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I.
“touya?” comes down the hospital’s hallway and it takes dabi a moment for the name to register and his body to flinch. he knows that voice. striding away faster, he does his best to be inconspicuous to the people milling around.
the steady thrum of feet closes in on him to his left. red, crimson blood red, fills his peripheral vision.
shouto crowds into him, shoving his body in front of dabi until he’s forced to veer right or risk an altercation. the small hallway they stand in is two doors deep for supplies and storage. shouto fills the only exit, the stark white fluorescent lights behind casting a halo over his form.
“touya.” shouto repeats, surer and firmer.
it’s been so long since dabi’s seen him. truly seen him, not the mild taunting and whirl of action in the forest all those months ago. looks him in the eyes just to observe not hurt.
“it’s dabi.” shouto’s eyebrows furrow and he takes half a step back. dabi tugs his black medical mask down. how the hell did shouto even recognize him anyways?
“you may be dabi now, but you’ll always be todoroki touya.” there’s a pause as he jams his hands in pockets, “you can’t run from the todoroki name.”
the younger sounds tired, like he’s tried and tried and tried but it’s a sisyphean task that he no longer has the energy to bear.
when did you get so smart, dabi thinks, looking him over. he’s taller now than he was as a chubby-cheeked kid. obviously. but he looks so much more grown now; sharp edges, toned muscle, a set to his shoulders, and a chilled calm in his eyes.
“watch me.” dabi grins with straight teeth, purple skin, shiny metal. the hood he was ducked under is pushed back now that it’s only shouto.
“i should be detaining you.”
“you can try.” dabi scoffs, but he’s not as sure as he’d like. he’s got years of experience on the brat, but— shouto’s nothing to scoff at. he’s the prodigy after all.
“does mom know what you are?”
could shouto fucking stick to one topic and not be a complete scatter-brain?
“what do you mean ‘what you are’?”
“touy— dabi,“ he amends when he sees dabi’s glare, “have you told her you’re a villain?”
“are you stupid?” dabi sneers at him, looking over the younger’s shoulder to plan his escape.
“i’ll presume that is a no.” the pretentious shit says, disapproving gaze fixed firmly on dabi as he steps closer effectively trapping dabi.
technically he could use his fire. but, he won’t. dabi clenches his fist in anger, palm heating up. the one weakness he has and it’s shoved in his face at every turn.
“take that whatever way you want i don’t give a shit. let me leave.”
“i was planning to surprise mom with a visit today.” shouto says, thoroughly ignoring him and dabi takes everything back, he’s ready to fucking strangle the kid.
“i can’t even tell you how many shits i don’t give.”
“but i think i’ll visit you instead.” dabi splutters in the middle of viciously cursing out his brother.
“you want to what now?!”
“visit you.” shouto blinks at him, not a flicker of emotion on his face.
“yeah that’s what i thought you said. like hell you’re fucking visiting me. what kinda bullshit is that? i’m not a goddamn museum for you to visit. what? wanna see what dad’s first failure ended up like?”
“no.” shouto tilts his head and his bangs fall to the side covering dad’s eye. “i would like to see what has become of my nii-san.”
“i’m not your fucking anything.” dabi bites out tersely, way too affected by the term.
“you swear too much.” shouto says idly, turning on his heel to step out into the main hallway. dabi curses him under his breath, but brushes roughly past him.
“don’t follow me.” dabi throws over his shoulder, hunched into himself and slipping out of the hospital quietly.
“okay.” shouto says, following him.
marking it down as a hill he’s not willing to die on, dabi stalks home in a cloud of irritation and resignation. his apartment is not luxurious or beautiful by any standard but it serves its purpose when he’s not crashing in the LOV lounge and buildings.
it has a bed, it has a working refrigerator, it has clean water, it has all the basic necessities and maybe a bit more. he didn’t steal for that many years to be stuck with a complete dump.
dabi slams the door shut on shouto’s face with more than a little satisfaction and rips open the fridge for a drink. there’s a row of ramune melon sodas lining the inside of the door. he grabs one and passes it off behind him. a cool hand takes it from him and the crack of the plastic cap is audible.
“i haven’t had one of these in years.”
dabi rolls his eyes, “they’re literally everywhere, kid. it’s not a fucking delicacy.”
“let me rephrase.” shouto sighs after taking a sip, “i chose to not drink one in years since i thought you were dead and looking at them reminded me of you because i remember how much you loved—love—this specific drink.”
dabi grimaces, looking away in discomfort. what does he say? sorry you have fond memories of your oldest brother, but surprise! he’s the bad guy now.
“didn’t think you’d be so damn sentimental, shouto. doesn’t seem like you.”
he tilts his head to the side when there’s only the sound of his cap cracking and then silence. shouto’s eyes widen and he looks awed almost. like he’s figured out the last piece of a puzzle or realized that pigs can indeed fly. which they have been able to for centuries now because of quirks so that’s a fairly late realization on the younger’s part.
“you said my name.”
shit. fucking shit fuck.
“‘cause it’s your stupid name, fuckwit.” he gets a nose wrinkle for his words and a small, scolding ‘you curse too much’.
“who the hell are you? my mother?” dabi angrily takes a sip of his soda, relishing in the cold that soothes his insides.
“can i call you nii-san?” shouto asks instead, still determinedly staring at him.
“fuck no.” dabi hisses, feeling his heart stumble and chest seize.
“what you can do is get the hell out of here.”
shouto sighs and does something dabi would call pouting on any other person, “i guess touya is fine then.”
“i will rip your tongue out if you call me that.”
shouto gives him a side-ways glance, probably wondering where he got this murderous, volatile nature from.
“okay,” he says quietly, the ghost of a smile on his lips. dabi nearly takes his own head and slams it into the fridge; multiple times, very strongly, and with the intent of brain damage.
“–touya.”
a flare of blue shoots towards shouto which he blocks easily with a flick of ice.
“i’m gonna fucking kill you.”
shouto smiles at him.
II.
shouto comes back again the next weekend, this time after meeting with mom but he’d cut his time short to see dabi.
“touya.” shouto breathes in relief and awe when he spots him. like dabi is a dream that became reality. dabi hates him fervently for a moment before it melts away.
and then the younger keeps doing that. keeps looking at him with ill-concealed relief until dabi feels his skin tighten and his patience fray.
“would you stop looking at me like that.” he snaps, pencil tip pressed into the notebook sat on his lap. the eyes of hawks stare back at him. dabi curses and the pencil tip snaps. shouto hadn’t looked surprised when he’d opened the door, dabi doesn’t know where the fuck he got the fucking key, to find him drawing. dabi sometimes forgets that despite how much they don’t know each other, they also do know each other.
“like what?” shouto asks in confusion, looking down at himself for an answer.
“like— like i’m gonna fucking float off or some shit. i’m not a damn ghost, stop staring at me like i’m gonna disappear if you take your eyes off. matter of fact, don’t look at me.”
shout’s eyes undergo a process, an evolution. first they narrow in confusion before widening in realization then understanding before it softens, if todoroki shouto could ever soften, in bittersweet humor.
“you are though.” shouto speaks quietly, staring at him with those dual eyes. dabi glances to the side when the eye contact gets too much.
“you are a ghost. i’m afraid if i turn away too long you’ll be gone. ashes.”
dabi didn’t sign up for this poetic bullshit.
“i’m happy you’re alive, touya.” shouto says as emotionally as he can get, strained tone holding back all the feelings he’ll never really let show. dabi feels the familiar yet old twinge of guilt and discomfort, one he hasn’t felt in years.
for him knowing what’s happening to his family is as easy as reading the news. his siblings had no idea if he’s alive or not. shouto may be emotionally stunted after living with their father for this long but even dabi realizes that shouto must have missed him for all these years. in a capacity greater than what dabi allowed himself to believe.
“that’s very sentimental of you.”
a tiny crease appears between shouto’s eyebrows.
