members, for obvious reasons. And Shoto and Touya can’t really fight each other all-out, or they’d level a city block. 

“Second, you are actually quite powerful and your quirk is impressive, so I would like to see how we match up. It would be productive training for both of us. It's hard for me to find someone who can pose a challenge. And you're strong enough that I won't have to worry about hurting you." He can see Bakugou’s face shift the tiniest bit into pride at the praise. "Third, I think you and I would be great friends."

"That's where you're wrong."

"Am I? I'm still alive, you haven't taken a swing or called for help. Regardless, you do want to try to take me on in a fight, no? Don’t you want to prove yourself against a real villain?"

"Fuck you."

"Just come with me. If you're so sure of yourself, what's the worst I could do? Come take that aggression out, and I promise you'll like me a whole lot more after we're done."

"Not a chance."

Shoto smiles and wiggles the plushie he’s still holding in front of his face, peeks around the tiny wings. “You do sort of owe me a favor for saving your ass, no? Some hero you are, being in debt to a villain and then refusing a simple request.” 

Bakugou is back in his personal space in a flash and digs both hands into Shoto’s jacket. He slams him full-force into the wall and leans in close enough that Shoto can feel his breath on his cheek. The little dragon is crushed between their chests

“I would never be in debt to the likes of you. ” He releases him just as fast as he grabbed him and whirls around to snatch a hoodie from the back of his chair. He pulls it on, then sits down hard on the edge of his bed to pull on a pair of sneakers. “I’ll show you what a fucking hero is capable of, sparky. You’ll regret this.”

Shoto catches his tongue ring between his front teeth and hides a victorious grin in his collar. He carefully places the plushie back on the desk. “Okay, let’s go then.”

"We can't spar on school grounds, we'll get caught immediately and I don't even want to imagine the punishment I'd face for fighting a villain for fun. Even if it's just a shrimp like you."

"We are literally the same height."

"The hell we are!" 

Shoto frowns. What's the point in denying the obvious? "Just making an observation. If it makes you feel better, you're definitely louder than me. And angrier."

"You are so dead. "

“Save it for the match. And of course we can’t fight here.” Shoto whips out his phone and shoots Kurogiri a message. Immediately a gate appears in the middle of the room. Bakugou tenses up and looks positively murderous at Shoto. 

That’s right, he remembers. Last time he went through one of these, he got kidnapped right out of his summer camp.

“Not a fucking chance-” he starts yelling. Shoto, completely out of patience, steps into Bakugou’s space and grabs him by the wrists. He feels the young hero tense up but something in Shoto’s expression convinces him to not blow up the entire building right away. Shoto raises an eyebrow, lifts Bakugou’s left hand and plants it on the collar of his shirt. He grabs hold after some hesitation. The right hand he lifts until the very deadly palm is barely an inch from his face.

“If we step through and you don’t like what you see,” Shoto says while glaring through Bakugou’s fingers, “you have my permission to shoot my head off.”

They stand in an awkward stalemate for a moment, until Bakugou grunts out, “I’m fucking crazy… Fine. Let’s go.”

They shuffle through the portal together and find themselves in an abandoned industrial lot. Bakugou lets go of Shoto’s collar and spins around disoriented.

“We’re just outside of Musutafu,” Shoto informs him. He points to a distant cluster of light to the south. “That’s UA down there. We’re miles from the nearest suburb, there’s no traffic here at night, and this lot has been abandoned for years. We can really let loose here. Trust me.” Bakugou snorts like those last words are the funniest thing he’s heard all night.

“You better warp me back after we’re done here, no matter how hard I kick your ass.” He walks away from Shoto, stretching his arms as he goes. After about fifteen meters he turns around and squares up. Explosions like firecrackers go off between his fingers. “Well? You wanted me, you got me! Better make this worth my while, sparky!”

Bakugou doesn’t wait for Shoto to get ready. The second Shoto moves his hands into position, the blond boy swings his arms out behind him, sets off his explosions and propels himself forward like a bullet. The impact is nearly instantaneous and he knocks all the air out of Shoto’s body as he sends him flying. Shoto braces himself and rolls through the landing, gets back on his feet before the hero is on him. Bakugou is grinning maniacally as he swings his fists, right, left, right. Shoto is so busy dodging and blocking he barely has time to remember his quirk. He’s also annoyed as hell that he couldn’t bring his bat for this. Oh well, it’s a good exercise to learn to trust his quirk more. 

On Bakugou’s next swing he anticipates the move and shoots out a stream of fire directly at his midriff. The hero has to abort his punch and angles his palm downward to turn it into an evasive maneuver that throws him over Shoto in a somersault. Before he lands, Shoto spins around, pulls his leg up and kicks Bakugou in the chest while he’s in mid-air. 

The hero goes flying for a few meters, but he disrupts his fall with another explosion. In the blink of an eye he has righted himself. They share a quick glance of begrudging respect and okay, so that’s how it’s gonna go before they’re back at each other’s throat.

The fight is a blur of explosions, flames, punches, kicks, grunts and curses. Shoto keeps covertly using his ice to level out his temperature, but it’s still by and large the hardest hand-to-hand fight he’s ever been in. Bakugou is ridiculously good. He’s not just powerful, he’s also fast and smart. Shoto already knew this, but it’s different when you’re on the receiving end of it. No wonder Shigaraki wants to recruit him so badly.

He’s also alert enough that he’s starting to figure out there’s something going on with Shoto’s right side. He keeps drifting to that side once he notices he doesn’t have to dodge flames from that hand. Shoto can see the wheels turning in his head as Bakugou keeps throwing attacks his way with a deep scowl on his face. 

He blasts himself out of the hero’s range and puts up his hands to signal a time-out.

"Bakugou. I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"Oh, the villain wasn't honest with me? I am deeply shocked.” He crosses his arms and impatiently taps a foot at Shoto. The hero is pissed. “See, this is why you would make a shitty friend."

"I haven't been fighting you at full strength."

"That's the lamest excuse! Just admit that I'm beating you. I'm gonna destroy you and I'm not even tired yet!"

"I'm being sincere. Do you want me to fight you at full power?" 

Bakugou growls like an angry wild animal. "You are so full of shit-"

"I'm serious . Are you good to keep going? I won't strike to kill but if I go all out, I need to know that you're ready-" 

" Are you calling me weak?! " 

Shoto gives him a cold glare. "If I thought you were weak I wouldn't have bothered."

"Then you better stop dicking around and fight me for real, you matchstick bastard! I can take you and then some!" 

"Just promise me something." Shoto raises his right hand. He knew this was coming the moment he came up with this plan, but it still feels like he's putting his head on a chopping block. 

"Oh my fucking- what ?" 

"Don't freak out."

Chapter Text

"Just promise me something." Shoto raises his right hand.

"Oh my fucking- what ?" 

"Don't freak out."

He pulls on his underused right-side quirk and sends a wild, jagged spike of ice across the ground towards Bakugou. He dodges, but only just. He clearly wasn’t expecting that. His eyes are wide as he lands and for the first time he’s speechless. 

Shoto gives him an awkward grin, shrugs and throws a jet of fire at his head, immediately followed by another flurry of ice to try and trap him when he lands. Bakugou has to blast himself high and has no time to fire back, but when he lands his eyes are bright and the grin on his face is a different kind of manic. He stares at Shoto, one hand wreathed in flames and the other covered with a thin crust of ice. He has never looked happier.

"Hell yes, that's more like it!"

The fight is a lot more evenly matched after that. They’re both landing solid hits, but Bakugou finally has to put his back into it. 

It's wild. Shoto can feel his body working overtime, his quirk stretching like a muscle he hasn't used enough. This is what his body was made for, and he wants to scream with joy. The smile on his face is probably slightly feral.

He nearly has Bakugou a few times. Using both sides in tandem, he can lay down suppressive fire with his flames as he tries to trap him with ice walls. Bakugou curses up a storm as he smashes through the barriers, but the glint of excitement is still in his eyes. 

Shoto tries to remember that one move he pulled on Touya a few years ago, when they were training by the unfinished bridge and they both went a little crazy on each other. Back then he had done it on instinct, powered by pure rage, and during Bakugou’s escape he had copied the essence of the move in a moment of adrenaline-powered stress. Now, he has to think about it and Bakugou doesn't give him time to think. 

Then, Bakugou throws an elbow at Shoto’s stomach and fires off an explosion from his palm at the same time, essentially turning his arm into a booster rocket. When his elbow connects with his target, Shoto wants to scream in pain but the impact has left no air in his lungs. It feels like taking a missile to the diaphragm. His entire body shrinks down to the throbbing center of his chest. Behind his ribs, his lungs seem to have folded in on themselves.

As he's busy trying to re-teach his body how to breathe, Bakugou sweeps his legs out from under him. Mid-fall, Shoto instinctively reaches out for Bakugou with both hands. He tries to pull on each side of his quirk simultaneously, wanting to both roast his attacker alive and pull up a shield of ice between them. He needs a second to think, to breathe, just one moment where the hero isn't on top of him, raining down blows and kicks and explosions.

He doesn't get his moment. Because Bakugou is so impossibly fast. He reaches for Shoto as he's still falling, blocks his left arm, knocks his right away, then blasts him in the chest at point blank range with both hands.

It's merciless and extremely effective. Instead of falling, Shoto's back and head slam into the concrete like he got fired from a cannon. His entire vision pulses red for a second. There's a sound, and through the pounding in his ears from his brain being rattled around in his skull like a marble in a spray paint can, he realizes it's his own scream of pain. Well, at least that means I'm breathing again.

For a minute, there's no sound except their breaths, ragged and quick and punctuated with coughs. Bakugou wipes the sweat from his face with the back of his left hand but keeps the right in front of Shoto’s face.

"Give up?" he growls. He doesn't sound nearly as intimidating as he wants to, the exhaustion clear in his voice. Relieved, Shoto thinks At least he's at his limit as well, at least it wasn't a blowout.

"Yeah, I give up," he sighs. He then grabs the hand that Bakugou definitely wasn't holding out to him for this reason and pulls himself into a sitting position before the hero can protest. "Good fight."

"Yeah, yeah." He yanks his hand out of Shoto’s grip. "Whatever. You too, I guess."

Realizing he's still crouched over Shoto, and how uncomfortably close they are, Bakugou tips himself to the side and moves to sit a more respectable distance away. He busies himself with readjusting his shoelaces before he speaks. 

"A double quirk?" His tone is just shy of an accusation, like he's mad Shoto kept it from him. Shoto decides to believe that, because it feels weirdly good. He nods and leans back on his hands to look at the night sky. 

"Opposite quirks from my parents. I was born with two half-quirks in one body. I have fire on the left side, ice on the right."

"I've only ever seen you use fire, though. And I've seen your file, they only have you down as a fire wielder." Bakugou's frown deepens. 

"That's because I don't use my ice. Nobody knows, not even the League, except for Dabi. I only use it for temperature control, I never emit from my right."

"What?” Bakugo exclaims. “ Why?! That's ridiculous, a combined quirk like that is incredibly strong!"

"Thank you," Shoto smiles. Bakugou swats at his leg. 

"Don't smile at me like that! I'm not complimenting you, I'm pissed as hell! How dare you go around handicapping yourself like that, acting like you don't even need your full power? Do you know how embarrassing that is for anyone who goes up against you?" He rears back up on his knees and pulls a fist back like he's gonna punch Shoto out of righteous anger.

"I did just use both sides on you, and you still beat me," Shoto points out calmly.

"No, no, that's bullshit! That's not you at your best if you never practice your ice!" In one fluent move he's back on his feet. Shoto slumps down on his elbows in response. Damn it, not a rematch already. How much energy do you have? Or are you powered by yelling? 

“I don’t have anyone to practice on, though. Like I said, nobody knows. I can only get the occasional sparring session with Dabi, but we’re not a great matchup and we absolutely can't get caught.”

“Is that why you wanted to fight me? To practice your ice?” He scoffs. "Guess you didn't just want to spar because you're bored."

“Kind of?" Shoto gazes up at the fuming young hero standing over him with balled fists. Somehow he's not scared. "You’re the only person I know who could take me.”

That shuts Bakugou up. Shoto has already noticed that the only way to derail one of his angry rants is to kick him off balance with a compliment. He lifts his right hand and stares at the star-speckled dark in the gaps between his fingers.

“I need to get stronger. If I’m ever gonna be strong enough to go up against the one man I actually want to defeat, I need to practice.”

“Who?” Bakugou asks in a gruff tone, but not enough to hide genuine curiosity. Shoto rubs at his scar for emphasis. 

“The hero who ruined my life.”

It's quiet after that. Shoto's words shattered something fragile, like dropping a rock into a deep well. The silence drags on until Bakugou sits back down on a nearby concrete barrier.

“Why can’t anyone know? About the ice?”

“Because it’s a rare quirk. If word got out, that hero would find me and I’d be dead.”

“That’s a lie, heroes don’t kill.” Shoto can't help it, he laughs. He has to, Bakugou says it with so much spirit and conviction. Like his world is truly that black and white.

“No," he smiles hard. "No, they do way worse things than that. So I would have to kill myself before he could ever get his hands on me.”

As a general rule, telling someone you're planning on killing yourself is not the best way of making friends. Good thing for Shoto he tends to get away with a lot more dumb shit than he should. So Bakugou stays seated on his barrier and looks at Shoto still splayed out on the ground. 

“If it’s so important that your quirk stays hidden, why tell me?”

“I told you, I want to be your friend. This is me showing you that I respect you and trust you.” Shoto flashes him his most innocent smile and Bakugou groans, rubs at his eyes.

“You really think I would help you train your quirk so you can use it against the people on my side?”

“Person. Singular.”

“Like I believe that for a second.” Bakugou looks exhausted when he looks Shoto in the eye again. He seems beyond anger. “You can’t honestly think I’m that stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all. In fact, I think you’re smart enough to hear me out. I took a massive, idiotic risk coming here with you tonight and showing you my quirk. You have to be at least a little bit curious about why, right?”

“It’s pretty fucking obvious why. You want to use me, then stab me in the back once you’re powered up, and destroy UA’s credibility for good. Because how terrible can a school be, if a villain can just waltz onto their campus and take a student for a midnight walk, and then manipulate him into helping out the enemy.”

“I would never do that,” Shoto says with so much fire it sparks in his left side. “I’ll swear on whatever you want me to, I will never use someone for their quirk just to further my own goals. I’d rather die.”

“Are you always this intense?”

“About this, I am.”

“Then what? Give me one good reason why I would help you with anything? Or better yet, why shouldn’t I fight my way past you right now, fly my ass back to UA, go wake up Aizawa and tell him everything I know, including about your weirdo double quirk?” He smiles with no joy. “Sounds like that’s exactly the kind of identifying information that the pros could use to smoke out you and your psychopath brother. You can give him my regards and tell him it’s payback for kidnapping me.”

Shoto shrugs. “Then you do that, and it would suck for me, but it won’t change that much for the League’s plans. There will still be fighting and destruction, and there will be death. My offer is a lot better.”

“What damn offer ? Could you speak plainly already, half n half?”

“I can’t tell you unless we’re friends,” Shoto smiles.

Bakugou throws his head back and groans in frustration. “You’re so fucking weird!”

“I know.” Shoto pushes himself up and slowly makes his way over to Bakugou. “I saved you. You know I did. I turned on the League in Kamino and helped you escape. You know that wasn’t a trick. You’ve met Shigaraki, he doesn’t have the patience to set up a long con like this. I’m here risking my neck, because the second I saw you fight I knew you and I could help each other out.” He steps into Bakugou’s space. “So, will you be my friend?” 

Bakugou’s red eyes immediately go alert and he stands up too. Distrustful, like a well-trained guard dog. 

“You’re a villain and I’m a hero. ”

“Irrelevant.”

“Very relevant. We are literally on opposite sides of an armed conflict.”

“We don’t have to be,” Shoto tries.

“I fucking knew it!" Bakugou explodes, nearly literally. His palm crackles when he points an accusing finger in Shoto's face. "I knew you had some kind of agenda! This is another fucked up recruitment attempt from the League! Well, you can tell your boss to stick his-”

“I don’t give a fuck about the League!” Shoto yells, so incredibly tired of dancing around this. Fuck it, all in. He gets in Bakugou's face and hisses, “My brother and I owe Shigaraki nothing. He has his goals and we have ours. As long as those objectives line up, he’s convenient. The second we complete ours, we’re out. He doesn’t own us and he can’t tell us what to do. Whatever he’s cooking up in that messed up brain of his, it’s not our fight.” 

Bakugou blinks, confused for a moment, but he shakes it off and his face goes hard again. “You’re still a criminal. You and your brother. You’ve hurt people. I can’t overlook that.”

Shoto rolls his eyes. Damn do-gooders are so fucking exhausting. Don't you get tired from being so self-righteous all day long? he wants to ask. 

“Then isn’t it your task to try and rehabilitate us, hero?” He turns away from Bakugou to take a seat on the barrier where he was just sitting. “I just told you that two members of the League of Villains could possibly be turned. You can’t reach Dabi, and even if you could, I wouldn’t advise it. He’s a lot less civil than I am. And as for me, I’m not gonna open up to just anyone." 