“i’m not a sentimental person. you are not an old toy that i stumbled upon to feel—sentimental—over. how could i not be happy that my brother is alive?”
there’s a mild undertone of indignance and, dabi frowns, is that hurt? what about his words were hurtful he can’t figure out.
“do you really think that little of me?” shouto asks quietly, his eyes glazed over, unseeing, and trained on the small coffee table he’s sitting in front. dabi inhales in shock but shouto doesn’t seem like he’s searching for an answer. the younger pushes himself off the couch and he disappears into the kitchen.
dabi stares at the spot that was just vacated before looking down at his notebook with a sigh. he flips the page and the jagged tip of the pencil brushes against the paper with hesitant, feather-light strokes that slowly become surer and firmer. a flower forms in short lines and dull gray color. dabi can almost imagine it in his hands, the cool white of his mother’s ice and the chill of it in his palm.
a reminder of love.
a white pansy—thoughts of love.
dabi looks at it closely when something catches his eye. he’s subconsciously drawn a fifth petal hidden underneath the other ones. the way shouto made it. his mother, natsuo, fuyumi shaped exactly four petals for each ice user in the family. they still offered him one but it melted easily in his hold.
dabi remembers the timid way shouto had stood in front of him, back when their father hadn’t yet locked him away from the rest of them. a shy blush on his cheeks, hands tucked behind his back. and he’d presented dabi with the ice flower, “five petals because you’re my brother, too.”
sentimental, dabi scoffs to himself, incredibly sentimental.
III.
dabi’s dyeing his hair in the bathroom when shouto appears silently at the door, quiet as a ghost. he startles badly, dropping the bowl full of black hair dye on the floor.
shouto barely blocks the immediate flare of blue flames that are sent his way, nearly swallowing him whole if not for the ice that instinctively forms, filling the entire doorway.
it should maybe say something about his security and precaution if shouto can just fucking appear at his doorway without dabi even realizing he’s entered the apartment.
“hold on. how the fuck did you even get in?”
the ice starts to melt away and clog the bathroom with steam. shouto keeps his left hand on the pillar of ice, dissolving it absent-mindedly as he stares curiously at the dye that’s spilling on dabi’s bathroom floor.
he crouches down to pick it up, glancing up at shouto when there’s no answer. shouto stares at the black mixture and then at his hair like he’ll be able to see the red that should be there. he won’t, dabi’s already finished coloring his roots, he just tends to overmix and end up with an excess.
instead of answering his question or commenting on the dye the way shouto looks like he’s dying to do, he says something else.
“you almost killed me.”
dabi can’t help it. he startles and fumbles the cup, black smearing on his fingers and dripping down his hand.
“the fuck?” dabi hisses, setting the container down on the sink before he accidentally melts the plastic.
“i did not.”
“you did.” shouto says calmly. not a muscle on his face twitches. dabi never quite learned to hide his emotions, not like shouto. these days he doesn’t try much at all, rather shapes his flames with them when he needs it.
“how the hell did i—?”
“—if i hadn’t blocked the fire it would have burned me badly at the very least.”
dabi has no argument for that. he twists open the tap to wash his hands
“yeah, well. it’s your problem. you’re the one who keeps coming back. and stop changing the topic. how the hell did you get in? i would’ve heard you if you kicked the door open.”
“i walked through the front door.” shouto deadpans. honest to hell, dabi can not tell if he’s fucking around or not, shouto’s just that annoying.
“how.”
shouto stares at him blankly for a pause and dabi tastes regret when he swallows.
“by using my legs.”
once again, shouto forms a shield of ice to stop dabi’s fire. the level to which shouto can read him and his signals is bordering on concerning. because they’re on the opposite sides at the end of the day. he needs to protect himself. villain vs hero. evil vs good. wrong vs right. dad vs mo— he lets that thought die out.
you look like your father, rings in his ears and dabi grips the sink counter and faces himself in the mirror. shouto is watching him with the barest hint of worry.
and then his eyes fall to the bowl of dye and stay there long enough dabi takes notice of it.
“you would not look good in black hair.”
if it were someone else dabi would expect indignant outrage or maybe a snarky quip. but it’s shouto so he turns to the mirror and tugs at a strand of his bangs and looks hopelessly lost.
“no.”
dabi puts it out there just for future referral. he said no, he did the responsible thing and advised shouto, he called it before disaster strikes.
“no what?”
dabi gives him a ‘do you think i’m stupid’ glare. nudges the bowl farther away from shouto to which the younger gives him a soft, parted-mouth look of shock.
“i wasn’t even considering that.”
“good.”
“but—”
“no.”
shouto huffs near silently like he doesn’t quite know how to be a rebellious, moody teenager. his eyes track back to the mirror and he ponders his white hair quietly while dabi waits with black dye on his roots.
“do you have any bleach?” shouto asks suddenly and dabi blinks twice to come back to himself.
“no?” dabi narrows his eyes in bemusement and he watches shouto fiddle with his red hair, “oh.”
“father would be so pissed.”
shouto blinks once in impatience, “that is the point.”
“so you do know how to be a rebellious teenager you just choose not to.” dabi hums to himself in delight. shouto blinks again and gives him a questioning eyebrow raise.
“nothing. just enjoying this new side of you.”
“it’s not new.” shouto corrects him quietly, but he doesn’t elaborate.
“do you have bleach?” shouto asks again. dabi waits long enough to answer so that he’s a dramatic asshole, before shaking his head in the negative, mock-sad.
shouto deflates like a kicked puppy and dabi groans to himself. one (1) weakness. just the one (1).
“you’re rich, idiot, go fucking buy it and come back.”
shouto perks up, shoulders straightening out and he nods once in barely concealed excitement which on him would probably just be a small smile, that stupid emotionally stunted disaster child.
when he hears the door shut he turns back to the mirror with a sigh and taps his finger on the counter.
thirty minutes later, his hair is freshly washed and utterly black. forty-five minutes later, shouto walks in with a white plastic bag straining with boxes.
“i said buy bleach not the entire shop.” shouto ignores him and dumps the bag out onto the kitchen table. there’s definitely more than bleach in there.
“i googled what you need to bleach hair successfully.”
“you need shit to bleach hair now.” dabi narrows his eyes at the bottle that rolls towards him. the fuck is a toner?
“yes.” shouto says gravely.
“i’m not doing it for you. actually why the hell are you here? ask that kid with a hero complex to help you.”
shouto parts his mouth to respond but then his breath hitches in thought, “but we are trying to be heroes. they all have hero complexes.”
“the suicidal freak. cries too much, fucking annoying as shit, ugly ass red shoes.”
shouto clicks his tongue in anger but lets the comments slide, “you mean midoriya.”
“sure.” dabi snorts, picking the bottle of toner up. literally why does anyone need five different products just to bleach hair. just dunk the hair in bleach and move the fuck on.
“i need a bowl.”
“what you need is to get the hell out.”
“nevermind i found a bowl.”
“are you even listening to me?”
“no. i’m going to use your bathroom. i might need some help.” shouto clutches everything to his chest and leaves with them precariously balanced. dabi doesn’t mention that he could’ve just put everything back in the bag like any sane person. dabi’s not really sane, then again, so he doesn’t have room to talk.
shouto calls him over to help him with the back of his head. dabi loiters in the hallway and flexes his fingers anxiously because this is awkward. he hasn’t seen shouto in years and now he’s helping him bleach his hair. he’s going to be in shouto’s personal space voluntarily and without any evil motivation.
he does it all the same. holds his breath unnecessarily and stands far enough away even shouto realizes it’s not socially normal and shoots him a strange look in the mirror. but he doesn’t say anything just waits patiently as dabi pokes and prods at his hair like it’ll bite him, patting the bleach in tentatively like shouto’s hair is a particularly nasty pet rat.
“done.” he declares with relief and runs from the bathroom.
“you still have to help with the toner.” shouto says loudly which is probably toga’s regular volume so can it really be called loud?
“screw your toner! i’ll tone your hair with flames if you even try me with that crap!” he yells back, but his legs are already retracing his steps without his permission.