He flashes a handful of flames in a move he's learned from his brother. "For example, if you’d put me in front of any of your school friends, things would get ugly. But here I am, reaching out to you . Because I respect you. And I need your help. And because you hit like a sledgehammer, which I really like about you.”

The sly compliment pulls a tiny, unexpected laugh out of Bakugou. He seems to startle himself and tries to look extra mad about it. Shoto can't contain his own smile as he looks up at the hero from underneath his fringe.

“Be my sparring partner. Help me reach my goal. And then I’ll let you pull me and my brother out of the League. You’ll get to pull two of Shigaraki’s best pieces off the board and save countless lives. You might even turn the tide of this whole conflict.”

Bakugou chews at the inside of his cheek. He looks down his nose at Shoto for a bit, hands shoved in his pockets and eyes squinting. He tries his best to look disinterested and disgusted, but he’s a shit actor. Too many heroes wear their emotions on their sleeves. Shoto assumes it’s a side effect from always being right. They don’t need to lie day in and day out to save their own skin.

None of it matters. For once in his life, Shoto gets what he wants. He knows he fucking deserves as much. Even if he pays for it by handing the heroes’ side the key to victory over the League.

Bakugou stares at him like he’s trying to set him on fire with a look. Shoto waits. If Bakugou talks next, he knows he has him.

Bakugou sighs like he’s carrying the fate of the entire world on his shoulders and says “So, what? I’m supposed to help you train your ice side, as payback for you saving my ass?”

Gotcha.

“Yes.”

“So you can go take on this one hero. And then you’re out of the villain life for good?”

“Yes.” Shoto nods. It all sounds pretty easy when Bakugou says it. Doable, even.

“And I assume I’d have to let you and Dabi go free?”

“You’re smart, you can figure out how to swing that deal with the cops and the pros. I believe it’s called witness protection. We’ll give you and the heroes whatever you want, and then you’ll never have to deal with us again.” Shoto purses his lips in what Touya calls his ‘smartass face’. “And look at it this way: you would be a good person who saved two doomed villains from a life of crime and squalor. It would weigh on your soul to know that we’d be rotting away in prison after all that.”

“You make a lot of assumptions about my soul.” Bakugou bares his teeth. Shoto smiles back at him.

“See? I told you you’d like me.”

“Fuck all the way off. So you just have to defeat this unnamed hero of yours? You won’t actually kill him?”

Shoto drops his smile. “That’s not part of the deal.” Bakugou glares at him and Shoto glares back until he throws his head back in defeat. “Ugh. Best I can do for now is ‘I promise I’ll think about maybe not killing him’. You haven’t saved me yet, hero .” He looks back at Bakugou and holds out his hand insistently. “So do we have a deal?”

Bakugou stares at his hand like it’s a venomous snake, then back at his face and shakes his head.

“If I have to sell this deal to the pros without getting arrested on the spot, I’ll need more. You’ll have to give up the rest of your League, too. Specifically the bossman, Shigaraki. Tell us where he is and when he’s vulnerable, give us a clean shot at him, so the pros can take him out.”

Shoto clenches his jaw and looks Bakugou straight in the eyes. “Done.”

It almost hurts to sell out the League. Himiko’s face stands out bright and sharp in his mind for a moment. He pushes her away. He has to remind himself that he’s not actually one of them. It’s just him and Touya against the world, always has been.

"And I never want to see any of your villain buddies around here when we meet up.” Bakugou adds. “If I ever show up here and you're not alone, the deal's off."

"Same thing goes if you go blabbing about this to anyone.” Shoto uses the moment to step into Bakugou’s space. It’s the first time all night that he’s been openly hostile. He almost shivers with pleasure when Bakugou immediately shifts his entire body ever-so-slightly into a position where he can block an attack. It feels so good to be taken seriously for once. 

Riding the high, he gently taps his index finger into Bakugou’s chest. “If you breathe a word about our deal, or about anything I told you in confidence before my plan goes through , we will have problems. Consider yourself sworn to secrecy."

“You’re not leaving me much of a choice, are you, villain ?”

“Not really.” Shoto smiles wide and holds his hand out again. “Friends?”

Bakugou scoffs. “Fuck off. I’m just here to settle that debt of ours, and to keep you to your promises. Oh, and just for your information: if you change your mind about this deal and you do end up betraying me, you better do it right and take me out. Because if I live through it, I'll be coming for you. And I'll fucking kill you. You can be sure of that.”

Shoto shifts on his feet to mask the chill that goes up his spine. He might need to talk to a professional about why he finds Bakugou exponentially more attractive when he threatens violence.

"What happened to ‘heroes don't kill’?"

"Well, I don't have my license yet, do I?" Bakugou grins at him and fuck that smile is not helping. Shoto doesn’t doubt for a second that the junior hero would put him in the ground if he ever needs to. But as for right now he does reach out and shakes Shoto’s hand. His palm is soft and surprisingly warm. 

“So that’s what it feels like to sell your soul to the devil,” Bakugou murmurs as they seal their deal. Shoto rolls his eyes and lets go.

“I’m hardly the devil, don’t be dramatic.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes back at him, as exaggerated as he can, then leans into the barrier with a scowl.

“So what’s your name? I don’t want to keep calling you Ruin.” He tries to sound casual as he says it but there’s an edge to his voice. He's fishing.

“What’s wrong with Ruin?” Shoto frowns.

“It’s a dumb fucking villain name and I don’t want to call you by it."

"You've never even called me Ruin, you always call me by some rude nickname."

"Either tell me your name or I’m done talking to you.” Bakugou gives him that mean smile again. It looks offensively good on him. “I thought you wanted to be friends. ”

Shoto considers it for a moment. “If I tell you, can I call you by your given name too?”

“Bite me, half ‘n half.”

Shoto laughs. “Akio.”

“Is there any chance that’s your real name?”

“It’s real enough,” he shrugs. “It’s the name I use. The League calls me Akio. My brother calls me Akio. That makes it my name. Take it or leave it, Katsuki. ” Bakugou punches him in the arm. Shoto takes that as his permission to call him Katsuki from now on.

“So Dabi is your real brother? That’s not a lie?” Katsuki is clearly fishing for information about Touya now. Shoto doesn’t care. He already knows way more than he should. He stubbornly decides that this is what that infamous trust is all about.

“We look so similar. How could I lie about that?"

“Your eyes are different." Oh. Let’s not dwell on how fast that came out. Let’s not dwell on Katsuki being actively aware of Shoto’s eyes.

"We have the same face and we both have fire quirks.”

"You have fire and ice quirks,” Katsuki corrects him. Then a thought seems to hit him. “Wait, if you have the same parents, does Dabi have a second quirk as well?”

“No.”

“And even if he did, you wouldn’t tell me, right?” 

Shoto has to smile wide at that.

“Probably not. But he doesn’t have one. Villain’s honor.”

He gets up and sends Kurogiri a message to let him know that he’s done, and asks him for a warp gate back to Katsuki’s room.

“You’ll have a gate back home in a minute. I’ll see you next time.”

“When?”

“Whenever we have time,” Shoto shrugs.

Katsuki sucks his teeth with an annoyed tsk . “Give me your phone.” He snatches the device out of Shoto’s hand without waiting for a reply and types something in. “There. Just fucking text me next time instead of appearing on my balcony like a stalker.” Shoto doesn’t miss how pink his ears are when he throws the phone back at him. He saves the number as Katsuki with a little explosion-emoji next to it. He immediately texts him an emoji of a bowl of noodles, because it’s first in his most used.

“Okay. And you have my number.”

“Great.” Katsuki makes a face. A warp gate springs up next to them. “Mine?” he points at it.

“Yours,” Shoto nods. Katsuki visibly steels himself and takes a deep breath. “Okay. This was an interesting evening. I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“Goodnight, Katsuki,” Shoto smiles.

“You better not-” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “What the fuck ever. I'm so tired. Bye, half ‘n half.” 

He hesitates before he walks through and turns back around to face Shoto.

“One more thing. That crazy-ass move you pulled in Kamino, when you blasted me and the extras away to help us escape. Did you use your ice for that?”

“Sort of. I cooled the air before releasing a superheated blast.”

“Smart.” He says it and makes a face like he regrets the word. Shoto preens at the praise.

“I’ve only managed to pull off that move twice. Like, ever,” he admits.

“Really?” Bakugou runs the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip like he’s thinking. Shoto’s brain immediately loses cabin pressure. Damn. “Well. Guess we’ll work on that, too. How the fuck you even managed to join a villain organization with your abysmal quirk control, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Nepotism,” he jokes dryly.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow at Shoto. “You’re a mess, Icyhot.”

“I know. I told you, hero, I need you.”

Shoto has no damn clue how to flirt, but he has learned a thing or two from Touya about teasing. He’s sure there are transferable skills involved. Flirting is basically sincere teasing, right?

Katsuki makes a face like he wants to tell Shoto exactly what he thinks he needs. Instead he just shakes his head and decisively turns around.

He stomps away and the warp gate disappears. Shoto sends Kurogiri another text that he’s ready to come home. Another gate pops up immediately.

He steps through, feeling lighter than air, and walks right into the arms of an absolutely furious Touya.

Well, shit. Kurogiri is a damn snitch.

***

(Earlier, that same evening.)

Dabi swears under his breath as he’s trying to squeeze through the rusted gate of a loading dock behind a burned-out factory. His coat gets caught and he hears a ripping sound as he pushes through. This night just keeps getting better and better. Some dickhead has been following me across town and now I fucked up my coat. Someone is getting roasted for this.

The inside of the factory is quiet and dark, save for the sparse moonlight trickling in through the caved-in sections of the roof. It smells musty and the air is stagnant and damp. The whole place feels waterlogged from the efforts of the firefighters and heroes who had to put out the blaze a few months ago. It wasn’t one of Dabi’s fires. He’s way better than whatever amateur lit this place up, he’d never leave this much of the structure standing.

But at the moment he’s glad for the unknown criminal’s incompetence, because the scorched shell of the factory hopefully gives him enough cover to either ditch his tail, or it will shield them from curious eyes if the fucking idiot who has been tracking Dabi around all night tries to start trouble. He hasn’t seen a face, in fact he hasn’t seen more than a shadow. But Dabi has been on the streets for long enough that his senses are honed to perfection. He’s damn hard to sneak up on, even from up on rooftops. If he sees the same silhouette pop up over the edge of a roof more than twice, he can do the rest of the math himself.

He starts to make his way across the factory floor, to find a darker spot where he’ll be harder to see and where he has a clear shot of the entrances, when there’s the faintest noise above him. It’s not a footstep or a creaking beam or something as human as a too-loud breath. It’s fluttering, almost like-

Wings.

He looks up just in time to catch a glimpse of the man’s shadow up in the rafters. Dabi immediately blasts a shot of blue flames at him, fully intending to kill the hero. He’s ninety-nine percent sure he has identified his stalker, and he knows he can’t play around tonight. Not if the new de facto number two hero has him cornered.

But if Hawks thinks Dabi is the type to go quietly, or go at all, he has another thing coming.

He’s fast. That much of his branding appears to be true. The winged hero zips through the air, seemingly not hindered by the close quarters of their fighting space, dodging everything that’s thrown at him with apparent ease. Dabi feels his face split into a maniacal grin as his rage spikes. 

Fine. If he won’t let himself get hit directly, I’ll set this damn place on fire with both of us inside. Let’s see how long a bird can survive in a burning cage.

He aims both hands up at the rafters, planning to spread some fire across the roof first to cut off the hero’s easiest escape route. As fast as he is, once the fire catches he can’t just launch himself through. Dabi has kept himself informed on the biggest names in the pro hero game, and he knows damn well which ones are bad matchups to his flames. Hawks is definitely on that list.

Unfortunately, ‘bad matchup’ doesn’t equate ‘stupid’, and Dabi forgot for a second that Hawks balances out most of his weaknesses with his ridiculous speed. Before Dabi can release the blast he was working up to, there is the press of something sharp at his throat. And by his shoulders. And on his chest, and his stomach, and- a few other places where sharp things are not appreciated without consent.

The sudden threat makes him break off his attack instantly, which is his least favorite thing to do. Drawing the fire back into himself after he called it to the surface feels like swallowing hot coals. But he’s not fucking stupid, he knows when the odds have turned against him. Dabi might be a half-mad sociopath, he still has enough survival instinct that he won’t risk having his throat cut out of spite. Not yet anyway.

Seeing the situation for what it is (not a checkmate quite yet, but dangerous enough that you should retreat for a minute and use the opportunity to cool down) he turns his flames off and looks down. There’s a few dozen feathers floating around him like daggers suspended in mid-air. He pushes forward experimentally and feels a razor-sharp edge dig into the dip of his throat. Dabi chuckles and smoke pours out his mouth.

“Neat trick.”

“Thanks.” The voice is young and cheerful and annoyingly calm, like he just beat Dabi at a game of pickup basketball instead of putting a blade to the throat of a wanted terrorist. The hero steps into the light and yep, there he is. Hawks, the winged protector of Fukuoka.

“You’re a long way from home, hero,” Dabi rasps around a lopsided smile. He needs to keep the hero talking, draw him in closer, and in the meantime keep venting heat so he can build up to another fireball. He’ll need to use quite a bit of firepower to annihilate the flurry of feathers before he’s run through.

“I was in the neighborhood, figured I’d go for a stroll. Kept bumping into you all night, would you believe it?”

“Not for a second.”

Hawks smiles and sweet Jesus how Dabi hates that smile. It’s that exact same empty plastic grin he wears in so many of his promo pictures. He looks like he just walked off another magazine cover, all shiny and windswept and perfectly heroic with that one feathersword held casually over his shoulder. 

He seems infuriatingly relaxed around the lethal threat that is Dabi. And that’s just not right, is it? Something needs to be done about that. The seams around his wrists start to smolder.

“Then would you believe I’m in town just for you?” the hero asks. Dabi narrows his eyes. Has the price on his head gone up that much that heroes are traveling across the country to take a stab at him? Or does the commission think that Dabi would be the easiest to crack if they bring him in alive, that he would sell out the League to save his own patchwork skin? Well, yeah, in theory. If there was anything to save. Instead I’d probably end up turning myself into a firebomb out of pure fury and take down the entire HPSC building.

“To what do I owe that questionable pleasure?” Dabi snarks, his smile becoming something sharp and venomous. “If you’re looking for someone to be the beautiful assistant in this demented little knife-throwing act of yours,” he reaches a hand up like he doesn’t give a fuck about the blades surrounding him and runs a finger over the edge of the feather by his throat, “I’ll have to pass.”

“Oh no, don’t worry,” Hawks smiles and recalls about half of the feathers back to his wings. They stay sharp, though. “Looks like you have more than enough holes poked into you already.”

“You have no idea,” Dabi grins. The hysterical part of his brain tells him to let his tongue roll out of his mouth and arch his neck so his staples catch the light. He almost loses it laughing when the hero’s eyes flick from his face to the staples by his collarbones and then trail lower still for half a second, to land on the brand-new nipple piercings that are obnoxiously visible through his thin shirt.

He whistles to recapture his attacker’s attention. “Eyes up here, hero. Unless you want the full tour?” Dabi hates how easily he slips back into that old persona, when he curves his spine and hooks both thumbs in his belt to push the waistband of his jeans down an inch. He goes for mockingly seductive but he knows he looks absolutely demonic when he smiles and smoke pours out from between his teeth, and blue sparks he couldn’t hold back dance over his fingers. One more step, sweetheart. Just a little closer, and there won’t even be enough left of you to bury.

“Some other time,” the hero replies. “I’m here for something else.” He doesn’t come closer, but he does call back all but one of his feathers, the one hovering at Dabi’s throat. “You gonna play nice if I take that down, hot stuff?”

“Try it and find out.”

Hawks cocks his head and the feather zips back into his wings. Dabi starts to recharge his fire, and then the hero opens his mouth again.

“Heard you were looking for a contact person within the ranks of heroes. Or has that position been filled?”

***

This can’t be my life. There’s just no fucking way.

Dabi is still staring at the patches of sky through the gaps in the roof, even though Hawks has long since disappeared from view.

Hawks, winged hero Hawks, HPSC golden boy and fan-favorite hero Hawks, had offered his services to the League of Villains. He had looked perfectly calm and cheerful as he said it, too, like he was a teenager applying for a summer job. Dabi was caught so off-guard he forgot to light him up when he had the chance.

Hawks clocked the confusion on Dabi’s face and he had the audacity to grin and fucking wink as he said “Of course I’m here for the League’s cause first and foremost, but I'm still looking forward to getting to know you, hot stuff.” That comment traveled straight through several layers of anger and resentment and a sadistic need to rip apart anything even tangentially attached to Endeavor, and pooled low and hot in Dabi’s guts.

Hawks is a lot of what Dabi hates. He is also too damn attractive for his own good. The urge to burn the pretty hero's wings off clashes with the quiet want to know how soft those feathers would be on his skin. In the end, he acts on neither impulse and just hears him out. 

Long story short, Hawks is over it. Hero life, the fakery of it all, being used as a tool to dig the trench dividing hero society ever deeper. He wants out, he wants a life of his own, he wants to stand for something that will shake up the status quo. And he finds himself agreeing more and more with the League’s creed. He’s careful to not outright condemn their destructive means of operation, but it is clear on his face that he’s not coming to Dabi with some well-hidden violent streak yearning to break free. Instead he sells it as a disillusioned hero looking for a way to right the balance of society and atone for his role in an unfair system. 

Honestly, it’s not a bad pitch. Coming from someone else, anyone else, it might be halfway believable.

Oh, the bird is a terrible actor. Or maybe it's just hard to deceive a paranoid bastard like Dabi. It’s the wings that give him away. As much as he tried to play the part of the slightly dim young upstart with noble intentions looking for a better cause to fight for, and as much as he managed to fucking flirt with Dabi for some fucking reason, his wings never relaxed. Every red feather kept its razor-sharp gleam throughout the entire conversation, rustling like wind chimes every time Dabi moved half an inch. 

Credit where credit’s due, Hawks didn’t play his part that terribly. It’s just that his quirk and his well-trained instincts betrayed his real thoughts. Hawks was here on a mission tonight, and Dabi is nothing more than his mark. No matter how honey-sweet the hero makes his voice, it was perfectly clear what he really thought of the patchwork villain in front of him. Criminal, arsonist, murderer, monster.

Point is, he doesn't buy it for a second. Golden boy Hawks, number two hero who has never failed a single rescue since debuting, would willingly step off that pedestal because he believes in the League's cause? The Commission can't really think Dabi is that stupid, right? They couldn't pick a better pawn for this undercover spy mission? 

But okay, if they want to send Dabi their prettiest toy to play with, he'll enjoy messing with the bird for the time being. He can only guess how far Hawks would go to maintain his cover. He looks like a good, obedient little soldier, if he's willing to soil his aura like this, to make nice with a wanted terrorist. If he has orders to forge rapport with his chosen League contact no matter what , Dabi will make him work for it. It’s high time someone knocked that halo off Hawks’ big head. He wants to join the League? Fine. Dabi would love to devise an entrance exam.

And milk him for intel for Shigaraki, sure, whatever.

So Dabi told the bird he'd keep in touch, and the hero saluted and took off through the roof.

"Can't wait, hot stuff."

He grins into the dark, his teeth bared in a feral snarl, as he walks back towards the loading dock and sends Kurogiri a quick text. Enough walking, he’ll take the short way home.

He clenches his jaw when he remembers how many times Hawks’ sharp eyes flicked down behind that ridiculous visor to land on Dabi’s mouth or skate lower over his chest. Those are deliberate moves. He knows, because he used to pull them when he was still working on street corners. It’s how you draw in a hesitant customer, to let them know you’re open for business.

Perhaps the commission figured something out. Maybe they sent the pretty boy on purpose because they guessed what Dabi likes. He cackles out loud and the sound echoes through the empty factory like deranged applause.

Are they honestly trying to catch a villain by making him stick his dick in a honeypot? He'll have to send them a thank you card.

***

Still preoccupied with his unexpected run-in with the winged hero, Dabi strolls through the warpgate into the hideout to find it nearly empty, save for Toga who fell asleep on the couch with some romance show on autoplay on the tv, and Kurogiri who is cleaning up dishes in the tiny kitchen.

None of it is particularly strange, but there is one important piece missing to this puzzle, namely his goddamn brother.

When he doesn’t find Shoto glued to Toga’s side or holed up in their room, he storms into the kitchen ready to see if a gaseous nomu is fire resistant.

“Where is he?” he growls with a voice he barely recognizes. Kurogiri has the nerve to sigh and close his eyes, like Dabi is the one being irrational here. He doesn’t even pull his hands out of the soapy sink.

“He went out and he’ll text me when he needs a gate home, he promised to check in with me every hour and so far he has.”

“Answer the damn question.”

“He told me not to tell you.”

“Since when do you take orders from a fucking teenager? ” Flames scorch the doorframe.

“Since I don’t want you trying to go after him and raising unnecessary hell.” Kurogiri scrubs at a greasy pan like it takes priority over his conversation with Dabi.

“I’ll fucking show you raising hell-” His brain clicks on for a second and he groans when realisation hits him. “He’s at UA again, isn’t he? Did you fucking warp him over so he can go harrass his goddamn crush?”

“I have been sworn to secrecy.”

“Damnit, Giri! Is this really the hill you’re willing to die on? Because-”

Kurogiri’s phone beeps inside his pocket.

“That will be him,” he says calmly. He pulls the pink checkered towel out from where it was tucked in his apron and meticulously dries his hands before taking the phone out. “He’ll be with you momentarily. Please don’t kill him in here, I just mopped the floors.”

A few minutes later, Kurogiri opens a gate and Shoto skips through like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He visibly jumps when he walks straight into his brother, who is leaking smoke from every seam on his body, while Kurogiri deftly wafts the fumes away from the smoke detector with his towel.

“You are so dead, twerp,” he hisses at Shoto. The kid goes pale.

“And while I’m sure that a round of fratricide would be very therapeutic," Kurogiri interjects as he steps between them, "Akio has a mission report to deliver to Tomura. After that, he’s all yours.”

Dabi feels his flames leap up around his jaw. He instinctively swipes his hand up to douse them before they can catch on his hair. He turns to Kurogiri, audibly hissing, and asks “He has to do what ?”

“Would you like to sit in? It will save him time having to explain his plan to you too.”

***

“You are such a little shit.” Dabi shuts the bedroom door behind them, still holding his third stress-cigarette. Shoto eyes it with emphasis.

“And you can’t smoke in the bedroom. Rules are rules.”

Dabi growls between his teeth, blows a mouthful of smoke at his demon of a brother, and puts the cigarette out in the heat-resistant palm of his hand. Shoto levels him with his most uninterested stare. He has never looked more like the bullheaded teenager in the back of the classroom.

“You’re not slick, you know. That was a dirty trick, getting Giri and Shiggy involved so they pull rank on me.”

“Had to be done,” Shoto shrugs. “You were gonna lock me up again after that disaster with the support tech lab, and I need to train.”

“Yeah, uhu, sure . This is just about training your damn quirk. It’s definitely not about you having a crush on Explosion Boy,” Dabi bites.

“Two things can be true at the same time,” Shoto says calmly and then ducks when Dabi whips a book at his head.

“So you sold the boss some lie about you sparring with Bakugou to try to convince him to join the League out of his own free will, and now Shiggy made it your official League mission. Correct?”

“How do you know it’s a lie?”

“Because I know your stupid face, and they don’t. So I’d like the real briefing now.” Dabi leans back against the bedroom door. “ Please,” he adds with as much attitude as he can muster.

“I’m training my quirk with Katsuki.”

“Oh, it’s Katsuki already?” Dabi grins, even though there’s nothing funny about the situation.

“Well, I am trying to forge a bond with him, so it seemed appropriate.”

“Don’t tell me you told him your name.”

“I told him he can call me Akio.”

“God fucking-” Dabi screams between his teeth in frustration and yanks at his hair. “Did you show him your quirk?” he asks as quietly as possible.

Shoto nods.

Dabi squeezes his fists closed but the flames still burst out. Nothing in the room catches on fire, thank God. He takes a few deep breaths, counts to ten in his head. It doesn't work. His temperature is still spiking.

Shoto is by his side in a flash. His right hand presses into the center of his chest commandingly and he forces cold into Dabi’s body. Their eyes lock, Dabi’s still full of rage, Shoto’s calm but unwavering.

“Better?” he asks once Dabi doesn’t radiate shimmering waves of heat anymore. He takes a few breaths and nods, then slaps Shoto’s hand away.

“I told you not to do this. Since day one, that was the only rule. Never reveal who you really are. What the fuck possessed you to give yourself up like that?”

“I need to train.”

“Not at the cost of potentially revealing your real identity to a goddamn hero. I was working on it, we could have figured this out with just the two of us-”

"See? This is exactly my problem!” Shoto loses his cool and throws his arms up. “You tell me I have to be the one to kill Endeavor, and that I have to train until I'm strong enough. You tell me the real reason we joined the League was so that I can finally get some experience-”

“Lower your goddamn voice,” Dabi hisses even though the upper level of the hideout is abandoned save for the two of them. 

“But then you keep kicking me out of the lineup." Shoto lowers his volume, but instead he starts pacing the room. His flames start to flicker between his fingers. "You don't take me along on missions and you flip out every time I use my quirk for more than lighting a cigarette or treating your burns. I'm not a damn child, Dabi. I know what I have to do, alright?” He’s suddenly in Dabi’s face again. “If you're not gonna help me, I'll damn well do it myself. I need to train, so I can fucking end this before-" 

"Before what?" Dabi snaps. Shoto closes his mouth and stubbornly shakes his head.

"No." 

"Before what ? What are you up to, brat?" 

"No, I'm using my taboo right. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

“You’re using what ?” Dabi nearly yells in exasperation.

“Remember? The morning of my fourteenth birthday.” Shoto holds up his pinky. “You promised that I don’t have to tell you things if I don't want to. You pinky swore.”

"That is not how that works,” Dabi all but explodes. “This is way too big a deal for childish games, you goddamn-" 

"I don't care. All you need to know is that I'm handling it. I know what I have to do, and I have arranged for the perfect sparring partner. I'm handling it. "

Dabi lights up both hands before he knows what he’s doing. Shoto gets in a fighting stance, jaw tight and both arms raised. His left hand flares up.

Then Dabi’s eyes catch on the layer of frost that is creeping up Shoto's right side. It covers his knuckles in a thick, shiny layer and goes crawling up his arm, under his sleeve, until the ice reappears out of his shirt collar and starts to coat his cheek. Around his right foot, the floorboards are beginning to creak and shimmer as the cold spiderwebs out of him. The temperature in the room plummets.

Do something. I dare you, brother.

Shoto has never squared up with him like this. It knocks him off-kilter long enough to gather his wits. Dabi heaves out a painful sigh and shuts his flames off.

"You're really not gonna tell me what you're planning, huh? Or how you tricked that explosive ball of righteous fury into helping you?"

"Nope.” Shoto retreats his quirk and stuffs his hands in his pockets like nothing happened. “Or at least not until it's done. And I didn't trick him."

"Tricked, bribed, whatever."

"I made him a promise that I intend to keep." He says it with so much sincerity, Dabi has to let out a long groan.

"Fucking hell, I'm gonna hurl. Who are you and what have you done with the feral child I raised?"

Shoto smiles a much too innocent smile and shrugs, "Looks like you didn't instill all the proper values of a villain in me after all."

Dabi looks around for another book or something to chuck at the brat’s head, but there’s nothing close. So instead he just rubs at his temples to soothe the upcoming headache.

“This is going to end in disaster. Now that the little hero knows what your real quirk is, it’s just a matter of time before he identifies you.”

“He won’t. I promise, not everyone spends every waking moment thinking about what happened to Endeavor’s missing kid,” Shoto says. “It’s been over four years. Katsuki was a child when Shoto Todoroki disappeared. He doesn’t remember. And knowing Enji, he likely pulled a one-eighty after his kid wasn’t recovered immediately and he’s been pretending like neither of us ever existed, out of shame. He’s not going around reminding people that he couldn’t keep his own family together. Trust me, Shoto has been buried next to Touya and it will take more than Katsuki Bakugou to resurrect them from the grave.”

“You better be right about that. Just don’t give him any more stupid hints, okay? And you better remember that your fucking taboo doesn’t count when it comes to us being identified. If you get even the vaguest hint that Bakugou or anyone else starts to suspect something, you tell me. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t yeah, yeah me, you little shit.” Dabi is quiet for a bit before he sighs and turns his eyes to the skylight in their bedroom ceiling. “Well. Okay then. I guess you won this round. You got everything you wanted: a solo mission, quirk training, and an excuse to spend time with your fucking hero crush. It’s a good day to be Akio.”

“Thank you.”

“Guess I should be grateful you chose to crush on someone with a useful quirk,” Dabi adds because he’s mean. “Could’ve been worse. You could have wasted your time on someone with a power you can’t use to train your ice side.” Shoto immediately flings one of his discarded shoes at Dabi.

“Don’t say that. I’m not using him. He gets something he wants, I get something I want. We made a deal . As equals.” He crosses his arms and lifts his chin. “Maybe I had to apply some pressure to make him listen to me, but that’s because he’s a stubborn bastard. The deal is fair to both of us.”

“Oh, so it’s a business transaction? How romantic,” Dabi sneers.

“It’s training first and foremost. And if it allows me to be close to him without getting killed or arrested, then that’s a bonus and we’ll see what else it gets me. I deserve something nice for once.”

“Yes, because I never do anything for you, you ungrateful twerp.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. You gave me two options for how to deal with my Bakugou-problem. I didn’t like either one, so I made a third where I don’t have to give anything up. He’s gonna help me train. I’m gonna finish our plan. There won’t be any need for us to stay with the League after that, so we won’t be villains anymore, which means I can try to date a hero. It’s all gonna be okay.”

The bitter knife-edge of a panic attack stabs Dabi in the chest out of nowhere. His vision blurs. He leans into the door because his legs won’t hold him up anymore. He slides down to the floor as calmly as he can so Shoto hopefully won’t notice.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, it hurts. He has so many plans for the future. For both of us.

He’s so full of life. Maybe enough for both of us-

No. Don’t do that, don’t lie to yourself.

You know that nothing poisons a wound quite like hope.

You’ll die screaming if you let him feed you those fairytales.

Remember the plan.

“Dabi? Are you okay?” The kid’s voice reaches out to him through the fog. Dabi takes a gulping breath and gives a shaky grin. His teeth chatter to the raging beat of his heart.

“There is nothing on this earth that terrifies me more than you saying it’s all gonna be okay.”

Shoto doesn’t really understand why, but he can see that Dabi isn’t okay. And because he’s still so annoyingly caring after being dragged through every kind of hell for fifteen years, he brings a blanket and an armful of manga over to where Dabi collapsed. He spreads the blanket over both of them without a word, tucks himself into his brother’s side and starts to read. 

His right side pulses out a steady stream of cool that Dabi wants to wrap himself around. Not only does it help him calm down, it starts to heal his overheated skin from his fight earlier-

“Oh, damn it.” On the verge of sleep, Dabi jumps back to his feet. “Because of your bullshit I nearly forgot I have to brief Shiggy as well.”

“About what?” Shoto scoots away from the door. Dabi rolls his aching muscles and scowls at the conversation ahead of him.

“About the hero who chased me down tonight to volunteer to be our spy.”

Chapter Text

The first week, Shoto and Katsuki train three times. They start with quirk control, or ‘the absolute most basic shit that someone should have drilled into your thick skull by now, but noooooo, princess Icyhot is too good to use her goddamn double quirk properly so now I have to start from scratch’ as Katsuki calls it. He rolls his eyes so hard it looks damn near painful when Shoto tells him he can’t use both sides at the same time yet.

“Well, then I guess we’ll work on that, ” he bites out with impressive snark. The rest of that session they focus on Shoto’s switching from one side to the other, reducing the time he needs to switch over.

“Don’t turn it off fully,” Katsuki snaps and clips Shoto in the back of his head. “You told me you use your ice to keep from overheating, to regulate your body temperature while you use your flames. Just do the same thing but continuously, regardless of which side you’re emitting from.” Shoto gives him a blank look and Katsuki groans and grabs Shoto’s left wrist. “Flame on, halfie.” He shakes Shoto’s arm impatiently until he flashes a ball of fire between his fingers.

“Okay, now what?”

“Now hold it.” Katsuki lets go of his wrist and moves to his other side. “Can you control your temperature now?”

“Yes, but I can’t emit from my right when my flames are on.”

“Did I fucking ask you that?”

Shoto shakes his head and tries to hide a smile. He focuses on lowering his temperature. Katsuki reaches out and presses a palm to his right arm.

“I can feel your temperature dropping on this side. That means you can activate both sides together, so the emitting is just a skill you need to develop, you lazy asshole. Have you even trained a day in your life?”

“You don’t even want to know,” Shoto says solemnly.

“I’m sure I don’t, villain.” He scoffs. “Your boss should be paying me for training his little half ‘n half into a functional villain.”

“He thinks we’re just sparring as a way for me to talk you into joining the League out of your own free will. As far as he knows, I am a more than capable fire wielder.”

“Right. I keep forgetting that you villains lie to everyone, including each other.”

“I think it’s rather poetic,” Shoto muses. “A double agent with a double quirk.”

Katsuki actually groans at that. “ God, you suck so much.”

“Thank you.”

Katsuki moves again until he’s behind Shoto, hands on both underarms and the heat of his chest radiating into Shoto’s back. He’s very deliberately not pressing them together, but the position still makes a flush settle on Shoto’s skin.

“Look at it like this,” Katsuki says, his voice distractingly close to Shoto’s ear. He moves both of Shoto’s arms into position. “Instead of thinking of both quirks like two sides of a switch, think of them as separate dials. Never turn either of them off completely when you’re in a fight. Temperature control should be your absolute baseline. The moment one half is activated, the other should come up with it as a safety mechanism. Over time, you should train to bring both dials up together until you reach the point that they’re both charged up enough to emit simultaneously. Do you get it?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t think, you suck at it.” He lets go and steps away. “Just train until you can do it.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Shoto smiles at Katsuki over his shoulder.