“that’s called attempted murder.” shouto snarks back monotonously. they wait around the apartment awkwardly for thirty minutes and dabi taps his foot too much like he’s wont to do when he’s nervous. though why shouto doing his damn hair is making him fucking nervous, he doesn’t understand.
after half an hour shouto is bending down to wash his hair under the sink. dabi would offer the shower but he doesn’t feel very courteous. he also doesn’t point out how washing bleach out, head facing down, is probably the quickest way to go blind.
and then shouto picks up the toner and gives him aggressively soft little side glances. dabi sighs then rips the bottle from his hands. his motions are awkward as he works the toner into the back of shouto’s head. thankfully, the rest shouto does by himself.
“may i use the shower?” shouto asks another thirty minutes and a bottle of ramune melon soda later.
dabi gives him a look, “no. you’re not taking your clothes off in my apartment. this,” and he points between them, “is already weird as hell as it is.”
“okay.” shouto says and he walks to the bathroom. a minute later the sound of the shower travels down the hallway to dabi’s ears.
“what did i just fucking say you piece of shit!” dabi shouts, stalking down the hallways with flames leaping on his fingers.
“i didn’t take my clothes off.” shouto protests through the patter of water.
dabi pauses in front of the partly shut door and then says fuck it and kicks it open like he’s the police or something, bracing himself for the worst.
but, nope. there shouto is. standing in the shower. fully fucking clothed.
dabi stares at him, jaw dropped open in shock. shouto stares back at him guilelessly, looking like a drowned cat through the glass. his hair is plastered to his skull and a dark white from water.
“you’ve gone and lost your motherfucking mind.” dabi says, still open-mouthed in surprise. it’s just so fucking weird that shouto of all people would do this. it’s a bit discomfiting how little dabi truly knows him, even if it is to be expected. they haven’t talked about this, these meetings, just fallen into a pretense of familiarity; bickering, yelling, and adopting somewhat antagonistic yet familial roles without thinking too hard about the context.
but. that’s his little brother.
dabi puts it out of his mind and wordlessly watches as shouto steps out of the shower and stands in front of the mirror, dripping water everywhere.
“the— what the he— stop fucking turning my bathroom into a swamp. how in the name of hell did you think this was a good idea?’
and then something terrifying happens.
shouto smiles.
an honest to god expression of something other than emotional constipation, bitchy brattiness, or ‘i’m socially repressed please help’ crosses his face.
steam starts wafting into the air like it did a couple of hours ago and dabi sighs, rolls his eyes.
“prodigal son. should’ve known.”
shouto tilts his head curiously, “can’t you do this with your quirk?”
“i’ve never needed to control my quirk, idiot.” dabi scoffs, staring down at his nails and pretending like his ego isn’t pricked, “and besides my quirk is cremation, a blue fire. it’s too powerful.”
which is completely true but utter bullshit. he’s trying to soothe his pride. not that shouto has to know that.
in fact shouto nods like he’s spouted a deep truth of the universe. or dabi is all might with that ever pretentious optimism and the subsequently inspiring speeches.
it takes a couple of minutes for shouto to dry fully and dabi leaves him to it, wandering back to the couch and picking up his notebook turned sketch-book. he’s not nearly well off enough to purchase a professional grade one, but he’s also not that fucking picky.
he’s vaguely outlined the shape of a certain hero’s body when shouto slinks into the room and curls up on the couch, fingers carding through his totally white hair absentmindedly.
“i’m surprised you didn’t fry your hair with the bleach.” shouto looks at him in worry.
“that was a possibility?”
“didn’t you do your research?”
“well— yes.”
“whatever, at least you were lucky.”
“does it look good?” shouto asks him in concern looking like he genuinely cares what dabi has to say.
dabi glares at him, “do you want to die?”
shouto stares at him and licks his lips as he visibly wars with himself, before he glances off to the side, “should i answer that honestly or—?”
dabi splutters at that, snapping the pencil tip before nearly throwing the book at him, “i’m not your fucking therapist, get a damn grip.”
shouto’s hair is fine to be honest. dabi thinks it looks much better than ugly red anyway. the two sides aren’t exactly the same color of white but it’s not outrageously noticeable and either way anything is better than red.
“how mad do you think father would be?” shouto asks after minutes of silence.
dabi snorts in answer, which is all that’s necessary.
“record a video of his reaction and i’ll do something for you.” dabi offers temptingly, “within reason.” he adds for safety measure because turning himself in or doing something even more horrific like eating a meal with his siblings for family dinner is not worth endeavor flipping his shit at shouto’s hair.
“help me dye my hair again. father won’t be put off for long by just my white hair.” shouto requests immediately which dabi accepts with a nod. could be worse. the phrasing of that sentence snags in dabi’s mind but. he brushes it off.
“already?”
“no. in the future.”
“you know this isn’t— you’re gonna have to stop paying me these little visits at some point. you realize that right? if someone from the LOV catches you here you’re dead.”
shouto looks like he’s going to be a stubborn teen and argue so dabi continues before he can something corny like ‘but you’re my brother’.
“and i won’t stop them.” he says cruelly. shouto eyes flicker with an unreadable emotion, carefully concealed and shuttered away. dabi bets it hurt. he expects the pointed response. still doesn’t stop his lips from curling.
“i wouldn’t expect any less, touya.”
V.
the fifth time dabi opens his apartment door to find shouto in the apartment, he’s curled up and asleep on dabi’s couch. he’s tense even when he sleeps, eyebrows furrowed slightly, teeth grinding together. dabi watches him and considers letting him be, but damn it he’s not a daycare.
lifting a hand consideringly, palm facing up, dabi toys with the idea of using his fire to wake shouto up. but that’s a dick move, even for him. resigning himself to tapping on his shoulder like regular people, dabi leans over the couch and places a warm hand on shouto’s shoulder. the temperature difference is notable, with shouto’s right side running much cooler than normal and dabi being a living furnace.
what he’s not ready for is the way shouto jolts awake like he’s been punched, eyes wide and unseeing as they stare up at dabi’s. pupils shrink in horror. shouto stares at him but dabi knows he’s not seeing him, rather someone else.
“hey, kid.”
shouto blinks rapidly before slumping into himself like he’s ran five miles, hand clutching the material of his shirt.
“sorry. i— sorry, bad dream.”
dabi doesn’t point out the fact that his panic was definitely not because of a dream and more of an instinctual reaction to being awakened.
“sure.” he obliges with the poor excuse instead. his hand grows hotter and he removes it from shouto’s shoulder before the kid can react to it or before he accidentally sets his brother on fire with his seething anger.
nobody, nobody, wakes up expecting the worst if they weren’t traumatized to some extent. dabi can guess just who might’ve instilled that response. it’s not hard when their dad’s training was more like excused torture in the name of ‘preparations for the future’.
“you want some food?” dabi asks out of the kindness in his heart but shouto stares at him like he’s just admitted to endeavor being the father of the year. when a minute goes by and he gets nothing except a parted mouth and round eyes as response, dabi waves a flaming hand in front of shouto’s face.
“hey, dumbass. do you want some fuckin’ food?” shouto blinks once, closes his mouth and nods very slowly as if dabi is going to explode from being polite.
“why are you offering me food?” shouto asks quizzically.
dabi narrows his eyes at him and wonders how he ever thought this bitch was smart, “you want me to let you fucking starve?”
“no. it’s just— you’re giving me food. simply to be nice?”
dabi registers that comment and assesses all the fronthanded insults in there and maturely elects to ignore them.
“i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that and save your ass from being set on fire. now get off my couch and tell me what you like to eat.”
“soba.” shouto replies immediately, and then freezes and stares at dabi nervously. when dabi doesn’t do anything other than give him a ‘why are you so damn weird’ look, he clarifies, “cold soba.”
dabi doesn’t feel any particular way about soba but he does feel a particular way about watching his younger brother flinch awake so with that same kindness from his heart he leaves and comes back with soba.
“i almost fucking ran into toga, you’re such a nuisance shouto.”
shouto slurps on his food and doesn’t answer.