“Tch.”

"But you're right, I've always been able to activate them together, so it stands to reason that emitting will come with practice."

"Do you use a different technique when you activate them together?" 

"Not really," Shoto shrugs. "But it does come easier when I'm emotional. Like when I'm upset, or angry. Or excited."

"Yeah, just what I thought." Katsuki walks around until he's in front of Shoto again. His heartbeat stutters in his chest when Katsuki reaches up to his face and leans in.

Then he flicks him in the forehead.

"Zero technique, all emotions. The quirk rules you. That's your problem. Or at least, one of your many problems." He grabs Shoto’s left wrist again. "What are you waiting for? Again, princess."

The rest of the week they work on his control during simple hand-to-hand combat exercises. They don’t really talk a lot during, Katsuki mainly yells instructions woven into a thick, colorful tapestry of insults and curse words. Shoto learns that he’s not completely hopeless, but he’s still a little bitch, a dumbass, a half-n-half bastard, an icyhot imbecile, and a mentally deficient criminal who had one of the most powerful quirks of their generation wasted on him.

Shoto smiles through most of it.

“And don’t you go slacking off!” Katsuki yells over his shoulder as he’s getting ready to leave through his warp gate back to UA. “I got you started, the rest is up to you, you hear? I won’t hold your hand through all of it. You’re gonna practice this every damn day until you’re completely sick of your own quirk. Next week we will move on to something else.”

“I will! Thanks, Katsuki! See you next week!”

“Still not your friend, Icyhot!”

“Have a good weekend!”

Katsuki gives him a middle finger over his shoulder as he walks through the gate. He hesitates for a second before visibly steeling himself and disappearing in the black. Shoto laughs before picking himself up and texting Kurogiri for his own gate home.

***

The second week, Shoto and Katsuki train three times. They move on to mobility. Shoto is already pretty agile on his feet, but Katsuki beats him by a mile when it comes to using his quirk to move around during a fight.

That is, until Katsuki bullies him into using his ice exclusively to chase him around the lot.

It unblocks something inside Shoto when, on the second night of mobility training, he finally figures out his balance and position and starts to build ice trails and ramps for himself. His body knows where it wants to go, and his quirk makes it happen, laying a path of ice in front of him.

It's fucking magic . Was this always inside him?

Katsuki lets him push himself, eggs Shoto on with whoops and insults as he blasts himself around. His explosion quirk shouldn't be this good for mobility, but Katsuki has clearly never seen a challenge he didn't want to pulverize, so he bullied his own quirk the same way he bullies Shoto, until it does what he wants it to. He's just as relentless with himself as he is with everyone else. It's why he is so unfairly good. 

They work on his fire-based mobility as well. Shoto has more experience here, it's just that his technique is ‘fucking garbage, halfie.’ The use of his fire is closer to Katsuki’s explosions, which means he can copy his technique for this part. Which means they get to work close together for an entire night.

It doesn’t help with his concentration, definitely at first, when they’re standing on the edge of a factory roof and Katsuki is explaining how to plan a route through an area like this with a destructive emitter quirk as a booster. 

He’s surely saying important things, but the wind is playing with his hair and the sky is cloudless and full of stars all around them, and Shoto’s entire brain is occupied with staring. Katsuki of course notices that Shoto is distracted. So he does what Katsuki does best: he stops in the middle of his instructions, glares at Shoto, and kicks him off the roof.

It takes him half a second to push the shock aside and stop his fall with his flames. He rights himself, blood pulsing like electricity in his veins, and looks up. Overhead, after seeing that he caught himself, Katsuki blasts off through the air as he leaps from building to building. Shoto grits his teeth and gives chase.

He comes to a halt on the rooftop at the far end of the lot a good five seconds behind the hero, slipping and sliding and still breathing heavily. Katsuki stands over him with his arms folded, impatiently tapping his foot.

“Took you long enough. Now, pay attention. I’m not spending half my nights out here to have you daydream while I’m trying to help you, you clown.”

Shoto swallows his need to bitch about being thrown off a roof. Instead he stands up, folds his arms in a mirror of Katsuki’s pose, and takes two steps closer to the hero. The rest of his talk, he maintains unwavering eye contact until Katsuki gets so uncomfortable he growls Jesus, alright! Point taken! After that, his tone is at least a little less bossy and Shoto doesn’t get kicked off buildings again.

The final exercise they run, is they race from one end of the lot to the other without touching the ground, while Katsuki does his best to shoot Shoto down with his explosions. Shoto can’t retaliate, but he’s allowed to use both quirks to dodge and swerve as he tries to beat Katsuki to the finish line without being hit.

"Mobility isn't just speed, it's also spatial awareness and having the reflexes to dodge an attack. You can't just smash through everything or rely on your quirk to shield or absorb whatever is thrown at you. It's often easier and smarter to just not be in the line of fire. You're fast enough if you want to be, now use your fucking eyes and ears to mark a path that won't get you blasted out of the sky."

It’s the most fun Shoto has had in as long as he can remember. They run the little race a dozen times, until Shoto gets an undisputed win. Katsuki grumbles Lucky break and almost succeeds in hiding a grin. Shoto smiles from ear to ear as he runs a little victory lap around the hero. He doesn’t get blasted in the face for it.

His favorite moments, he's not ashamed to admit, are the short breaks in between exercises when he gets to stare at Katsuki without him noticing. 

Katsuki is painfully attractive. Literally, Shoto thinks he might be getting a migraine from not having enough blood circulating through his brain any time the junior hero is within his line of sight.

It's the shoulders, he thinks. Definitely the shoulders. And the eyes. And that mean smile right before he pummels me into the dirt. And his hands. He has very pretty hands, even though they technically need to be declared as deadly weapons. And he smells nice, like molten sugar and citrus body wash. The combination kinda smells like candied orange peel. And he…

Oh. He's wiping his face with his shirt. 

Abs. Abs, abs, abs.

Where was I going with this? 

"You know," Katsuki says over the rim of his water bottle without looking at Shoto, "if you try to double-cross me and you stay with the League after all this, I'll have to tell the heroes everything I know about you and your quirk." He says it matter-of-factly but there's tension in his shoulders that wasn't there a second ago.

"I know," Shoto says. "I won't, though. I'd hate to have to kill you."

Katsuki turns around to look at Shoto and bares his teeth in a feral smile, like that was the right answer.

"I'd love to see you try."

When it’s time for Katsuki to go back to UA, his face darkens as always. He’s staring at Kurogiri’s warp gate like it’s about to eat him.

“Are you okay?” Shoto asks carefully. It earns him a venomous glare.

"Shut up. I still don't like those fucking warp gates, is all." He leaves without another word.

“I don’t get it, we’ve been doing this for two weeks. At this point, he should be used to the gates, right?” Shoto is splayed out on his bedroom floor and complaining up at the ceiling, a frown pulling between his eyebrows. Touya is standing in the doorway, holding a cup of black coffee that is at least fifty percent cheap whiskey.

“Did he say anything about why the gates bother him?”

“No. And like, I get that it feels weird to walk through them. It’s cold and wildly disorienting. But he can’t still think I’m trying to trick him, right? If I wanted to kidnap him again, I would have damn well done it by now.”

“I think you’re hitting the nail on the head there,” Touya smirks. “I mean, he was kidnapped. Fairly recently, at that.”

"What's the big deal? I was kidnapped, and I turned out just fine."

“You weren’t kidnapped. You begged me to take you away.”

“Same difference. And my point still stands, I go through those gates all the time and I’m fine. ”

"You're an underage homeless criminal, brother dearest,” Touya points out for no reason other than being difficult.

"Could be worse,” Shoto shrugs and sits up. “If you hadn’t kidnapped me, I would be dead by now . "

"Or a hero, " Touya chuckles.

"Gross. Can you imagine? Me in a UA uniform?"

“You being okay or not is so not the point, dumbass,” Himiko scolds him later, when he’s flopped down on her bed and telling her the whole story, or whining as she calls it.

“How am I the dumbass again?”

“Because it’s really fucking obvious that he’s scared. You can be offended about it all you want, but the League did kinda drag your sweetheart out of his safe summer camp and into a criminal hideout, where he was held against his will for days, and he eventually ended up in the middle of a superhuman punch-fight.” Himiko stirs her tea and raises her eyebrows as if to say fucking duh. “And like, to me that sounds like a fun weekend, but I’ve been told that the things I enjoy are sometimes considered ‘deeply traumatizing and unsettling’ to others.”

“Katsuki isn’t scared of me. Did I mention he kicked me off a roof when I wasn’t paying attention to his lecture?”

“And as romantic as that is, you need to fucking listen to me. He’s not scared of you, per se. But he is scared of the League, and you are part of the League. He’s scared of being taken again, he’s scared of walking through one of Giri’s gates and ending up trapped again. That’s not something he’s gonna get over in two weeks. Sounds like a slight problem if you’re trying to make him join us, let alone if you’re trying to date him.” She takes the spoon out of her tea, licks it clean, then deftly flicks him on the forehead with it. “Dumbass.”

“Ow!”

“Don’t be a baby bitch, you deserved that. Boys are impossible when it comes to emotions.”

“Okay, fine.” Shoto rubs at his forehead. “So I’m the dumbass. What do I do to fix it?”

“Nothing,” Himiko shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not about you. All you can do is continue to not kidnap him, I guess. You started out with broken trust. That’s something you’ll have to build back up by being trustworthy.” Pause. “But you know what? It’s a very good sign that he’s willing to constantly meet up with you, if he has to walk through those gates every time.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Never forget, I’m your smartest friend. I've read so many romance novels.” She taps him on the forehead with her spoon again, gently this time. “Do you get it, though?”

“I think so,” Shoto frowns. “Katsuki is on high alert when he has to go through a warp gate, because his first experience was so bad. So I have to rebuild that trust, by…”

“Just be your cute self,” Himiko smiles. “Looks like that’s working already.”

Before walking out, he spots the little tube of lip gloss Himiko has been using, sitting on the floor next to her bed. She’s been applying it constantly over the last week. It makes her mouth so distracting, her lips so shiny and plump, Shoto loses his train of thought a minimum of three times per conversation. And he doesn’t even want to kiss Himiko under normal circumstances.

He is still an excellent thief. He distracts Himiko and pockets the tube without hesitation.

In the safety of his room, with the door closed and Touya off to God knows where to meet up with Hawks , he applies a thin layer of gloss to his mouth with help from his phone’s front camera. He lies back into his pillows and stares at the face he knows so well, the mop of black hair, the mismatched eyes, the staple-lined scar. And his mouth, shiny and slightly pink. 

The stuff smells overwhelmingly sweet. His tongue darts out to lick at the sugary gloss. He should have guessed it was peach flavored.

***

The third week, Katsuki and Akio train three times, and Katsuki pretends like it’s not a big deal that they’ve fallen into a routine. After all, he is on an important secret mission. And besides that, half n half is actually a decent sparring partner. He gives Katsuki a better fight than ninety percent of his classmates. Other than Deku and Inasa, he doesn’t have a real challenge among the extras of 1-A, and he can’t stand either of those two.

They work on defense, and Icyhot isn’t half bad at it. He does drop his guard way too easily if Katsuki starts talking. He’s either the world’s most gullible villain, or Katsuki is awesome at telling stories. Maybe a bit of both. So he starts abusing the weakness by sprinkling little anecdotes about his life at school into their sparring matches, and then ruthlessly beating the double-quirked bastard into the dirt once he forgets that they’re actually fighting.

Katsuki yells at him for it, and half ‘n half apologizes by mumbling ‘it was a good story’. That’s no excuse, though. Fights are full of distractions. A good fighter needs to block all that out and focus on his opponent, without losing sight of his surroundings. So they go again, and again. And Katsuki talks, and talks.

It takes a while for him to realize that he also  enjoys telling these stories, though. He doesn’t have friends outside of the extras in his class (if he’s honest, he only considers Kirishima a real friend), so he doesn’t really have anyone else he can entertain with these tales. And Icyhot seems very invested.

Katsuki tells him about that one time after a particularly grueling training, when Kaminari was either so tired or so fried that he had tried to take a seat in a chair where Mineta was already sitting.

The dumb fucking grape was so confused he didn’t say anything until it was too late, and Katsuki ended up with twenty-three blurry photo’s on his phone of Kaminari running around the common room, shrieking get him off me with the purple pervert stuck to the back of his shirt by his disgusting glue-hair. Not even Pikachu’s own boyfriend intervened, Eyebags was too busy laughing his ass off to be of any use.

It’s fun, damnit. Icyhot is fun to talk to. Katsuki is endlessly annoyed with himself for enjoying the scar-faced criminal’s company as much as he does, but he can’t help it.

It makes him want to grab his own head between both hands and set off explosions until he concusses himself back to normal.

Liking boys is one thing, but you better keep it in your pants around annoying, traitorous villains. I don’t care how dreamy his eyes are or how many times he features in your dreams. Get your shit together, Katsuki.

Tch. Look at him, with his… staples, and his annoying pretty face, and his tongue piercing he keeps trapping between his teeth when he’s trying not to laugh at something Katsuki said that was most definitely not a damn joke. He’s the bane of Katsuki’s existence. 

And why in the hell does he keep reapplying his goddamn chapstick between every match?

When he gets the villain on the ground for the fifth time in a row Katsuki brings his face down, fully intending to give halfie an earful about planting his feet before blocking, when the scent hits him. 

There’s something intensely sweet tickling at his nose, and it’s not the burned sugar smell of his own quirk for once. It’s something fruity, like the scented lip gloss he sometimes catches a whiff of when Pinky leans in close to ask him a question.

His eyes go to Icyhot’s mouth, and there’s a smeared layer of shiny pink across his lips. He’s close enough to see the tiny specks of glitter, and on his next inhale he flares his nostrils and the fruit smell becomes clear. He smells like peaches. He’s wearing peach-flavored lip gloss.

Katsuki closes his mouth and releases Akio like he burned himself. He takes his time walking back to his starting position before yelling instructions from all the way back there. He can’t be close to him, can’t look him in the eyes when he’s acutely aware of what the bastard’s mouth would taste like if Katsuki took a lick right now.

Akio smiles through the instructions and simply nods before getting back in position. There’s something knowing in his eyes that makes Katsuki itch like he stepped on an anthill.

Goddamn halfie and that obnoxiously disarming, peach-scented smile of his. Katsuki wants to bite it off his face. 

In a good way.

Which is very bad.

Chapter Text

When they sit down to take their next break, Akio is suddenly nervous. He stares down at the rips in his jeans and mutters, while playing with the frayed edges, “Have you ever been scared?”

It’s such a left-field question. If his classmates were to ask him that, Katsuki would either reply with “nothing scares me, fuck off” or “no, dunceface, I don’t want to watch a damn horror movie with you.” And from any other villain the question would sound like a threat. But Akio asks it like he genuinely wants to know the answer, and not because he’s fishing for Katsuki’s weaknesses.

He might still be fishing, if he was half the villain he claims to be. But for some reason Katsuki doesn’t think Icyhot is a good enough actor to hide it if he was. There’s always something so blunt about him. It’s almost endearing. But mostly really fucking infuriating.

“Well gee, what do you think?”

“What was the scariest moment of your life?”

“ Why? ”

Akio shrugs, he still won’t look up. “I guess I feel guilty about you getting kidnapped by the League? You look so uncomfortable every time you have to take a warp gate home. I was wondering if it’s getting better?”

It takes Katsuki a bit to add all of that together. He gapes at the junior villain in utter confusion.

“Are- are you asking me if I’m scared of you ?”

“Well, are you?”

Katsuki’s knee-jerk reaction is to be so offended that he curses the dumb half ‘n half bastard’s entire bloodline, but he swallows his sharp tongue and mulls the question over. His palms crackle with annoyance, the burned sugar smell overpowers everything.

Akio leans in closer. No one ever leans in closer to Katsuki when he gets like this, not even Kirishima. Not even his own parents. Everyone knows to hit the deck when Katsuki Bakugou starts grinding his teeth and sparking his palms. Everyone except this annoying little double-quirked villain.

He’s seen Katsuki in action plenty by now. He’s not dumb enough to be unaware of the danger he’s puting himself in by leaning his entire body into what is known as Katsuki’s lethal range. So he’s either suicidal or he’s confident that Katsuki won’t direct his temper in his direction if he goes off.

“If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t be here,” he grits out between his teeth. Akio nods sagely, and stays seated, and keeps staring at his face. Goddamnit, what more does he want ?

“You fucking-” Katsuki half-heartedly raises a hand, a move that usually causes all the extras around him to scatter so he has room to breathe and think for a minute. Akio only follows the motion with his eyes, like he’s curious.

“Just for the record, I’m also not scared of you.” Halfie smiles. Motherfucker .

“How brave you are,” Katsuki snarls back.

“So, about the gates-”

“Oh my fucking- will you shut up? ” He punctuates the last word with an explosion. His temper spikes some more when he realizes that, yes, he did in fact angle the blast away from Icyhot’s face. 

“Yes, you whiny little bitch! I don’t trust those damn gates! Every time I walk through them, I just pray that they’ll take me back to my room! Which makes me an idiot, because if I walk through one day and find myself trapped in another League hideout it will be my own damn fault ! No one is gonna come rescue me a second time! I wouldn’t want them to, either!” Katsuki’s eyes could shoot fire when he looks at Akio again. “I have no choice. Don’t you get it? I don’t trust you, but I have to trust you to make this stupid mission work. I’m fucking stuck. ” 

Katsuki draws his legs up and leans his folded arms on his knees, builds a fort out of his own body as he stares off into the distance.

“I’m sorry,” Akio says quietly. “Does it help if I promise again that I won’t trick you?”

“No.”

They’re quiet for too long. Katsuki tries his damndest not to look like he’s sulking. Then Akio clears his throat.

“It’s scary for me, too. You could rat me out at any moment, have me ambushed by the cops or the pros, and there’s nothing I could do about that.”

“I won’t do that. If you get arrested, your brother and the League will burn down the country to find you and my head will end up on a stick outside one of your hideouts,” Katsuki grumbles. “Plus, I gave you my word.”

“I know,” Akio nods. “That’s why I’m here. I trust you.” Pause. “Or at least, I’m learning to.”

Katsuki sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He knows exactly which story he’s going to tell Akio next.

“On your feet, princess. Next round.”

“Okay.”

He waits until they’re about a minute in, when Akio has found his focus. Then he starts talking.

“Do you remember a news story from a little over a year ago? Middle school kid that got grabbed by a sludge villain and had to be rescued by All Might?”

Icyhot blinks at him like an owl. “That was you?”

“Yes, dumbass, that was me.” Katsuki feigns a jab at the villain’s face. He doesn’t fall for it. Good. He’s finally learning. “If I had to pick my single scariest moment, that would be it. Being immobilized, slowly suffocating, with living slime trying to crawl down my throat and telling me all the things it was going to use my body for once I finally stopped fighting, while a whole squadron of heroes and cops just stood by - Yeah, that’s probably it."

The memory makes him vibrate with a bitter kind of anxiety, a dizzying mix of fear and rage. He wants to punch someone who’s not even there. So he lays into Akio as a substitute.

The villain blocks and dodges the first few blows, gets a few good shots in himself, but Katsuki is not in a mindset to let anything go right now. He blasts the villain backwards, raining explosive punches down on him, until he stumbles and hits the dust with a heavy thud. The air goes out of his body when Katsuki drops his full weight on top of him and places a still sparking hand by his jaw. Half ‘n half holds his hands up and yields. It’s not enough.

“I’m sorry,” he says in between coughs. “I didn’t want to make you upset. I wasn’t even sure that you…”

“That I what?”

“That you cared?” Akio tries to shrug but Katsuki has him pinned to the floor. “I didn’t think you could get scared. Thought you were just mad about losing a fight against villains. You don’t act like you’d ever be afraid of anything.”

He says it in such a way that almost makes Katsuki believe it himself. He lets go and gets up so Akio can sit back up as well. The villain winces as he rubs at his clavicle.

“Of course I'm afraid of things, Icyhot. Are you stupid? That's what bravery is; being afraid and powering through anyway, because you trust your own skills more than the power of fear.” He sets off some more explosions for emphasis. “Plus, a healthy dose of fear heightens the senses. People who walk into battle unafraid of anything don't come out in one piece, because it makes them stupid and lazy. The trick is to make everyone believe you're the biggest badass around even when you're shaking in your boots.”

He turns his attention away from his own hands to look back at Akio's face. To Katsuki's never-ending exasperation, halfie is smiling at him again.

(His lips are still shiny.)

"For the love of- what is it now?"

"You are a very good teacher." He jumps up before Katsuki can retort and reaches out a hand to help him up. Katsuki hesitates for the space of three breaths before he takes it. 

"And also," Akio continues as he hauls Katsuki to his feet, "it's sort of comforting to know that even you have fears. It humanizes you. You know?" Then he turns on his heel to return to his starting position. Katsuki watches him walk away.

Maybe I’m scared of how badly I want to taste that damn lip gloss, halfie.

Their final match is cut short when Akio's phone rings. He hurries over to where they left their stuff and glances at the screen.

"It's my brother, I have to take this." He looks apologetic. Katsuki grunts and jerks his chin to say Whatever. Icyhot gives him a half-smile and puts the phone to his ear as he walks away.

Katsuki pretends like he didn’t hear it, is really fucking careful to not let on that he’s paying attention. He busies himself with retying his shoelaces but the blood is rushing in his ears. He’s sure he just heard Akio answer the phone as Kaito.

(Later that night, Himiko chases Shoto all around the hideout and nearly slices his ear off with a throwing knife, until he gives the lip gloss back and apologizes.)

***

The fourth week, Shoto and Katsuki train once. Because things have gone horribly wrong, and then they get even worse.

Shoto knows he looks like a mess when he shows up that Monday night, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep (and crying, but he’s trying really hard to hide that part). When Katsuki looks him up and down and asks “Damn, halfie, what happened to you?” he simply replies with,

“Magne is dead. And the League is at war with the Shie Hassaikai.”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Shoto shouldn’t allow this much grief into his heart. The whole reason he is even here with Katsuki, is because he’s planning to betray the League himself.

He just never meant for any of them to die. Maybe Shigaraki, because he doesn't think the boss could physically be taken alive. But he never thought they'd lose someone like that .

He wants revenge. He also wants to run away and hide forever, or at least until he forgets the sound Magne made right before Overhaul unraveled her entire torso like a cat playing with a ball of bloody yarn. Or Compress’ screams when he tried to rush in and lost an arm for his trouble.

At least he tried to do something. Shoto just stood there like he was nailed to the ground and prayed he wouldn’t throw up.

Maybe he is too soft for this life after all. Maybe there truly is no place where he belongs.

In the early hours of the morning, after Overhaul- Chisaki left, Touya disappeared with a barely-conscious Compress hanging off his neck, to take him to Yoneda’s clinic. By sundown they still weren’t back. So Shoto snuck out of Himiko’s room after she finally fell asleep, and begged Kurogiri to warp him to the training grounds. He needed something to take his mind off all the blood.

From the get-go, Shoto can feel he shouldn’t have come tonight. They’re working on speed and reflexes in close-range combat. Which means he gets punched a lot. Which means Katsuki touches him and he touches Katsuki, and it’s all wrong and too-close and his skin fits weird over his bones and he just wants to light something up-  

“So what will you do now?” Katsuki tries to sound casual as he says it and throws a right cross. Shoto rolls his eyes as he blocks. He has zero patience for the hero fishing for information right now.

“The League will do what the League does best. The Shie Hassaikai came into League territory and killed someone. Chisaki will pay for that.” A jab at Katsuki’s face.

“And who will make him pay?” Katsuki dodges and throws an explosion at Shoto’s midriff. Disengage. Kick to make room. Back away. Guard up.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Shoto snaps. A wide arch with his right arm. Katsuki blasts himself over the three sharp spikes of ice that drive themselves into the ground where he was standing. “Why are you suddenly so interested in some lowlife Yakuza? I know it’s not heroic, but wouldn’t you consider this the trash taking itself out? If the heroes would stay out of the League's way for once, we could just clear them out.” 

" We, huh? Ugh.” Katsuki snarls at him. Explosions. Lift-off. His right leg suddenly comes down at Shoto’s head like a hatchet. 

Right arm up. Ice shield. Katsuki's foot cracks the ice but Shoto is already gone. His right side is steaming. 

“What happened to you don't give a fuck about the League, and you're just using them to reach your own goals?" 

"This is different. Chisaki and his thugs need to be dealt with. This is not out of mine and Dabi's way." He raises his right hand and starts spreading ice over his knuckles. Back off, hero. "You’re fucking welcome.”

“So is that the plan? The whole League is going in, guns blazing?” Katsuki scoffs. Both hands lifted like claws, feet planted to blast off again. “You’re not that dumb, halfie. And neither is your boss.”

“We can’t fight a war on two fronts, so no, that’s not the plan. And no, I’m not going to be involved with the hit on the Hassaikai directly. I have a different assignment. Don’t worry about it.”

“So wait, you're actually still going on missions for the League?” Katsuki drops out of his fighting stance in an instant and gapes at Shoto like he sees him for the first time. Shoto shrugs and takes a step back.

“I have to. They'll get suspicious if I suddenly refuse to go. They still believe I’m here to try to recruit you, but this alone won’t cut it. I need to pull my weight.” Katsuki’s eyes itch on his skin. He bares his teeth at the hero. "What? Are you mad about having to share me?" 

“You going on League missions means you'll have to hurt people.” Gah. Who told him he could make his voice so soft? And why does it bother Shoto so much?

“Only if they get in the way. What did you expect, hero? You know our deal. I'm still a villain, and it's up to you to save me.” Shoto turns away from Katsuki, tries to minimize how much of himself is exposed to that weird look he’s giving him. “Until then, I have shit to do.”

“Excuse me for finding it hard to casually talk about murdering people. Yakuza thugs or not.” Oh good, he’s mad now. Shoto can work with mad.

“One, I just told you I’m not going into the Hassaikai base. I'll be far away from any such action, thanks to my brother.” He points an accusing finger at the hero student. “Two, you threaten to kill literally everyone around you if they so much as breathe in your direction.”

“Obviously I would never actually kill anyone, what’s wrong with you?” Katsuki’s hands go off like fireworks. He stomps over to Shoto until they’re nearly nose to nose. Shoto doesn’t budge an inch and reaches for his flames. His right side blooms with frost at the same time.

“A lot.”

“ Clearly. ” 

Shoto looks into Katsuki’s furious red eyes. His face becomes tight and impassive. He should know better, but he's so fucking full of awful, awful things that he pukes up the worst thing he can think of and flings it into Katsuki's face, hoping it hurts.

“I have killed someone before.”

Everything stops. Katsuki’s face goes slack.

“You what?”

Shoto studies him with interest. He didn't think it would be that effective. 

“You’re upset.”

“No shit I’m upset. You just confessed to murder, you fucking psycho. NO SHIT I’M UPSET!” Katsuki screams in his face. He's shaking, Shoto notices. Regret starts to creep up his guts until it clamps its cold jaws around his stomach.

He tries to sound distant and bored when he asks, “Why are you so surprised?”

“I’d hoped that…” Katsuki takes an uneven breath. “That you weren’t that far gone yet. I thought I would have known if you- if you’d crossed that line. But you seem so normal sometimes. I didn’t think they had pushed you there yet. Maybe I hoped that your brother had kept you safe, with the way you talk about him like the sun shines out of his ass. I almost had hope for you goddamn villains for a while there. Shows what I know, right? I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

Abruptly, Katsuki turns around. He picks up his hoodie and his water bottle and starts walking. And doesn’t stop. He walks off the lot towards the dark road.

Shoto hangs back for a minute before chasing him down.

He catches up with him as he hops the fence with the NO TRESPASSING sign. They've never come this way, they always warp onto the property. Shoto isn't sure how far they are from the main road and how far they'd have to walk to reach civilization again. Maybe they can walk til morning and not see a sign of life, maybe they'll bump into a police patrol fifteen minutes down the road. Either possibility puts him on edge.

"Katsuki, stop. Let me-" Explain? Is that what you were gonna say? You think you can explain why you killed a man before your sixteenth birthday?

“Leave me the fuck alone, Icyhot. I’m going home,” Katsuki snarls when Shoto reaches out a hesitant hand to him. He doesn’t even look at him. He just walks away with his shoulders hunched.

“You can’t walk back to UA.”

“Fucking watch me.”

Shoto takes out his phone to text Kurogiri. A warp gate shoots up next to them. Katsuki keeps walking.

“Katsuki. Take the gate," Shoto pleads.

He stops, seems to do the math in his head, then changes directions towards the gate. He knocks into Shoto's shoulder hard as he passes him. 

“This is over. I’m fucking done.” It comes out flat and dead as he walks away.

“Katsuki, wait-”

“No. This is too much. I can’t do this.” 

He disappears through the gate, the portal closes behind him. Shoto is left with silence, surrounded by abandoned industrial buildings like a graveyard for giants, and a night sky stretched out overhead dark as velvet covered in jewels. Part of him wishes he knew his constellations, so he could tell which stars just witnessed this tragedy. As it stands, Shoto just feels alone. For the first time, he knows what it's like to have someone give up on him.

***

When Shoto enters the hideout, he makes straight for Himiko's room. Everyone else is hastily packing their things, getting ready to move to a different hideout after Chisaki defiled this one. Himiko hasn't packed up anything. All her string lights are still up, her knickknacks and plushies scattered around the tiny room like she tried to summon something. She's not crying anymore, just sniffling with a blanket draped over her like a makeshift tent, as she stuffs another mochi in her mouth.

Shoto crawls under the blanket next to her. She immediately slides the box of mochi over to him.

"Rough night?" 

He nods. "Katsuki and I had a fight. It was bad."

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Not yet."

She nods, then buries her face into his shoulder. "I'm gonna miss big sis Mag so much," her voice sounds muffled and wet from inside the fabric of his hoodie.

"We all will."

"And I don't want to leave."

"We have to. And you're gonna be part of the mission to avenge her. You and Twice will have a big part to play. Does that help?" He wraps an arm around her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. A hollow voice inside him sings traitor, traitor, traitor .

"No." Himiko shakes her head. "I'm gonna stay here and be sad. I’m sick and tired of bouncing from hideout to hideout every few weeks."

“We don’t have a choice. Chisaki has compromised this location, we can’t stay here anymore.”

“I know! But I don’t want to!” She chokes on a sob. “I miss Magne and I miss Ochaco and I’m so tired of being in love with someone who hates me.” She grabs the last mochi and mutters “If I was her, I’d hate me too. Maybe we were wrong, Akio. Maybe we really can’t love heroes, because there’s something wrong with us .”

***

He shares a room with his brother in the new hideout, too. He shuffles in with his head hung low, like a man on his way to the gallows. He’s not subtle about it, so Touya makes him put his boxes down the second their door closes behind them.

“What happened?”

Shoto tells him what he can, about the fight and Katsuki walking away from him. The mission appears to be dead, and so are his chances at forging something more from this bond. And his secret, underlying mission to save Touya from burning up is thrown back into limbo as well.

His head hurts. His everything hurts. There are so many different kinds of sadness milling around inside him, and he’s embarrassed that the one at the forefront is the most selfish one.

“I don’t think it’s gonna work out with Katsuki after all.” His voice cracks.

Touya, to his credit, doesn’t say ‘I told you so’.

***

Dabi sucks at offering comfort. He literally doesn’t know how, this wasn’t covered in his childhood hero training or in street urchin 101. He doesn’t do kindness.

But Shoto needs something right now, so Dabi will have to nut up and try to provide some kind of support. Can’t have the kid crying all night, that would be… inconvenient.

Sure. Let’s go with that.

He hates touching other people. Putting his hands on someone means he’s either fighting or fucking. And being touched by someone is always a sign of danger. It makes him want to coat himself in flames to keep everyone away.

Can’t do that with Shoto. Not today. Gotta touch him, beyond the half-hearted cuddling he sometimes allows the kid to do when he’s tired, or the careful touches when Shoto is healing Dabi’s burned-out body after he overuses his quirk. Gotta touch him and somehow make it a good thing. A kind thing.

Damn it. How?

Shoto is staring at the floor, sniffling softly and looking, for lack of a better word, lost . Something uncoils inside Dabi, something with fangs and claws that he didn’t know he had. Something that wants to personally send Katsuki Bakugou to the deepest circle of hell for making his little brother cry.

But murdering the UA brat isn’t an option. For now . And Shoto needs something now. So Dabi puts his hands on his brother’s shoulders and pulls him into his chest.

Shoto doesn’t know what to do for a moment. He’s tense and still, doesn’t even breathe. Then a sob tumbles out of him and he digs both hands into Dabi’s shirt, buries his face into his chest and starts to cry. Dabi fights every impulse he has to push the kid away. He grits his teeth and wraps his arms around the crying boy, hides him away, and just holds him.

***

Katsuki paces around his room. He has the phone number of the anonymous police tip line open on his laptop. He knows he should call this in. Just say one line. ‘The League of Villains is planning a hit on the Shie Hassaikai.’

He groans and falls backwards on his bed. He presses his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t. He knows ‘anonymous’ is a relative term, and the cops have ways to trace a phone call if someone calls in such a specific tip. They’ll find him and take him into custody, they’ll interrogate him until he talks. Everyone will know what Katsuki has been up to, before he has anything to show for it. He’ll be a stupid kid at best, a traitor at worst. He’ll lose, lose, lose.

But what if someone gets hurt? What if a hero interferes and dies? What if a civilian dies? How would Katsuki be any different from Akio- Ruin if he just lets someone die because he was afraid of getting caught in the fallout?

Ruin. Akio. God, he killed someone. He just- admitted it. Katsuki feels sick to his stomach thinking about it.

Murderer or not, the villain still lives in his head. It’s giving him a headache, trying to will him out. And why does his chest hurt like he got kicked by a mule?

He’s mourning something that was never even real. Stupid gullible child, Katsuki.