“if the others find out you’re in my apartment you’re screwed. massively. i can’t do anything for you.”
at that shouto snorts around his noodles in un-todoroki like fashion and looks up at him after sucking into his mouth and swallowing.
“you can. you won’t. there’s a difference. either way i won’t need it. i don’t plan on getting caught by that— yandere reject.”
dabi snickers abruptly and then immediately feels bad because he does like toga despite how obsessive she can be. his attempt to regain his composure must not make it to his face before shouto’s lips twitch dangerously.
“i don’t know why you stick with them. you’re no villain, touya.”
dabi sobers at the use of his birth name, glaring down at his soba. they’re making progress. he decides to let it go.
“you have names for the rest of the league?” he asks instead, sticking to safer grounds.
“well there is handjob, donatello, anal beads, knockoff deadpool, and you.” dabi hates himself a little bit more for immediately realizing who is who.
“anal beads?” he chokes instead, patting his chest when some food gets stuck.
“yes, i mean— ” and shouto shrugs like that means something but dabi’s thankful he’s not expanding on that. there are things he doesn’t need to know.
“what is his name anyways?”
“mr. compress.” dabi stops to think if he’s giving away too much before shaking it off. whatever, every man for themself.
“handjob’s?”
“boss, shigaraki, kid, whiny five year old, pain in my ass, naggy bitch. take your pick.”
“wouldn’t mind calling him ‘daddy’ if he cleaned up once in a while.” shouto mumbles into his chopsticks. to himself, but it’s still unfortunately loud enough to hear.
dabi stares.
“what.”
shouto looks up with a noodle hanging from his mouth, “what?”
“what?”
“dabi, what is it?”
“what did you say?!”
“uh,” shouto glances around the room in search of dabi’s missing sanity even though it’s clearly shouto that needs a mental checkup, therapy for life, and maybe solitary confinement, “‘dabi, what is it?’”
“no before that.”
“‘what.’”
“i said what did you say before that.”
“yeah, ‘what’.”
dabi growls in irritation and shoves himself onto his feet, “forget it. i’m gonna go pour some bleach in my brain.”
shouto stares after him nonplussed, soba still dangling from his lips before shrugging and continuing his meal.
VII.
“what are you doing, idiot.” dabi asks in resignation the seventh time he finds shouto in his apartment. the younger is standing in the kitchen, empty ramune bottle on the counter next to him, and looking very innocent for someone who stole dabi’s soda.
“you’re going to get yourself killed or in trouble.” shouto seems uncomfortably unconcerned with his potential demise. dabi’s still not touching that with a ten-foot-pole.
“did you forget that i’m a villain?” which it is obvious shouto hasn’t, there’s no way he could. but in that case it doesn’t explain why he keeps coming back. for what a stray sibling that couldn’t quite make it in the nest?
“so you care?”
dabi grits his teeth. the brat was more trouble than he was worth, dabi swears.
“get yourself killed for all i care. just stop bugging me.”
“the last time someone irritated you even the slightest you set them on fire and burned them alive. you don’t fool me.”
dabi bit his cheek at being caught. fucker knew him too well.
“just because i don’t burn you alive doesn’t mean you aren’t an annoying piece of shit. that’s a horrible standard you’ve got there.”
“come back home for one day and i’ll leave you alone.”
dabi nearly spits in his haste to tear those words down, “that’s not my home and it never fucking was. it’s a pretty facade for a torture chamber, i’ll be damned if ever set foot in it again for some pathetic little family time.”
“you may not think so, but we are your family, touya.” shouto eyes sharpen and his voice is eerily calm.
“we?” dabi sneers, “we are not anything. as long as that man is alive you all are just mindless pawns. don’t fucking include me in that shit. i didn’t build up the courage to escape all that pain and torture only to be dragged back in years later. fuyumi and natsuo can’t even stand up for themselves, those pitiful little wimps, and you want to include me in that. take your bullshit somewhere else.”
“you don’t understand torture.” shouto tells him in barely controlled rage. his voice is still fairly even, the todoroki trademarked temperate tone.
“you don’t understand pain.” shouto grits his teeth, and his eyes are fixed on the dead skin that pocket dabi’s body with tales of hurt and tears the likes not many ever experience. dabi finds his eyes narrowed.
“and you definitely don’t understand courage.” shouto’s lip pulls back in the beginnings of a sneer, the most emotion dabi has ever seen on his face.
“so don’t pretend like you are any better than me, touya. not you who ran away like a coward.”
dabi bares his teeth, feeling indignant, “would you rather have had dad burn me to ashes instead? when his first failure pissed him off too many times. sweep up my remains after practice one day wondering where touya went, oh that’s a lot of dust, and hey doesn’t this place smell a little— off? like those times dad burned touya too much.”
shouto flinches and looks away, “those burns are your own quirk’s fault.”
dabi lets out a dry, disbelieving laugh, “are you seriously defending dad right now? are you fucking serious?”
shouto’s eyes flash and he looks up, “i’m not defending anybody. i’m saying the truth.”
never before has something made his rage burn so brightly. the truth? he wants the truth? dabi would give him the fucking truth.
“i was nine-years-old shouto!” dabi shouts at him, blue flames leaping from his palms. the younger steps back and shuts down, walls slamming back in place until dabi’s staring at an ice fortress, an instinctive defense tactic. useless though, dabi has always been able to melt even the toughest of ice.
“i wasn’t a fucking prodigy! i wasn’t you! there’s a reason i’m failure number one and it isn’t because i couldn’t make some shitty ice! it’s because i couldn’t even make proper flames you pretentious fuck! my flames were blue, sure, that’s all good and great. but i was fucking mom’s child through and through, my body was weak as hell. the flames only covered my hands! my fucking hands!”
he bares his arms roughly and jabs at the purpled scars on his face. not even mentioning the ones that span his body.
“unless i was fucking demented enough to literally inch by inch burn myself with my own flames when i was nine-years-old i shouldn’t even have half of these scars! but do you know anyone else who can make flames hot enough to burn? oh right! dad.”
shouto doesn’t say anything for the longest of time. he just stares at the scars on dabi’s hands with a distant gaze. and then he blinks and looks up at dabi.
“you remind me of dad when you yell, touya.”
dabi feels all the anger and fire inside of him surge up at once and then sputter out.
“fuck you.”
he leaves.
VIII.
“dad used to yell at me a lot.” shouto says apropos of nothing. dabi doesn’t acknowledge him in any way. the window ledge he’s sitting on gives him a straight view of the streets below. there’s a kid digging through the trash.
“after you left.” and shouto sounds that out like it was the worst day of his life when dabi knows shouto was barely seven. too little time, too long ago, surely, for dabi to be significant in his life.
“used to blame me for you leaving, for mom going insane, for even the miniscule things such as a cup breaking or the food being burnt that day.”
shouto stands there with his hands in his pockets and contemplative frown on his face like he’s trying to figure out a sudoku puzzle, not talking about the ways their father abused him. he looks up when he feels dabi’s gaze on him.
“took it out on me during— training.” when he says ‘training’ dabi feels hollowed out and tense with denial. because the way he says it? god, it sounds terrifying and heart-breaking. it sounds like something that might make dabi snap just the way their mother did.
he looks out at the street again and the kid has wrenched the steel trash can to pieces.
“my earliest memories are very tactile and auditory.” dabi rolls his eyes hard at the fancy words. the brat couldn’t just say touch and sound like normal people.
“usually of pain and tears and blood. fire sometimes.” the descriptions leave him confused. tears? as in tearing a muscle, but not heat from flames? fire only sometimes?
“but my earliest memory. my very first memory.” shouto’s voice hitches like he’s about to cry and dabi tilts his head to watch him.
“it’s of you.” his eyes widen in surprise. dabi doesn’t have any words.