He sits up and rubs the wetness from his eyes. Across the room, his laptop glows at him. He should call it in. He still could. He has stared at the number for so long, he knows it by heart already.

He knows he won’t.

Chapter Text

The fifth week, Shoto doesn't hear from Katsuki.

He lets the League’s hit on the Yakuza happen around him. Shoto doesn’t see the inside of the Hassaikai base, as was agreed. Touya makes him ride in the cabin of the truck with Spinner when they go to intercept Chisaki after he’s been arrested. 

Under normal circumstances, he’d bitch about being treated like a child again, and he’d make snide comments at his brother like “will you come buckle me in?” or “did you remember to bring my booster seat?” . If he wasn’t still moping about Katsuki, he might have stuck one of those Caution: baby on board stickers on the truck just to be annoying.

Still, having the safest position during a League mission is still relative. Touya might not let him go undercover with Himiko or jump out the back of a moving truck onto the freeway because it’s ‘too dangerous’, but he has no problem with letting Shoto hang out the passenger window while Spinner weaves through traffic, to blast fire at anyone trying to flank them.

Relatively safe.

The mission washes over him like a wave. The only moment that stands out bright and sharp is when he is climbing halfway out of the truck’s cabin for a better position and looks back, only to see Touya and Compress kill a sand-powered hero with zero hesitation.

He doesn't see what they do to Chisaki. Touya makes him stay in the truck with Spinner for that part. He does hear the screaming. Hears it echo in his head for days. 

The sixth week, Shoto doesn't hear from Katsuki.

Until he does. 

On Thursday evening, his phone beeps with a text message and his heart trips down at least seven flights of stairs when he sees Katsuki's name on the screen. He had been absolutely radio-silent since their last disastrous training session.

Training tomorrow. Usual time.

It's bound to be a trap. It has to be, right? He shouldn't go. Nobody would be that crazy…

Shoto goes, because what other choice does he have?

He shows up, and Katsuki walks out of his own warp gate. Alone. There's no cops, no flashing lights, no unceremonious bullet in his neck. Just Katsuki, quiet and upset and pretty, and apparently out for blood.

“Offense this week. Get ready.”

Shoto nods and takes his spot.

They practice and spar in near-total silence for three hours, and it's every bit as brutal as Shoto expected. It's also very cathartic. Seems like they needed a good fight to make up for their… fight.

“That’s enough.” Katsuki turns around and walks back to collect his stuff, wiping the sweat from his face with his shirt. Shoto hurries to text Kurogiri.

“Will I see you again?” It’s the first question he’s dared to ask all night. Why did you come back? is what he really wants to ask.

Katsuki gives him an unimpressed look.

“Did you think I’m that easy to get rid of? You wanted me, now you’re stuck with me. I’ll be here until your stupid plan comes to an end. To train you and keep an eye on you, and to keep you to your promises.”

("Because the mission comes first, emotions be damned.") 

He turns his back when he hears the tell-tale sound of a gate opening and walks away without sparing Shoto another glance.

Shoto’s heart plummets to the bottom of his feet.

“Same time tomorrow, half ’n half.”

And then it rockets back up.

***

So they actually train two days in a row during the sixth week, because Katsuki suddenly has time for Shoto on a Saturday. He wants to ask if Katsuki used their time apart to get ahead on his schoolwork, but even Shoto knows that he should keep his big mouth shut for once.

At least the hero student is a bit more talkative today. It starts with the regular taunts and curses, calling Shoto names, but he slowly rolls back into his routine of actually teaching him. Katsuki is an incorrigible perfectionist, and he can’t abide a lazy stance or a sloppy attack.

(And if Shoto makes the occasional fumble on purpose, just to force an interaction… Well, nobody needs to know.)

“So, how many more lessons do you have for me?” he asks casually during a water break. Katsuki snarls at him. He’s still pretty raw from their fight, clearly, and he’s trying his best to hide it under his anger. It just makes it more obvious, and it makes Shoto feel tiny under the weight of his guilt.

“What, did you think we’re almost finished? Do you think you’re ready to go take on a trained pro and come out with all your limbs still attached?”

He suddenly throws an explosion with zero warning, quick and precise as a bullet. Shoto barely ducks out of the way. He drops his water bottle and spills the contents over his shoes. 

“Not a fucking chance, Icyhot. I’m not done with you, we’ve only just started. I ran you through all the basics I could think of at warp speed, to get an idea of the damage. Now that I know exactly how much help you need, and now that I’ve drilled you on some fundamentals, we can work on actually turning you into a threat.”

“Hey!” Shoto protests. “No fair. I’m not that bad.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been coasting purely on the power of your quirk. You hardly have any technique. Just because you can beat up street thugs and snatch purses, doesn’t mean you can hold out against a pro in a one-on-one.” Katsuki looks away into the distance. “It would help if you’d tell me who you’re planning to fight, by the way. I’m flying blind, here.”

“You know I-”

“Yeah, yeah. You can’t tell me yet. Whatever. I’ll just keep training you and hope that you’re equally prepared to go up against, say, Mount Lady or Eraserhead. Not that much of a difference, really. Basically the same powerset. You’ll be fine. ”

Shoto arches an eyebrow.

“Sarcasm is unbecoming of you.”

Katsuki steps into his space immediately, hackles raised. He stretches out to try to tower over Shoto.

“You prefer it when I’m kicking your ass all over this lot?”

Shoto risks a tiny smile.

“Immensely.”

“Fine. Let’s go, then!”

***

Ohhhhh, he shouldn't have challenged Katsuki like that. His head rings like a thousand bells and his jaw might be permanently off-center from that last punch.

Katsuki doesn't look even the tiniest bit smug. If anything, his shoulders are slumped more than usual and he's grinding his teeth so hard Shoto can hear it over the ringing of his possible concussion.

"Did you know some of my classmates were involved in the police raid on the Hassaikai compound?"

Shoto rubs at his neck and looks away. Here we go. 

"Not at the time. We knew the heroes were coming in, that's why we aligned our plans with theirs. And when the students showed up, it was too late to change course so we let it play out. We let the thugs weaken themselves first before we flew in to take our revenge.” He tries for a smile. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"

"Toga stabbed a hero in the back and she took a few swipes at Aizawa," Katsuki bites.

Yeah, and the only reason why she didn't actually eviscerate anyone, is because she was distracted by Ochaco's scent being on them, Shoto thinks.

"Like I said, I wasn't there," Shoto shrugs. "And I heard they'll both make a full recovery, won’t they?"

"Yeah, they will." Katsuki sounds hollow. "Can't say the same for Nighteye and Snatch."

Snatch. That must've been the sand hero who chased them. The one Compress sealed away in a marble with an entire blast of Touya's flames. A terrible way to go.

And Nighteye. That’s the guy who died fighting Chisaki for that little girl. Without Himiko and Twice there to divide the heroes’ attention, their team might have pulled through together and he could have lived.

Usually, Shoto and Touya loudly support Shigaraki’s creed of fuck all heroes, even if it’s for their own motives. Most of the League members dropped off the edge of society for a similar reason: for chasing something the heroes deemed wrong, be it vengeance or wealth or just a place in the sun where they could be themselves. Touya truly despises hero culture for the way it uplifts their monster of a dad without a second thought and deems them villains for refusing to fall in line. They resorted to methods of crime and murder because what other choice did they have?

Yes, fuck all heroes. All of them are puppets of the system, hiding behind their licenses, either too power hungry or too stupid to ever take a step back and see the monsters they themselves create by leaving kids like Touya and Shoto and Toga and even Shigaraki to suffer and die in the darkness.

But that Nighteye guy… He gave his life to save a kid from being abused for her quirk. Didn’t hesitate, from what Shoto heard. Fought tooth and nail right until the end, even when he knew it was going to be the death of him, to get that girl to safety.

Surely, the heroes have an agenda. Surely they will just scoop her up and drop her in some fancy hero school to plant her squarely on their side, a part of the next generation of useful tools. That’s what they always do.

But she still escaped from hell. Someone came for her and saved her. And that’s a familiar feeling, isn’t it?

Shoto swallows. His eyes are warm.

"What happened to Snatch and Nighteye… I'm sorry."

“Let me guess, they got in the way?”

Shoto has no answer for that. Katsuki doesn’t even yell at him. It’s easier when he yells. Now he just sounds tired, and it’s eating Shoto alive.

Katsuki runs his hands over his face, eyes turned skyward. To Shoto’s absolute horror, he’s blinking away tears.

"They were pro heroes. They knew the risks." It comes out rehearsed, like Katsuki is speaking more to reassure himself. His eyes turn to Shoto and he smiles without joy. 

"I nearly ratted you out, you know? I seriously considered calling in a tip about the League’s attack on the yakuza. If I had, maybe Nighteye and Snatch would have lived. But I didn't, because I didn't want to compromise this mission." He laughs and rubs at his eyes. "And because I was afraid to get caught for everything I've done here so far. I'm in too deep. The only way out is through." 

Shoto can’t breathe. He wants to disappear into the cracks in the asphalt when Katsuki walks over to him and looks at him with that awful, vacant stare.

"Congratulations, villain. You've brought me down to your level. There's blood on my hands, too."

"That's different-"

"Different how? I could have done something and I chose not to. Result: death." Another laugh, this one sharp and mean. "Hey halfie, you’re the experienced killer, could you tell me how long it's gonna take for me to feel normal again?" 

That one has the sting. Shoto knows damn well Katsuki is just acting out to vent his pain, but he’s being cruel on purpose and Shoto’s shell is already cracked enough as it is.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You've taken a life before. You told me so yourself.” 

“And I didn't exactly enjoy it, so don’t call me that. There's only one person I actually hate enough to want to kill them, and it wasn't him.”

“Who did you kill?”

“Does it fucking matter?”

Katsuki stares at Shoto and there’s a hint of desperation on his face. Something that reads as Maybe. I hope so. Please, let it matter.

Shoto sits down hard and puts his head in his hands.

"He had a gun to my brother's head. He was going to kill Dabi. I just wanted him to stop."

"How did your brother end up with a gun to his head? By being an upstanding citizen?" Katsuki sounds so far away. He’s looming over Shoto.

"We were…" Shoto sighs and pulls at his hair, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. "We were robbing a place. Security guard shot at me. Dabi sorta lost it at that. Long story short, it all goes wrong and this guy gets burned really badly but he's still on his feet, and he's planning to take my brother down with him. So I… stopped him. I panicked and threw ice at him, and I impaled him. And it was fucking awful."

He risks a glance up. Katsuki’s face shows a flash of understanding before he schools his features back into a snarl.

“But you still did it. You killed someone. That’s one more person who is never coming home again, and it’s because of you. How do you live with yourself?”

God, Shoto is tired. His head is killing him. He gets back up slowly and gives Katsuki a blank look.

“He had a gun aimed at my brother's head, that’s how. It was either kill the guard, or let Dabi die. That’s the one choice that will never be hard for me to make. Dabi is the only person I care enough about that I'd do anything to save him.” 

“Just him?” Katsuki pounces immediately. “Not even Toga? I thought she was your best friend.”

Shoto shrugs helplessly. “I love Himiko. Wouldn't take a bullet for her, though. When you live a life like this, you learn to keep that circle as small as possible. We each only have one fragile little life and it's so easily wasted. I'm not throwing mine away for anyone less than my brother.”

“Wasting your humanity to save the life of another murderer,” Katsuki mocks. He shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks at a loose rock. “What a choice.”

“Watch it, hero.” Shoto surprises himself with how fast he has his left hand half raised. Katsuki doesn’t seem impressed. But he does shift back into a fighting stance.

He starts counting on his fingers as he runs down the list.

“So you'd kill for your brother. And you'd take the life of that one hero for vengeance. And you’d also kill whoever else gets in the way.”

“I know you don't approve.” Shoto is getting increasingly more annoyed. There’s steam rising from his hair.

“I'm trying to understand how this is so easy for you!” Finally, he raises his voice again. Shoto grabs the excuse with both hands to release a bolt of flames. Not at Katsuki. Just up at the sky. Just to relieve some of the pressure building in his chest.

“Nothing about this is easy!” He yells back. “It's just how it is! It's the only life I know how to live. I didn't end up a teenage villain for fun.” He takes a step forward. Katsuki takes a step back. He’s on his weaker foot now , Shoto can’t help but notice. If he wants to take a swing, now is his chance.

He doesn’t. Instead he puts both hands down and gestures at himself.

“I'm here because there's a monster hiding in plain sight that only I can slay. And just because I didn't go to school and my monster has a fucking hero license, I'm on the wrong side of the fight.”

“Heroes don't kill- ”

Shoto groans in frustration at that goddamn line. “There are so many things so much worse than death, Katsuki.”

He does something monumentally stupid, then. He rushes into Katsuki’s space and grabs his left wrist. The hero’s body locks up and his eyes go wide. Shoto is hit by a wave of burned sugar smell. He can hear the sparks, but the explosion doesn’t go off. Katsuki holds back, because Shoto yanked his arm up until the palm is right in front of his face.

He can see a bead of deadly nitroglycerine slip down along the lines of Katsuki’s palm, all the way to his wrist, until it drips to the ground. Shoto stares at him hard through the spaces between his fingers. For the first time, Katsuki is shocked into silence.

“Being capable of murder isn't hard. People like you and me, we hold so much power in the palm of our hands. We could wipe entire cities off the face of the planet if we wanted to. That's the path Shigaraki is leading the League down. There's no great accomplishment in that. It's so much harder to direct that power to only hit those who deserve it.”

Katsuki yanks his hand free and shakes his head. "It's not up to us to decide who deserves it. "

"Says who? The people in charge?” Shoto laughs, making his voice as mean as Katsuki’s. “Gee, I wonder why they would have a vested interest in making someone like you believe that. They let you go to hero school and get a license, so they can point your power in the direction they choose. And you just believe that they don't have an agenda and they will only wield you for good." He leans in until they’re almost nose to nose and bites out, "You tell me how the fuck that's any different."

If they’re ever gonna break this deal off, this is it. The moment where they lay their morals out on the table and see if they can actually fit them together and move forward. And if not, this is where they fight for real.

Katsuki doesn’t blast a hole through his head. Shoto releases the tension from his fingers where he was grasping the invisible triggers of both quirks. In the end, Shoto is the first one who dares to move. He breaks eye contact and turns his back on Katsuki. He starts walking in a small circle, all the while rubbing at his throbbing temples.

"I don't want more people to die like that. Not if I can help it. I want to get out. I want to crush the world's worst hero into the dirt for everyone to see, and then I want to leave with my brother so this can all be over. It's the only way for everything to make sense. It's fair. "

"When you say crush him, are you still planning to kill him?" Katsuki raises an eyebrow. God, Shoto wants to throttle him. And not in a fun way.

“I don’t want to kill anyone, alright? But that hero… He deserves it.” He rubs at his eyes as if he can push the embarrassing wetness back inside. “Honestly, Katsuki, I don't know what I'll do when I eventually face him. I just know that after him, I'm done. And I'll get to him no matter who gets in my way.”

“Okay but see, that's worse.” Katsuki marches over to him. His voice is suddenly desperate. “Now you’ve made it my fault if you and your brother hurt more people on the way to your revenge! Every casualty you two make between now and that big final fight of yours is also blood on my hands! People will suffer because I didn’t train you well enough, because I wasn’t good enough to help you!”

Shoto frowns. "I'm confused. How is this suddenly about you?" 

Katsuki flaps his mouth open and shut like an angry goldfish. It’s almost adorable. A very tired smile creeps over Shoto’s face. 

"Not every bad thing that happens is your fault, Katsuki. Sometimes shit just happens, okay?" 

"Oh, really? Let's go down the list, shall we?" He starts counting on his fingers. He’s shaking again. “I got kidnapped and ruined UA’s reputation. Me being held hostage forced All Might into the fight that made him retire. I now owe a life-debt to a fucking villain. It's always me. Shit keeps happening because I am too weak. And now I’m even helping a villain train to get stronger so he can kill a hero, and if I'm too slow more people get hurt. I am the worst kind of traitor, and an idiot to boot. What the FUCK am I doing here?!”

The fight drains out of him in an instant. Katsuki collapses to the ground and falls backwards, hiding his face in his hands. He’s not openly crying, but he sure is close.

Shoto carefully sits down and scoots in as close as he can without actually touching the hero.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more, I wish I could explain it better. Just know that I’m not lying to you.”

When Katsuki doesn’t reply and keeps his face tucked away in his hands, he adds, “You’ll know eventually. Who I am, where I came from. You’ll know the whole story. Just not yet.”

“Why not yet?”

“Time’s not right.”

“Jesus Christ. Does it need to be a full moon or something?” The sneer comes out less sharp than he meant it, because his voice is so wet.

“Are you asking me if I’m a werewolf? Would that be a dealbreaker?” Ah, that finally gets him to move his hands. His eyes are wet and bloodshot when he sends Shoto a withering stare. “I need to be closer to my goal. Because once you know everything, you might not want to be near me anymore.” 

Can't very well tell you I'm having you train me so I can kill my father, who happens to be the new number one hero. You'd run away so fast and I couldn't even fault you for it. 