“it’s of you smiling and offering me— offering me cold soba. because dad wasn’t home, i think. and mom was still sane. and i hadn’t fully manifested my quirk. and you were still touya. you were touya who didn’t listen to dad. touya who smiled and laughed even when everything started crumbling apart. touya who came for me every time dad put me through hell in the name of training.”
shouto looks down at the floor and it’s then that dabi notices his eyes are wet with tears. he’s not crying, but his eyes are glossy and his arms are shaking in his pockets.
“you were still touya. my hero.”
dabi watches him leave, frozen in place.
X.
“you know, usually, i can only fuck someone with red hair.” shouto says casually. very casually. dabi chokes and wonders why the god damn fucking hell this is considered an appropriate topic of discussion between brothers.
“what— what the hell does that mean?” dabi doesn’t want to know, he really, really doesn’t. but he asks anyway because he’s a masochist at the core. all the staples on his body are proof of that.
i had red hair, he doesn’t point out. he dares not think any further on it.
and then this sixteen-year-old, this kid, his baby brother who he still loves in a corner of his tattered heart. looks him dead in the eyes, turquoise and dark gray against turquoise and turquoise. dad and mom against dad and dad.
looks him down to his soul, like he sees every last festering wound on dabi’s heart.
and says, “it means i’ve been wired so that only red hair turns me on.”
dabi feels his blood turn to ice. for all that he wields fire he finds himself frozen. cold horror snuffling out the blue flames that he has in place of a soul.
“you’re sixteen.” dabi utters hollowly, staring at him from across the beat up kitchen table.
“i’m aware.” shouto frowns at him like he’s hit his head. dabi’s going to watch the world burn and he won’t feel an ounce of regret. nothing in this world deserves to live peacefully if todoroki shouto was barely sixteen and this damaged.
dabi is going to burn a certain person alive or die trying.
“you— you should be worrying about how to even have sex. not telling me— that.”
“how the fuck do you even get made to only get turned on by red hair. that’s gotta, that’s some psychological torture crap right there. that has to be inhumane on so many levels.” his voice rises a little hysterically but he can’t be blamed. shouto said ‘i’ve been wired’ and dabi has never heard something so nauseating and disturbing.
“i mean you said red hair. do you know who has red hair? i mean— of course you do that’s fucking revolting! that’s disgusting. you were motherfucking conditioned so red hair gets you going but you’re sixteen. i need to kill something right now, i need to burn something to ashes right now, or i swear to god i’m going to explode. i can not motherfucking believe—”
“touya.” shouto says in a concerned voice and dabi wants to fucking scream. he feels furious and sickened and horrified. shouto is worried about him, when he was the one who was— who was.
even attempting to put a name to it makes dabi want to throw up.
“please tell i’m reading this wrong.” he asks, no, begs. dabi puts his head in his hands and tries valiantly not to think.
shouto inhales like he’s about to say something but there’s a long, drawn-out pause and dabi groans into his palms.
“i will burn him alive and i will enjoy every second of it.” dabi growls between clenched teeth, not needing to clarify exactly who ‘he’ is. blue flickers along his fingers, over and under in a dance.
“and neither you nor your morally superior friends are going to stop me.”
shouto considers his promise before tilting his head in reluctant acknowledgement, “it’s been eight years. i am tired of— training.”
they have to crack the window open to let all the smoke out because dabi set the table on fire.
XII.
dabi brings toga back to the apartment after a particularly rough day with shigaraki and his megalomaniac intent of being better than the yakuza. toga is nursing a pretty nasty cut on her arm, one that she seems joyfully unworried about in that psychotic way of hers.
he stops dead when he sees a blob of white on his couch, already turning back to kick toga out but she nimbly side steps him and coos in excitement at the person sitting.
“you got yourself a pet and you weren’t even going to invite me to play?” toga whines, blush sweetening her cheeks in that creepy ass way it does.
“i don’t have a pet. that’s a person.” dabi says, because at least if shouto was going to be exposed like this dabi would give him the honor of his dignity.
“oh, same thing.” toga sighs dreamily, skipping around the sofa where shouto sits frozen like a statue.
“hey, it’s a hero!” toga giggles in excitement, bending down to look shouto in the face, obviously breaching all kinds of personal space etiquette. dabi imagines if endeavor said he was gay and dating hawks, shouto would have much the same look, which is not nearly as entertaining a comparsion as he would like it to be. for reasons unknown that have absolutely nothing to do with the jealousy bubbling in his stomach.
“yes.” shouto manages to bite out at last. toga looks between them with her glazed eyes before she blinks and straightens.
“consorting with the enemy now, dabi?” toga asks him with a superficial level of casualness, but dabi can hear and see the sharp edge to her words. she’s looking for a reason behind his motives. she’s looking for the motives in the first place.
“nothing like that.” he glances at shouto and sees a brief flash of worry before the younger meets his eyes, finds something there, and then nods, “just catching up with the family.”
toga’s eyes widen in surprise, something he so rarely sees on her, so dabi takes a moment to savor it with delight. she glances between them, clearly trying to find the similarities given this new information but they don’t look near enough alike even without the dyed hair and scars littering dabi’s body.
“he’s your brother?” toga asks a little incredulously, narrowing her eyes at shouto like he’s purposely looking different from dabi.
“yep.” dabi nods, heart racing because as much as he does trust toga— does he really trust toga?
she must pick up on that because toga chirps sweetly, “i won’t tell anyone, pinky promise!”
and then she puts her face in shouto’s face and smiles widely, “you’re the fire and ice kid! with the dual quirk! ahh, wow, you’re powerful. well, it’s so nice to meet you!”
shouto blinks uncomfortably and nods sharply once before saying in perfect deadpan, “you’re the yandere reject.”
“oh my g— shouto!” dabi hisses, torn between laughing and scolding him.
toga jerks back. her eyes narrow and her complexion darkens with anger. dabi fears for shouto’s safety. wait, no, he doesn’t, fuck that kid. but her anger wipes away in seconds and she straightens up with a sunny smile.
“you’re so cold, shouto—”
“it’s todoroki to you.” shouto cuts in tersely.
toga ignores him, smile curving up higher, “you’d be so much prettier with just— a little bit more— blood.”
and the knife that’s perpetually on her slides out and passes through the air where shouto was seconds ago, having narrowly dodged a knife to the cheek.
“aww,” toga whines, whirling around to face dabi, “he’s no fun. you should get another brother, dabi, i want to play!”
shouto face crinkles with horror, creeped out.
toga turns back to the younger, knife wagging between her fingers, “you need to lighten up, mister! how can you be so boring when you’re in love! isn’t it just divine to be in love?”
dabi gapes.
shouto blinks and a faint blush overtakes his cheeks, “i am not in love.”
toga stares at him for a moment before waving her arms around in frustration, “yes you are! i can smell it! you smell yummy, like strawberries and burnt sugar, absolutely delicious!”
“no i don’t— i am not in love.” shouto protests weakly, pressing back into the couch the more toga crowds him with her enthusiasm.
“toga, back up.” dabi calls out, before turning on shouto with raised eyebrows.
“you’re in love? you?” dabi asks incredulously, to which shouto glares.
“what does that mean.”
“i’m fucking blown away that’s what that means.”
“well, i am not.”
“toga might be fucking weird,” she pouts at him, “but she doesn’t lie about this shit. so who the fuck is it?”
“i’m—” shouto starts but drops the attempt when dabi looks at him. he purses his mouth and refuses to talk.
“is it the suicidal freak?” dabi wonders. toga lights up in recognition but then frowns right after, “but izuku is mine!”
“no.” shouto grits out, “it’s not midoriya.”
“is it! is it ochako! she’s my friend!” shouto shoots toga a side-ways glance at that but shakes his head firmly.
“not her.”
“how about that girl with barely anything on?”
shouto pauses at that in confusion, “yaoyorozu momo?”
“sure, makes shit out of her body.”
“she’s a friend.” shouto sighs, “would you two give up?”
toga flaps her arms once in disappointment, “you’re really no fun, mister!”
shouto looks like he couldn’t care less. a thought occurs to dabi and he almost laughs in realization.