“So you won’t tell me until I’ve given you what you want, in case I cut and run?”

“Yes.” Hesitation. Shoto’s mouth is suddenly desert-dry. “And it’s… enjoyable to spend time with you. Despite how tonight went. I don't want you to leave just yet.”

The hardness goes out of Katsuki’s face for a second, before he chuckles and sits up.

“Selfish prick.” He dries his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I know.”

Katsuki gets back up and gestures for Shoto to follow him.

"Come on. One more round."

***

Maybe it’s because Katsuki is bone-tired from his emotional outburst. Maybe Shoto is a better fighter when he’s concussed. (Oh man, I hope that’s not it. Touya is gonna start kicking me down the stairs before a fight if that’s the case.) Regardless, for the first time their sparring match ends with Shoto on top of Katsuki.

It’s not a perfect win. Katsuki could definitely break free if he really wanted to, or blast them both sky-high if this was a real fight. But for now, Shoto keeps him trapped against the cold ground with his legs as he holds his left hand over Katsuki’s throat.

They’re both breathing heavily. Katsuki looks pissed as hell with his teeth bared and his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.

Then he leans up and presses his throat into Shoto’s grip.

“Just give me something. Tell me the name of the hero, at least. Tell me why he deserves it, what he did to you.” It’s pleading. Begging. His voice cracks under the weight of it. 

Shoto shivers from feeling the thin skin of Katsuki’s throat under his fingers. He can feel the raging beat of his pulse. He moves his thumb half an inch to ghost over the sharp ridge of his jawline.

“I can’t. Not yet. But I promise I’ll tell you before the end. I’ll tell you everything, just in case I don’t make it out alive."

Katsuki slaps his hand away and sits up. But instead of throwing Shoto off of him, he grabs him by the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

"You better fucking survive, Icyhot,” he snarls. “I'll need you alive to keep up your end of the bargain and roll on your League mates. And I'm gonna need you to go public with that story of yours and confirm that you essentially blackmailed me so they don't arrest my ass for accessory to murder."

"Oh.” Shoto raises his eyebrows. “I hadn’t even thought of that… That does sound like a rough deal for you, yes."

Katsuki throws him backwards and jumps to his feet.

"No fucking shit, quirk-for-brains. You are an awful friend."

"But we are friends, yes?" Shoto gives him his brightest smile from where he’s sprawled on the ground. Katsuki rolls his eyes.

"You're the worst friend anyone has ever had and I wish I'd never met you. I have enemies I'd rather hang out with than you. Every minute I have to spend looking at your dumb face is like ripping off a hangnail. Your voice makes me want to impale myself on one of your ice spikes from ear to ear. I've literally considered pulling out of this deal that could help me bring down the League of Villains singlehandedly, just because you are too fucking infuriating to be around."

Shoto giggles as he stands up and makes an amused face at Katsuki.

"A simple yes would have sufficed. You didn't need to write me a slam poem."

"Jump up your own ass and die." That just makes him giggle again. Katsuki is visibly putting everything into holding back a grin, even if his eyes are still teary. Shoto walks over and gets as close as he dares.

"What happened with All Might wasn't your fault. Honestly, it's kinda self-centered that you would think that."

Katsuki’s face falls. "He was there because of me," he argues, eyes fixed on the floor.

"He was there because that’s the kind of dumb shit heroes do. And he was running on borrowed time anyway. He has been dragging that injury around for years. Something was bound to happen. If you hadn't been taken, All For One would have found another way to draw him out." Shoto puts a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. "Trust me, when it comes to the fall of the number one hero, you are utterly insignificant."

On a wild, mad impulse, he closes the gap between them and wraps both arms around Katsuki and gently pulls him closer until Shoto can hook his chin over his shoulder and press them chest to chest. Katsuki goes perfectly still, becoming an unwieldy statue in Shoto’s grip. He obviously doesn’t hug back. But he also doesn’t scream or throw him off or explode.

"What are you doing?" he asks in a voice Shoto hasn’t heard before. It’s a bit higher than usual, and a lot softer.

"Offering comfort." Shoto decides to stop pushing his luck, so he quickly releases Katsuki after a final pat on the arm. He looks uncomfortable and confused but not mad. Shoto smiles. Katsuki frowns back.

"Well, you're shit at it."

"You seem less sad, though. So something worked."

It’s time for them to go. They gather their stuff and Katsuki’s gate opens first, as always. Shoto waits until he’s nearly gone before he calls out to him.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Did you miss me, those past two weeks?” He bites his tongue ring when he smiles, because he has noticed that Katsuki’s eyes always flick down when he does that. Just like they do now, briefly, before he replies.

“Fuck off, halfie. What is up with you today?”

“Because I missed you.” If he dies tomorrow, let it be known: at least Shoto Todoroki was not a coward. Katsuki doesn’t have an answer. He just stares and then turns around with a shake of his head. There’s a tiny, exhausted grin on his lips.

“I'll see you on Monday.”

“Bye, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Chapter Text

The seventh week, Shoto and Katsuki train four times. They start to work on Shoto’s special moves.

The first one he manages to pull off, is an ice wall the size of a stadium. His legs are shaking when he lowers his right arm and the cold fog disperses to reveal a chunk of ice that looks like it’s piercing straight through the night sky all the way up to the moon.

The weather has been getting increasingly colder and it’s a rather chilly night, and maybe the cold environment helped him. Shoto can’t really pinpoint how he just did this. He simply swung his arm out and reached down to his ice quirk, and just- kept reeling it up like he was hauling up an anchor from the depths of a frozen sea at the speed of sound. 

It didn’t hurt. He’s not tired, he’s barely breaking a sweat. He breathes out and his breath could flash-freeze a cup of water, it’s so cold.

Next to him, Katsuki drops his persona of ‘I am too bored and angry to care about anything anyone does, ever’ and whoops and cheers like an absolute maniac as he stares up at the icewall.

“Look at that! You’re fucking insane, Icyhot! How did you do that?” He pounds Shoto on the shoulder with zero inhibitions and grins from ear to ear. “I thought you sucked at using your right?”

“Well, I have been practicing every day for a few weeks now. I sneak out of the hideout and find an abandoned building where I can practice my quirk control in peace.”

“Mm-hmm. And remind me again, who told you to do that?” Katsuki is still smirking in satisfaction with his eyes trained up at the ice wall.

“Oh, I’ve been working with an excellent teacher. He’s a genius. Handsome, too.” Shoto tries to reply with a straight face, but it’s hard not to smile back at a -suddenly slightly flushed- Katsuki when he rolls his eyes and mimes throwing up.

“You are such a suckup, my God.”

“What? It’s true.”

“Cut it out with the flattery and take down your damn glacier.”

Katsuki makes him do it over and over again for the rest of the training, makes him build the wall as high as he can until Shoto fears his fingernails might drop off, his arm is so cold. The accidental praise Katsuki lets slip can only do so much to warm him back up.

***

He shuffles back into his bedroom through his warp gate, shivering and cold down to the bone. Touya is home, thank God, and he drops everything when he sees Shoto stumble through. Even his eyelashes are frosted.

Touya gives him an earful as he piles every blanket they own onto Shoto’s bed and orders him to fucking regulate your body temperature with your left, you damn idiot. When Shoto explains, over the chattering of his teeth, that his body is too tired to even light a cigarette, Touya sighs heavily and crawls into the pile of blankets with him. 

Shoto curls up into his brother’s side like a cat and falls asleep nearly instantaneously when Touya turns up his body heat to a nice toasty temperature. 

The last thing he hears is his brother cursing him for tucking his ice cold feet under his legs.

***

It’s Friday and they’re working on Shoto’s unnamed special move, the one he used against Touya all those years ago under the unfinished bridge and the one that blasted Katsuki and his friends to safety in Kamino. 

Katsuki keeps telling him he should name his super moves, and Shoto flat-out refuses to. That’s hero shit. Usually Katsuki would keep arguing, because that’s just who he is. He doesn’t drop anything until he gets his way. Today he just grunts and turns away.

There’s something eating at him again, and Shoto can’t figure out what. He’s pretty sure he didn’t do anything wrong this time. At least, he can’t remember saying anything particularly stupid during their last few training days. 

He tries to get Katsuki to talk, but making him open up when he doesn’t feel like it is like pulling teeth from a hungry shark. Shoto might lose a few fingers if he’s not careful. Literally.

He finally picks up on a hint when Katsuki starts yelling at Shoto for the tenth time about him ‘not performing to the best of your abilities at all times’ when he keeps taking too long to properly charge up his move. Now that he kinda-sorta lost to Shoto in a match last week, the hero student gets incredibly annoyed every time Shoto doesn’t win. He goes on these long rants about ‘you’re not pushing yourself to give 100%’ if he doesn't win, and it rubs Shoto every possible wrong way.

You know who he sounds like, right?

“You know I’m not gonna win every time, right?” Shoto pants after Katsuki tossed him halfway across their sparring ground again and he barely caught himself with an ice ramp before slamming into a wall. “You’re still you. If I beat you every time, there would be no point in us training anymore.”

“You did it once, you can do it again!” Katsuki yells back.

“You know that’s not how it works!” Shoto skates back to Katsuki on a trail of ice. He tosses his wet hair back in annoyance and leans into the hero’s space. “You’re one of the strongest students at the best hero school in the nation, arguably the single best fighter in my age range. How am I expected to suddenly win every single match against you?”

“Because you did it once. You won, so now I need you to come at me with all you got every single time. Don’t you dare hold back!”

“I’m not holding back, Katsuki. Jesus Christ.” Shoto walks off to the side instead of getting back in his starting position, because Katsuki is actually vibrating with barely contained frustration. “Sit,” he gestures to the spot next to him. “And have some water, before you turn our training grounds into a damn crater.”

Katsuki is still fuming but he does come over and plops down next to Shoto on the concrete barrier. He doesn’t drink, just sits there all angry and hunched, until Shoto picks up his water bottle for him and pokes him in the side with it. On the second poke he finally snatches it away and takes a few angry sips.

“What’s the deal with you and needing everyone to come at you at full power all the time?” Shoto asks. He dares to ask these questions, because Katsuki doesn’t scare him. He just makes him nervous in a different way.

“How else will I ever be the best? I need to be able to win every fight, which means I have to test myself against people who give it their all. I don’t hold back against you, so you better not half-ass it against me, either. I can take it, do you hear me?”

“I know you can take it,” Shoto says calmly. “And I promise I’m not holding back. I try my best every single time, otherwise there’s no point.”

“Good.”

“But why does it matter so much to you? ”

“I have to become the number one hero, that’s why.”

Shoto manages to not snort or roll his eyes. “Why?”

“Because being the best is the absolute minimum for me, all right? It’s what everyone has expected from me since I was three years old. It’s what I expect from me. Anything less than number one is a disappointment. ‘Look at Bakugou, all that potential, all that promise, a quirk that could level a city, and he still lost.’ How weak would that make me? Look at the fucking head start I got!” 

Katsuki waves his hands in front of Shoto’s face. “How the fuck could I still lose when I have this? I have to win every time or else I’m… I’m nothing.” 

That’s… Yeah, that’s pretty intense. In a warped way, Shoto relates to that pressure a lot. 

The only difference is that Katsuki is heaping it onto himself. In Shoto’s case, it was the thundering voice of Endeavor, roaring down at him that he had to get back up and train harder, that he would become the number one hero some day and heroes never quit, as a ten year old Shoto tried his best to not throw up all over the training room from being punched in the stomach by his father. 

But he does understand having that little voice in your head, telling you that you are just a vessel for your quirk, and without it you’re not worthy of being alive.

Shoto is quiet for too long, considering if he should lean into Katsuki’s side, if he should say something. Katsuki laughs softly before Shoto can make a decision. The young hero flexes his fingers a few times, squeezes his hands open and shut, studies the lines in his palms like the answer is written on them.

“Maybe that’s why your boss wanted me so badly,” he says flatly. “Because he figured that I was just a few more failures away from losing my mind and becoming a villain out of desperation. People already think so anyway.”

“Katsuki…”

"No, they’re probably right. Who knows, maybe this was your plan all along. Maybe you’re just here to hand me a golden ticket to the League of Villains once I finally snap." He looks at Shoto and he tries so hard to look mean, but he gets stuck on sadness. “If that’s the case, halfie, I have to say: that’s a very smart trick.”

Shoto surprises himself with how offended he is by that. He jumps up as if he got stung and kicks hard at the concrete barrier right by Katsuki’s leg.

“Are you kidding me, a trick? You still think I’m trying to lure you into a trap? Do you have any idea how many secrets I’ve told you? Not to mention meeting up with you every few nights with zero backup, despite how much my brother hates it.”

Ice starts to form on his right hand. Despite all the training, his right side is still hard to control sometimes. Around everyone else, he has to keep his ice quirk completely buried. But when Katsuki gets him worked up, his ice sometimes goes haywire. Shoto gestures at it. 

“See? Do you see this shit?” He angrily slams his fist into his left palm to shatter the glittering cold gauntlet forming on his hand. “Do you even realize you’re one of only two people in the entire world who know about my ice quirk? You have everything you need to destroy me if you wanted to. I wasn’t joking about that, if the wrong people find out about me, I’m done for.” 

The ice creeps up his arm and starts to spread over his cheek. He brushes it off with his left hand and flicks the melted droplets at Katsuki. He makes an offended noise but doesn’t get up. 

“And I told you anyway, because I need to trust you. Not just because I need your help, but because that’s the only way I could ever earn your trust in return.”

“What’s the big deal with you and my trust, huh?” Katsuki leaps to his feet.

Shoto steps into his space. Too close. Way too close. They’re almost sharing breaths. Katsuki is so close Shoto can feel his body heat right through both of his quirks.

“I want to be worthy of it. Because you’re the best person I know.” He’s staring into those red eyes that make him feel like he’s a tightrope walker. “I’m trying to be good enough.”

Silence. They’re holding each other’s gaze and with every breath Shoto’s lungs fill with more sugar and citrus and Katsuki. He’s brave and he’s foolish and he wants to hold his hand.

So he does.

Shoto reaches out and brushes his fingertips over Katsuki’s knuckles. The hero stops breathing. He doesn’t pull away. He’s still staring, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Shoto’s eyes like he can’t decide which color to look at first.

Shoto’s thumb brushes ever-so-softly across Katsuki’s palm.

Katsuki blinks.

"We- fuck, we can't. Whatever you're trying to say, we can't fucking do that. You're a villain."

Katsuki shakes his head and takes the smallest step back. He doesn’t pull his hand away, though. And through their point of contact, Shoto can feel him shivering.

The smile on his face is just this side of wicked. There’s no way he’s backing down now. He was raised by Touya, a man too stubborn to die. Shoto can be relentless when he really wants something. 

"You're helping me get out of that life, though. Aren't you?" He’s balancing Katsuki’s fingers on his own. He can move his hand if he wants to. Shoto basically dares him to.

They’re way too alike in this: neither of them can ever back down from a challenge.

“You’ve hurt people.” It no longer comes out in the same way it used to. Shoto isn’t sure who Katsuki is talking to when he says it, but it sounds like he’s trying to remind himself.

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” 

“What you obviously want to ask me. Ask me to not hurt anyone.”

Katsuki leans forward, just a bit.

“Will it help if I ask you or do you just enjoy fucking with me?"

“Fucking with you is one of the greatest joys of my life, I'll admit,” Shoto grins at him. He’s delirious with excitement. “I'd still promise you, though.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you're the only one who gives a shit about whether or not I actually kill someone. And I don't want you to think less of me.” 

Katsuki frowns. He closes his hand around Shoto’s fingers. It doesn’t seem like he’s even aware that he’s doing it.

“I want you to not kill people because it's not right. Not just because I asked you to.” 

“You're avoiding the question. You are upset at the thought like you would be disappointed in me. If I'm just a villain, why do you care?” Shoto brings his thumb in to brush across Katsuki’s. “You could have broken our deal ten times over already and had me ambushed and arrested weeks ago.” 

“I wouldn't do that. I gave you my word. If I help you now, I take you and Dabi out of the game and the League falls apart.” 

(Oh, we’re so close now.)

“That's how I stop this fight and save the most lives down the line, without even throwing a punch. That's how I become a true hero, better than what anyone thought I could be. I have to do this. After what I did to All Might, this is how I will make it right.”

“And it’s how you save me.” Shoto lifts their hands up, so there’s no longer any denying what is happening. "It's how you can make me atone for my crimes. I'd be your ally. We'd have stopped the League of Villains together. That's as close to a hero as I'll ever be. If I can get out, maybe you can stop thinking of me as a villain." 

Shoto leans in. His voice gives out from pure nerves. Over their entangled fingers, he asks hoarsely, "Are you here to save the world? Or because you want something for yourself?"

"Little bit of both?" Katsuki mutters. He blushes pink all the way up to his ears. His eyes drop from Shoto’s gaze down to his mouth. Shoto can’t tell if he’s shaking from his quirk acting up or from being so, so close to something he wants.

It’s madness. It’s too fucking much. It bubbles in his chest like a bottle of champagne someone shook around too much before opening, and now the cork pops off and everything fizzes inside him with fierce, frantic joy.