“hey, shouto. is it that kid with the anger issues? curses too much, probably an inferiority complex or five.”
the younger freezes tellingly and at that dabi does laugh, hoarsely and with unrestrained glee. toga bounces on the spot, “oh! oh! the one we kidnapped! he was so angry, he really needs to lighten up.”
“really?” dabi chokes out, “you’re in love with that kid? you need some fucking standards, shouto, he’s such an asshole.”
shouto looks resigned. like he’s ready for the ground to swallow him or lightning to strike him dead but he knows it’s not going to happen so he’s accepted the fact that the sweet relief of death is still out of reach.
“i know.” is all he says in the end.
“no, like, seriously.” dabi says, sobering up, “he’s an asshole, not even in the kind of good way.”
toga nods in agreement, tapping a finger against her cheek in worry, “is he mean to you? that’s no fun, mean crushes are the worst.”
“i can not believe i am getting relationship advice from daddy issues lite and the yandere reject.” shouto mutters to himself monotonously, staring at his hands. his face is devoid of emotions.
“how am i daddy issues lite?” dabi is honestly offended. damn, maybe he needs a therapist.
“he’s not a dick to me.” shouto answers instead, going back to what toga asked him, “he— he really isn’t.”
“sure.” dabi rolls his eyes, but he kind of does believe the kid. shouto isn’t the type to lie, and the tired way he answers suggests that he’s thought about this and talked about this too many times.
“shouldn’t you clean that up?” shouto changes the topic, looking at the ripped sleeve on toga’s right arm, blood soaking it thoroughly.
“bold of you to assume she has any survival skills.” dabi scoffs motioning toga to follow him down to the bathroom so he can give her the first aid kit. he’s definitely not cleaning up the cut for her, no way. like hell he’s bandaging it, so what she can’t do it herself, every psychopath for themself.
ten minutes of toga whining later, dabi leaves the bathroom after freshly wrapping her cut to find shouto gone. he’s not surprised or disappointed. not that he would be disappointed in any other situation, he doesn't give a shit about that kid.
there’s a note on the coffee table. ‘i’m visiting mom. we should go together one time. mom would love it.’
dabi snags it and tucks it into his pocket when toga comes bounding into the room complaining about the cute hero boy escaping. he trusts her to not snitch their relations to shigaraki, but not enough to think she won’t try to stab shouto in the gut the next time she sees him. but then again she’d stab any of them in the gut for shits and giggles so what does dabi know?
the note gets tucked into a small black box after toga leaves, placed on top of a polaroid photo of his mother holding shouto when the kid was two, a developed photo of him, his siblings, and mom, and the sketch he made of shouto’s ice flower.
he shuts the lid on it and purposely doesn’t think family.
XIV.
the 13th time dabi saw shouto, it was his rounded, surprised face as dabi was leaving the hospital. barely a glimpse of his brother, but surely that counted. not that he was counting or anything.
so it’s only the following visit he’s able to ask shouto, “daddy issues lite?”
shouto shrugs his shoulders, “and what about it?”
“i swear you were politer as a kid.”
“it’s ‘more polite’.”
“i’ll show you more polite,” dabi mutters in frustration, this brat was trying to correct his grammar now? out of all the things to comment on?
“and why am i lite. i think i deserve at least a version 1.0.”
shouto raises his eyebrows, by a hair because showing emotions is still a challenge and a half, and gives him a pointed look, “i’m sorry, were you the one who was sexually abused since they were a kid or is there something else i should know?”
dabi chokes.
he chokes on his breath, spluttering and patting his chest, while staring at shouto with watery, astonished, pained eyes. sure, he— guessed so, but to hear it bluntly like that from shouto himself. his heart stopped and fell to his stomach.
“i can’t believe you just fucking— said it.” dabi ends lamely, face drained of blood though it doesn’t show since he’s a walking corpse.
shouto blinks a couple of times before turning away in embarrassment, looking out the window of the windowsill he’s sitting on.
“i can’t either.”
and then, “forget what i said.”
“it’s not that fucking easy, shouto.” dabi laughs. a little hysterically. he lets it drop because shouto looks uncomfortable and ready to flee at the slightest provocation, and dabi is a dick but he’s not that much of a dick. nothing like that anger issues kid shouto has a crush on.
speaking of which.
“so how does the whole, you know, having a crush on someone who doesn’t have red hair work?” okay so maybe he’s a bigger dick than the anger issues kid.
shouto stares out the window for a beat, two, three, and then slowly, slowly, turns to look at him with the most incredulous, ‘are you for fucking real?’ look dabi has ever seen thrown his way. which, he admits, he deserves. all of it.
dabi doesn’t expect an answer. shouto doesn’t look like he’s going to give one. so it comes as a surprise to both of them when there’s a telling hitch in his breath and he starts speaking.
“my crush on bakugo,” oh that’s the name, “is not physical. i do have emotions. not everything is about sex.” shouto tells this to him like he’s a five year old.
“but like not at all physical?” shouto stares at him harder in incredulity, “i’m morbidly curious, sue me.”
for a moment, dabi fear that he might actually do so, and he’ll have to ask shigaraki to scrape up some money they definitely don’t have because surely he wouldn’t lose one of his best members. shigaraki would definitely tell him to fuck off and die, dabi thinks fondly. wait, no, not fondly, who the fuck would be fond about the man-child?
but shouto judges him harshly for another thirty seconds before slumping, “it’s not— it’s not not physical, but that comes second and much later. i— midoriya told me i’m probably demisexual. he doesn’t know about, dad. but. he knows that i don’t like— that, stuff. like normal people do.”
dabi internalizes the new information and realizes with a start that what he’s feeling is an overwhelming sense of concern. he’s fucking concerned for the brat, when did this happen?
and he might be a fucking piece of shit but dabi is not going to stand by and let anyone think themselves different just because sex isn’t all they think about.
“you are normal, shouto. there’s nothing wrong with you.” he tells the kid stiltedly. he means it but the words fall from his mouth awkwardly. shouto nods in acknowledgement. dabi can tell he believes in dabi’s sincerity even if his delivery was way off.
“i can’t believe you told me all that important shit.” dabi says when the silence prolongs.
shouto furrows his brows in thought before they smoothen out with a cautious look of realization.
“i trust you.”
“you shouldn’t.” dabi snorts and then adds, “it’s fucking weird how you barely speak a sentence with those friends of yours and literally anyone else but with me you’re so chatty.”
“i’ve always been like that with you.” shouto huffs out a laugh softly, looking dabi in the eye.
“you’ve just forgotten, touya.”
dabi feels the instinctive rage at the mention of his old name, but the ‘tch’ he dignifies it with has no bite.
it’s at times like these, when shouto looks at him and sees his nii-san and not dabi, that his brother looks the most like a stranger. it’s then dabi thinks he could cut his losses down to zero. sure he would be sad if he were to lose shouto, but no more saddened than the pain a burned bridge would bring him. after all, he’s already lost him once.
“whatever,” he shrugs off the admission and turns away to leave the room, abruptly tired of this conversation. he’s had a rough couple of days with the league, compress and shigaraki could be a fucking nuisance sometimes. dabi valiantly doesn’t think about how comfortable he is with shouto to show him his back. the trust he has, unconscious and terrifying.
yet, something is missing on his part, there are words in his mouth trying to be heard.
he pauses at the doorway, “if that, bakugo kid hurts you. i’ll burn him alive.” dabi says it in short, uncomfortable stretches, not because it feels wrong on his tongue but because it feels right. to show this worry.
it scares him. who knew all these emotions he’s hidden and locked away could be opened so easily. the barriers and walls he spent years building could be struck down so effortlessly.
then again he’s always had one weakness. just one. even years ago when he still lived at that place and dad still had patches of dabi’s skin to burn through. and it came in the shape of thin, heterochromatic eyes pleading with him to ‘don’t leave, please stay nii-san. i’m lo— bored. it’s scary.’
and he would, of course he would. dad would find them with thinly concealed rage on his face, dragging dabi out of the room with his temper barely restrained. everytime dabi would stumble out after him helplessly, not before promising, ‘i’ll be back. i promise. be brave for me, shouto.’
and he would. with a few more scars. but he would.
the sound of gratitude, of pleasant surprise and the smallest bit of amusement, escapes from shouto, warming the air. brought back to the present, dabi leaves the room, shouto sitting on the windowsill radiating a quiet, hopeful energy behind him, and the only thought that rings in his mind is, ‘don’t come back, this time’.
XV.
shouto comes back.
dabi resigns himself to his presence. re-resigns. gives up?
“at least tell me what dad’s reaction to your hair was.”
shouto pauses in cracking open a melon soda and sets it on the counter to whip out his phone. dabi wonders on the fact that most of their interactions take place in the kitchen, the rest in either the bathroom or living room. wonders how shouto even has all this time to come here. no way anyone would believe he was visiting his mother that much.
“here.” shouto offers, shoving the phone into dabi’s face. he flinches back and catches it in his hand, watching the shaky video.
“i wasn’t serious about the video.” dabi mutters offhandedly, engrossed in the way endeavor’s face infuses with a red fury that sets the flames on his face blazing outwards. there is a choked up moment where dabi is a hundred percent sure endeavor is about to blow and start screaming, but the man simply colors a deeper purple.
shouto’s filtered voice comes from the phone, “do you like my hair?”
dabi’s eyebrow raises at the nerve, the audacity of that boy. but his heart clenches in fear because that man, with flames pouring off him, has done horrible, despicable things to the both of them, to all of them.
dabi wonders if shouto has a death wish but there’s concerning amount of evidence that suggests yes, so he drops that thought.
once again he expects endeavor to be infuriated, yelling about dignity and appearances and “stop embarrassing your family, no son of mine—”
but, instead, surprisingly endeavor closes his eyes and visibly tries to reign himself in. the flames smouldering on his face taper off and there’s only a small stream of them surrounding his eyes. in the video, endeavor looks shouto in the eyes, dabi assumes, and slowly, grudgingly nods.
“it is not— terrible.” is what’s finally said, sounding like it was pried out with the threat of pain and torture. the video goes dark.
dabi’s eyebrows shoot up even higher.
“holy shit.”
“i know.” shouto nods.
“holy shit.”
“i know.” shouto nods again.
“and that’s it? nothing else?”
“no. that’s it. no screaming, no yelling, no punishment. he’s trying to change. apparently.”
“my fucking ass.” dabi sneers, playing back the video as if it’ll magically show him the endeavor he knows and loves.
“he is.”
“people don’t change like that. not these kinds of people, kid. you keep an eye on him at all times, don’t fucking trust the bastard.”
“i won’t.” shouto promises.
dabi looks him in the eyes then shakes his head, “you really, really will, kid, and i’m telling you right now. that’s a mistake.”
“why should i trust you?” shouto asks pointedly, tilting his head to the side in an assessing manner.
dabi stares at him in bewilderment, “fucking don’t then! do i care? you’re so fuckin— listen. either take the advice or die, but don’t come crying to me when daddy decides his little moral trip isn’t as comfy as he thought it was going to be.”
“he’s stopped.”
“i’m sure shouto. i’m really fucking sure he’s stopped because he’s realized that some things can’t be hidden. children are impressionable, manipulable, but you’re not a child anymore are you?”
“no.” shouto says after a moment.
“then. there you have it. it’s not morals, it’s fear.”
shouto sighs, which is just a slightly heavier than normal breath for a regular person, “okay. i’ll keep that in mind.”
“natsuo and fuyumi would love to see you one day.” shouto hedges after a minute goes by and dabi finishes chugging down a bottle of soda like he’s been starved.
“are you still on that bullshit?” dabi asks, definitely not whining.
“natsuo especially.” shouto continues, ignoring him.
“yeah, i’m sure. fucking coward.” dabi scoffs, melting the plastic bottle down to a ball in his hand and tossing it into the trashcan in the corner of the kitchen. it makes it in, of course.
“you love him. more than any of us.” shouto accuses.
“i dun’ know about that one.” dabi mumbles to himself before speaking louder, “how would you even know? you were locked up ninety-nine percent of the time.”
“ane told me.”
“fuyumi doesn’t know shit.” dabi scowls, “she thought dad needed a second chance, a fucking redeeming moment. believed we were gonna be a happy little family if i just gave it time. the only thing that bastard would’ve done with more time is kill me.”
“oh and that’s why you ran away? so he could kill me instead?”
“shouto, everybody and their goddamn mother loves you, including enji. okay? the only thing is he shows it in the most fucked up way known to god. doesn’t mean you deserve it or it excuses his fuckery, but he would never ever kill you. you’re his greatest creation.”
“father— loves me. that’s what you’re telling me?”
“honestly, that’s what you took from this?”
shouto opens his mouth and then reconsiders his words, “this is all besides the point. will you come visit mother with me, ane, and ani?”
“like hell i’m spending any time with coward number one!”
“he’s your brother, touya.”
dabi can feel his blood literally boiling, “he’s a fucking coward, that’s what he is! i don’t want to see his fucking face if i can help it.”
“you love natsuo, fuyumi said so. what happened to you?”
“and i told you, fuyumi doesn’t know shit. yeah! maybe i loved him at one point, he is my brother, but he’s also a wimpy little bitch and feelings change. people disappoint you. people fail you.” dabi curses internally, he’s said too much. his voice is too bitter and his words are too honest, but whatever. if it gets the point across then so be it.
shouto stares at him like he’s a stranger and dabi thinks, finally.
“you’re a hypocrite.” shouto decides, fingers clenching into a shaky fist before forcefully relaxing.
“how do you figure that?” dabi tosses shouto’s ramune bottle between his hands, having swiped it from the counter, the edges heating every time his hand touches the glass bottle with his fingers.
shouto snatches the bottle out of the air with his left hand, fingers curling in as the plastic wrapper on the bottle melts and drips between his fingers. the edges of the flame tinge blue. dabi grins just a little at the sight.
“because people change. you said so yourself. ani changed. even he himself admits that he was cowardly before but not anymore. now he’s the one who challenges father the most out of all of us.”
“good for him.” dabi snorts in amusement and shouto falters for a moment before a veneer of anger covers his features. it’s not a strong anger but dabi can feel the younger’s irritation.
“you can’t talk about someone you no longer know, dabi. you weren’t there to see him grow up. you weren’t there to see us grow up. what right do you have to make judgements on our character?”
dabi steals the bottle from shouto’s hand and jabs out the plastic bit to shove it into the hole at the top and pop the marble out of the cap. he hates how unnecessarily complicated the glass ramunes were but shouto seemed to love them, “when did you grow up?”
he wasn’t trying to soothe over ruffled feathers or appease shouto’s righteous indignation but dabi must’ve said something right because shouto softens and his eyes turn melancholy.
looking off to the side, out the small kitchen window, he replies, “when you weren’t looking.”
and isn’t that just so perfectly poetic.
“yeah. i can see that.”
“once you left,” shouto takes the bottle from dabi’s out-stretched hand, trailing a flaming finger down the remnants of the wrapper and watching it peel and flutter to the floor, “father turned his pride and his— insecurities, i suppose, onto me. but his anger, his true rage, was directed at fuyumi and natsuo. he yelled at me quite a lot but his scathing remarks were left to ani and ane.”
dabi listens to him silently and doesn’t say sorry. he doesn’t think shouto expects him to say sorry either. because—
“fuyumi is wrong you know.” dabi says after silence reigns for an eternity and the glass bottle is safely placed in the trash. shouto settles on the couch gracefully unlike the way dabi throws himself onto it.
he can’t quite believe he’s going to tell shouto this, but some things only weigh him down. and as it stands dabi needs to be unburdened with chains if he wants to survive.
“natsuo and i. yeah, i guess you could say we were really close at one point. but all three of us were raised separately from you. to an extent ‘cause i kept sneaking over. but we were siblings and we were both boys.” dabi hesitates unsure of what he really wants to say and how much he wants to divulge. he changes tracks.