He drops Katsuki’s hand before he can bridge the gap. There’s a crazed spark in his eyes and a giddiness to his voice when he grins at him and says, “One last match?”

Shoto takes off before Katsuki has a chance to respond. Then he hears the explosions as the hero gives chase.

***

I’m insane, I’m insane, I’m insane, the voice in Katsuki’s head sing-songs as he chases Akio around the lot. 

The villain is screaming and whooping, wild-child howls full of glee. Every time he rockets upwards on his flames he throws his head back and screams, and when he rolls over the peak of his jump, he catches himself on glittering trails of ice.

He’s still messy and chaotic in his movements, and it’s an absolute spectacle to behold. Katsuki doesn't think he has ever seen someone be as openly euphoric as Akio right now.

He wants to tackle him into the dust and see if he can hold his hand again. His fingers are still tingling from before, and the heat is spreading up his arm through his entire body.

And that’s as much thinking as Katsuki will allow himself at this moment. So he switches his frenzied brain off and puts everything in chasing the villain down.

Icyhot is slowing down. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he’s distracted.

Maybe he wants you to catch him.

Katsuki pushes his quirk to the limit. He launches himself forward like a missile, wind whipping around him, orange explosions painting an arch across the night sky in his wake. The silhouette of the pretty villain gets closer and closer. He’s nearly close enough to see the glint of the staples when he turns around in mid-air and grins at Katsuki. A grin that says Gotcha. 

When he feels the sudden biting cold, he knows he flew right into a trap. He just has the time to shield his face and close his eyes when Akio, covered in shiny frost, raises his left hand.

He remembers Akio telling him his quirk comes out stronger when he's feeling an intense emotion, and ah, fuck. 

The explosion rattles his bones around in his body. The superheated blast hits him dead-on and he’s flung back like a dandelion seed. Because they’re up in the air, he has no way to brace himself. Smart little bastard.

He’s flying, and then he’s falling, and just when panic starts to creep up his spine when he can’t figure out how to right himself, something solid and warm smacks into him. A body.

Akio grabs him out of his nosedive, slows their fall with a trail of ice and diverts them to a clear landing spot. They still hit the ground hard, and they tumble over each other until they come to a stop against a wall, Akio on top of Katsuki.

Before he has time to open his mouth or shake the gravel out of his hair, he feels something unnaturally cold grip his left hand. He looks over, and Akio has frozen his fucking arm to the ground. 

He’s pinning his free arm with his knee and holds his left over Katsuki’s face. He’s breathing heavily, but his face is bright and he’s smiling through the exhaustion. He fucking won. And with one of Katsuki’s own moves, no less.

“Do you give up?” Akio pants. He’s all giddy smiles, so elated to finally have a flawless victory that he taps his index finger against the tip of Katsuki’s nose. Katsuki wants to bite him.

He carefully strains his left arm to see if he can break the ice. He could probably blast himself free with his quirk, but according to the rules of their game, Akio has him. So Katsuki relents.

“Yeah, I give up. Congrats, halfie.” It’s still a bitter thing on his tongue to concede a victory. Even like this. Half ‘n half is so lucky he’s cute.

He leans over to melt the ice shackle and gets up, then reaches out a hand to pull Katsuki up. He takes it without hesitation.

And then Akio doesn’t let go.

The villain leans in until Katsuki has his back against the wall, their fingers entwined. Akio’s thumb rubs across his palm in a lazy sweep. He cocks his head to the side like he’s asking a question, but his eyes are flickering.

Katsuki is so pissed when Akio places his free hand on his waist and he immediately feels the tell-tale thunder of his heartbeat pick up speed. Traitor, he sneers at his own body, the thought barely loud enough over the rush of blood in his ears.

“Ask me, hero. Ask me because you want it for yourself.”

Katsuki swallows his pride. He looks into the mismatched eyes and grabs the villain by the back of his neck. His fingers tangle themselves in ink-black hair.

“Please . No more killing. I’m not- I’m not talking about that hero you need to fight, because I know it’s not that easy to let go of revenge. I don't want you to kill them either, but I'm aware that it will take more than me asking you not to do it. Just no more innocent deaths. Promise me.”

“Okay.” Akio says it without hesitation. He curls into Katsuki’s palm.

“Okay?” Katsuki frowns. “That easy? Why does it matter what I think anyway?”

“Because I don't think you'd let me kiss you again if I take another life.” Pause. A nervous grin. A heavy look. “Am I right?”

Oh, he’s so much braver than I am.

“Yes.” Barely a whisper.

“Then I promise.” He leans in closer, presses their bodies together everywhere they will fit. Their noses brush. “So can I kiss you now?”

Katsuki nervously licks his lips. God, his mouth is so dry. “Okay.”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“Would you shut up already?” he snarls.

“Make me.”

So that’s exactly what he does.

***

Shoto has been close to dying more times than he likes to think about, but kissing Katsuki Bakugou is his favorite near-death experience by a mile.

It starts with a chaste, almost shy peck on the lips, barely more than two mouths brushing together. It’s not the lightning strike that Himiko’s romance manga described it as. There are no swelling violins in the background and it doesn’t rain rose petals.

It’s just heat, building and building, and his heart racing, and his body being too small for how good everything feels. Kissing Katsuki feels like he’s about to burst, in the best way possible.

It also feels like quiet. Finally, the first moments of calm he’s experienced in maybe his entire life. He doesn’t have to think about what to do next, what to say, or how to continue. He just gets to push himself into the warmth of a body slowly becoming pliant against him, and discover what it’s like to explore someone’s lips with his own.

Lips are extraordinarily sensitive, is what he learns. He feels every push, every tremble. Katsuki’s bottom lip is so tempting to bite, so he tries it, and the hero immediately pulls him closer and darts his tongue out.

They’re clumsy and their noses bump and their hands try to be everywhere at once, and he never wants it to end. Not even when Katsuki slips his tongue into Shoto’s mouth and he makes the most undignified sound.

Katsuki is the one who finally breaks the kiss. He doesn’t pull away, just leans their foreheads together.

"Fucking criminal."

"What did I do now?"

"Stole my first kiss." Shoto’s laughter is so loud in their quiet little post-kiss moment. Katsuki pulls at his hair and tries to hide a grin. "Don't laugh, it's not funny."

"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard."

"I bet.” He brushes their noses together, gently. “If you tell anyone I said it, I'll deny it."

"Your secret is safe with me." A quick peck. "Also, I explicitly asked for consent, so I didn't steal shit. This will never hold up in court."

He presses his mouth back to Katsuki's lips, firmer this time. When he kisses back, Shoto finds the courage to slide one hand up and gently cup the back of the hero's neck. When he lets the spiky blond hair slip through his fingers as he slides his hand across his scalp, a full-body shudder goes through the other boy. 

Shoto smiles against Katsuki's mouth, gently locks his fingers in his hair and gives a slight pull. He wants to devour the groan it earns him in response. 

Both of Katsuki's hands shoot out and grab him by the hips. He hooks his fingers in the belt loops and yanks Shoto closer, until they're standing flush to each other again. Shoto brings his free hand up to brace himself and his palm lands in the middle of Katsuki's chest. His heart is hammering against his ribs like a rolling thunder, his breathing is coming out high and rapid like he's scared. 

It's the sweetest compliment, that this proud and overpowered hero who would fight the sun itself if he believed it insulted him, can turn right back into a blushing teenager with one kiss. Shoto’s kiss.

Oh God, he just had his first kiss. Katsuki will forever and always be his first kiss.

He kisses him one, two, three more times, then sighs against his neck.

"I should go."

"Tease,” Katsuki breathes in his ear and then presses his mouth to the sensitive spot just below.

Fucking God, that is so unfair.

"Oh? Okay, then I'll stay."

He’s more than happy to just surrender and let Katsuki mouth at his neck and paw at his sides. He could stay here until morning, if he’s honest. But then Katsuki peeks at his watch and groans.

"Jesus, it's 1am already? I have remedial courses in the morning."

"How unfortunate." Shoto grabs Katsuki by the chin and licks his way back into his mouth. God, kissing is amazing. Why do people do anything else with their lives?

"We should go," Katsuki whispers.

"We should,” Shoto agrees. Neither of them makes a move to leave.

"I'm free tomorrow night."

"Me too."

"Not just for… this.” He pulls them closer. “We're still training, Icyhot."

"Okay. Training and then more of this?" Shoto pecks Katsuki on his nose. The hero makes a noise and pushes him away, but softly. He grabs Shoto’s hand as he leads him back to where they left their things.

"Maybe. If you train well."

"Oh, that's how you want to play it?" Shoto flicks his leg up in a teasing kick.

"I'm not playing." Katsuki grabs him by the back of his neck and kisses him one last time, hard. His grin turns all of Shoto’s organs into liquid gold. "I take this very seriously."

He’s gonna be the end of me.

***

(Later, after Shoto made it home, suddenly in a hurry.)

Katsuki 💥 

you motherfucker

did you take my fucking hoodie?

Akio 😈

i could not resist

Katsuki 💥

that's my favorite one

i better get that back

Akio 😈

i will fight you for it

or i'll give you one of mine

Katsuki 💥

you're not smooth

Akio 😈

:)

Katsuki 💥

we are not trading clothes, you cheeseball

Akio 😈

then you'll have to rip it off me next time 

because i am never taking this off again

Katsuki 💥

…

you know what

i'm not touching that

Akio 😈

i mean, you're welcome to touch 

Katsuki 💥

oh my god

go to sleep, I beg of you

Akio 😈

would you? beg? 

Katsuki 💥

GOODNIGHT, AKIO

Akio 😈

goodnight, Katsuki :)

***

Earlier that same night.

Hawks sucks at picking meeting spots. He clearly only thinks of himself when he texts Dabi a meeting location and it's once again on a rooftop. Easy access if you have wings, sure, but Dabi hates showing up to meet the hero out of breath from running up a fire escape. 

Kurogiri won't warp him directly over to the meeting spots, and with good reason. Hawks is too fast. Who knows what could happen if he sees the gate open? Better to not risk it and just make Dabi leg it from a few blocks away.

It’s not all bad, though. It’s definitely not a punishment to spend some time looking at the hero as he absentmindedly folds his wings open and shut, backlit by the glow of the city’s nightlife. Dabi definitely isn’t complaining about the view.

He likes having Japan’s favorite protector all to himself every few nights. It makes him feel powerful, that some burned-up street urchin turned violent criminal can command Hawks’ attention like that. He likes that the hero has to play nice with him whether he wants to or not, because Dabi has something he needs.

And he definitely likes the attention. The location might do him some favors in that regard as well. He knows he looks extra intimidating when the neon-speckled darkness turns his scars almost black, and he knows how hypnotic the blue of his fire looks at night when he casually lights a cigarette with his fingers.

It’s cold as all hell up here, with the wind pulling at their hair and their clothes. Dabi doesn’t give a fuck. He lets his coat fall open so the wind plucks at his ratty, too-thin shirt. Even in the middle of some bullshit story Hawks is telling to keep up his front of ‘dumbass little hero with a yearning for joining the League’, the sharp yellow eyes flick down to Dabi’s chest.

Every damn time, you stupid obvious honeypot. 

He wants to cackle with laughter. Instead he leans back against the metal barrier and sticks his chest out some more. He knows the exact moment his piercings are visible through the thin fabric, because the bird can’t keep his damn eyes to himself. 

The nipple rings are new and still tender, but he can't stop showing them off. A few weeks ago, right before he met Hawks, he walked into Tami's shop and told her he wanted to get a piercing his little brother wouldn't try to imitate for once. 

He walked out with a silver barbell through each nipple and, for reasons he can't quite explain beyond fuck it why not, three rungs of a Jacob's ladder on the underside of his dick. Even if he has no one to appreciate those , Dabi enjoys the look a lot. Just knowing they're there makes him put on the act sometimes. 

Like now. Like every time he catches Hawks looking him up and down.

He’s reminded of that handful of almost-encounters he and the winged hero have had over the years. Dabi was always too small for Hawks to notice. Whether he was tumbling off a burning building or nearly knocked Dabi over because he was practicing his dumb moves for fun, Dabi wasn’t worthy of the golden boy’s attention. He didn’t even see him.

But now he does. And it’s like he has never seen anything quite like him. He probably hasn’t. Poor, sheltered little savior.

Dabi has his full attention, because Dabi is important now. Oh, it’s intoxicating, those yellow eyes on his mangled skin. It’s like those magazines he used to steal from newsstands and stared at until he hated himself for it, suddenly came to life.

He thinks back on how he used to be almost intimidated by the winged hero. The thought pulls a cruel smile over his lips now. Hawks seems a lot less mythical when he’s on solid ground. He cuts a much less impressive figure with the wings tucked into his back, and Dabi only recently realized how short he actually is. 

A mad thought tells him You could probably lift him up. Hollow bird-bones and all. If you get some leverage under him, you could probably fuck the number two hero standing up. 

And then the rational part of his brain clears its throat and goes Excuse me, we could what?

“Thanks for that tip about the raid on the Hassaikai complex, by the way,” Dabi says. His smile is sharp and cruel when he sees the hero’s face fall for a moment.

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Oh, what’s with the face?” Dabi jeers. “Are you still sulking about me burning that sand hero? What was his name again?”

“Snatch.” Hawks’ voice is impressively impassive. “I’ve worked with him before. He wasn’t a bad guy. Didn’t think he’d be gone just like that, is all. I’m new to this, cut me some slack.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I go easy on you?” Dabi pushes off and walks into the hero’s space. “Did I hurt your feelings when I killed your friend , Birdie?”

It’s not Dabi’s fault that he’s a monster. He was made this way, dragged across the edge of the world until he became just as sharp in return. Gleaming, thinner than a spider’s thread and filed into a point. Every part of him is whetted. If Hawks wants to judge him for that from high atop Mount Hero, he’s gonna look real stupid when Dabi sinks his claws into him and drags him down to his level. 

“Look at it this way, I only killed one hero during that entire operation. I’d say I kept myself in check pretty well.”

The bird’s expression doesn’t change, except for a small tick in his jaw. He’s holding back, forcing himself to stay in character. It’s still visible because Dabi is a paranoid bastard who looks for these signs. Hawks isn’t allowed to get as mad as he wants to. That shows how short of a leash the spy is actually on.

“Yeah, that’s fair. All for the cause, right?”

Dabi does laugh at that one. It’s almost cute to see him try so hard.

“I have a new assignment for you, hero. To prove your loyalty.”

“Lay it on me, hot stuff.” Dabi shoots him a look and the hero gives a lazy grin. He’s right back into character.

“The boss wants copies of the League’s files. All of it.”

“That’s not a small ask. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You better get it done, pretty bird. Or I’m flunking you for your villain entrance exam.”

“And I’d so hate to disappoint you.” He winks and unfolds his wings. “It’s getting late, though. I gotta head back.”

“Miss you already,” Dabi taunts as Hawks takes off. 

He waits until the silhouette of the wings against the overcast sky vanishes from view before he texts Kurogiri and makes his way back down the fire escape.

Ah, his grin is pulling at his staples. The thought of golden boy Hawks joining a villain organization is too fucking funny. And him infiltrating the League to take them out from the inside is even worse. He doesn’t have it in him to get his hands dirty like that. 

Oh but please, Birdie, do try.

Dabi has only just met the hero, but he’s pretty sure he can find his way through the dark a lot better than the commission's coddled little pet. Dabi will beat him with experience until he begs to be put out of his misery.

Not everyone can handle facing the worst version of themself. Dabi has barely made it as long as he has, and he lost most of his mind along the way. The hero will definitely die screaming if he lets himself get corrupted.

Dabi can’t wait to have a front row seat to that spectacle.

***

An hour after Dabi gets home, Shoto waltzes back into the hideout. He has the biggest, dumbest smile on his face and he's wearing a hoodie that definitely doesn't belong to him and his feet seem to barely touch the floor. Dabi guesses what he’s about to say before he opens his mouth.

“Katsuki and I kissed. And he wants to do it again.”

It’s… cute. It’s cute and embarrassing in a way only a little sibling can be. Shoto bounces off the walls of their room as he tells Dabi in detail what happened. He actually has to make puking sounds a few times to interrupt Shoto before he scars Dabi for life.

(“Akio, I beg you, please don’t tell me where he groped you. I promise I get the picture, I don’t need to know more.”)

But Shoto is happy. Really, truly happy. Dabi has never seen him beam like this, a pink blush streaking across his cheeks and his face stiff from smiling.

He tells him he’s happy for him. Tries to tack on a warning like a good big brother should, and not even about Shoto being a villain and Bakugou being a hero because they’re well past that. He tries to give him good older sibling advice about protecting the sensitive parts of himself and offers to give Explosion Boy the shovel talk of his life. 

Shoto rolls his eyes and throws himself bodily at his brother. He squeals like a puppy.

God, he’s so happy.

He forgets about the plan for a moment, as he watches Shoto roll around on his blankets and make dumb squeaky noises because he can’t form words anymore. He forgets this story ends in tragedy and death.

He looks on in silence, and Dabi tries his very best to not be jealous of his little brother.

Because he has never kissed anyone like that in his entire godforsaken life.