“when fuyumi was born i didn’t see her for a couple of days. dad was still reasonable. i never held her. barely interested in knowing her until she grew up a little, but that’s just how kids are. i didn’t see natsuo until a month after he was born. dad was less reasonable. much less reasonable. i had training daily at this point.”
shouto tenses at ‘training’ twisting a piece of his perfectly white hair in between his fingers.
“and then you were born and dad— didn’t care about us anymore. i had training still and burns started becoming more and more common. but dad barely took a peek at you before he was gone. i think i was the second person to hold you, after the midwife.”
shouto glances up sharply at that. he looks surprised, eyes wide and searching.
“mom was too weak after labor, fuyumi refused to come near the room, and natsuo was too young. so i held you, when you were born. you were such a fucking annoying fetus, i swear to god. wouldn’t shut the hell up.”
“a fetus is only an unborn baby.” shouto says blankly and immediately, still visibly processing dabi’s words.
“i’ll call you a fetus if i damn well want.”
“you held me when i was born.” the words stumble out of his mouth like they don’t know how to walk, tripping and falling over themselves.
“yes.” dabi narrows his eyes, “that’s what i said.”
“you held me. why?” shouto asks, bewildered. dabi doesn’t think holding your little brother like any other normal sibling should receive this much attention.
“because you were born? and i was your brother? what do you want me to say?”
“you still are my brother.” shouto wrinkles his nose delicately at the use of past tense.
“sure, sure.” dabi flaps a hand, waving him off.
dabi doesn’t tell him how, cradled in his scarred, trembling, weak arms, shouto had blinked his small eyes open for the first time and gazed up at dabi’s haggard, curious face with his mis-matched eyes and practically stolen his heart right out from him. how shouto had kept his heart for years and years until dabi clawed it out from his icy grip and ran away with it.
how dabi had vowed right then and there that he’d try his hardest to keep those eyes filled with life. even if that life was bleak, or battered, or haunted, at least it would be alive.
how a large part of what he’s doing with shigaraki is for himself and to carry on stain’s legacy but his personal vendetta against a certain hero is not just a man seeking revenge but also a boy trying to keep a promise.
how the reason dabi hasn’t attacked shouto is because of that promise he made to himself. that a large portion of himself, which he calls dabi, snarls viciously ‘one weakness, cut your losses, one weakness, you can live without him, you’ve done it all these years’ but a small corner of him, which he calls touya, reminds him ‘you promised, remember his eyes, you promised’.
XVI.
“you were scared.” it was supposed to be a question but it comes out more like an accusation.
shouto watches him warily, still lingering in the entrance of the apartment, “yes.”
“why?” dabi asks feeling groundless.
“because endeavor almost died.” shouto responds neutrally. dabi thinks the correct phrasing of that should’ve been ‘that nomu and you almost killed my father and i’m very thankful for that.’
“why the fuck do you care?” dabi asks incredulously, unable to grasp the logic behind shouto’s emotions.
“he’s still my father.” shouto answers tiredly like he’s had this discussion too many times to count, chewed on the answer endlessly only to be bereft of any reason for it. he walks a little further into the apartment.
“okay. so?” he stresses the words with as much ridicule as he can, needing shouto to understand that this kind of stupidity and weakness is just a recipe for disaster.
“he has a scar now. over the left side of his face.” shouto reaches up to touch his own scar, fingertips brushing the edges of rippled skin, “another thing we have in common.”
dabi narrows his eyes before stalking to the kitchen in agitation. honestly, half their interactions take place in the kitchen. shouto follows after him, tugging at a lock of bleached hair. the red roots are starting to show.
“i’m not really in the mood for cryptic comments.”
“it wasn’t very cryptic. quite straight-forward really.” shouto shoots him a side-ways glance. since when did he become such a brat?
“okay, kid, then please explain to me since i’m clearly very stupid what the fucking fuck you meant by ‘another thing we have in common’ because that is goddamn disturbing to hear.”
“you don’t understand, dabi.” shouto tells him in a defeated voice, slumping against a counter lifelessly like dabi has never seen him, “we’re both victims of abuse.”
“yes, i know, i was there, i have the scars?” he’s confused about what that has to do with not understanding.
“not you. endeavor.”
dabi thinks his mind crashes. windows shut-down sound and error.exe included. endeavor what now?
“i’m sorry. i think i heard that wrong.”
“no,” shouto sighs, “endeavor’s dad did the same thing to him that he did to me. you heard it right.”
at this point shouto’s holding himself up with only his elbows on the table, wrung-out and upset. dabi jerks his chin towards the living room and grabs two bottles of soda.
“okay— so the victim becomes the abuser. doesn’t make it right.”
shouto drops onto the couch, slouching sideways, “i know. but it explains a lot.”
staring at him, dabi realizes something. the shifty look on shouto’s face, the way he won’t look dabi in the eyes, the way his body curls in on itself.
“you little shit! you’re fucking sympathizing with him aren’t you? throwing him a little pity party, trying to excuse at least one of his monstrous actions.”
shouto jerks just a bit, like he’s been caught, and dabi sneers in bitter triumph.
“i can’t believe you sympathize with him. that you care for a reason behind his fucked up actions when he deserves to goddamn rot.”
shouto glares at him furiously, eyes bright. his right hand tense, grasping at the material of his pants. the empty ramune bottle is hot in his left hand. dabi hadn’t even noticed him drain it.
“well i do. maybe i want a reason why my own father abused me for years on end. maybe i want to believe that somewhere in his cold, rotten heart he does care for me in some way. why do you care?”
“goddamn it kid! all he’s ever done is hurt you. why can’t you just protect yourself? why do you chase after the wrong people when all it’s going to do is hurt you? i am not a good person. endeavor is not a good person. for different reasons, mind you, but we will never be good people.”
dabi shoots to his feet and paces the floor, needing shouto to understand this once and for all. he needs shouto to fucking see that this world is just a bunch of shades of black and the side of good are the paler ones. and dabi is obsidian black, he isn’t going to change.
“neither of us have your best interests in our priorities, let alone our top priority. and just because i haven’t harmed or killed you, doesn’t mean i’m going to stop someone else from doing so. it’s just— i don’t fucking know what to say to get it through your damn head. i am not a good person. i may be your brother but it’s not the one you used to know. i have killed, i will kill, and if your friends die because of your sentiments then i think that’s on you.”
shouto is staring with large, wounded eyes, a sickly pale tint to his face. he doesn’t blink when dabi wheels to face him, but he looks terrified and heart-broken all at once.
“this may be the nicest thing i ever do for you, so listen. leave. don’t come back. your touya doesn’t exist. i may be your brother but that only means we share blood. so it would be in your best interest if you’d drop this stupid dream you have of me coming back and us being a big happy family again. it’s not going to happen and honestly for your own safety i think it would be best if you just fucking forget me. whatever emotion is keeping you attached to me, drop it. sever it. burn it.”
dabi watches as the hope drains from shouto’s eyes. there’s nothing vindicating about it. he just feels sad and empty watching his little brother look at him like he’s a stranger, like he’s a monster. but he musters up a sneer, fights down the voice asking who he’s trying to convince, and tosses his head towards the door.
“leave.”
shouto gets off the couch a new person, misery and hurt swimming in his eyes. he trudges towards the door a new person, anger and dejection outlining his form. dabi, to his horror, feels his eyes sting and turns on his heel to stare out the window. the tears never even form.
the small part of him called touya screams at him about eyes and promises. it’s easy to squash it in this moment. after all, he’s broken promises before. ‘i’ll be back’ he’d sworn as endeavor dragged him out for the last time and he hadn’t. now he’s dabi, not touya. dabi will never be touya again.
he doesn’t turn around.
he hears the sound of hesitation when shouto reaches the door, fingers lingering on the doorknob.
he doesn’t ask shouto to come back.
he feels the ring of the door when it’s thrown open and then slammed close.
shouto doesn’t ask to stay.
and for the second time, dabi doesn’t say good-bye.