Chapter Text
It’s been five years, but he still remembers how to get over the garden wall.
There’s a crack in the cement near the northeast corner of the eight-foot-high estate wall. He wedges his fingers and the tips of his sneakers into it to find a grip, and then hoists himself up until he’s perched on the ledge. He looms over the Todoroki estate like an overgrown crow, with hatred making his eyes burn as bright as the blue fire forever crackling in his blood.
He remembers all the times he climbed over this wall to go run desperate practice drills in the hills behind the house, far enough away so that no one could hear his screams of frustration morph into cries of pain. And he remembers sneaking back into the estate at nightfall, his skin sizzling and the smell 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 from the ledge into a pristine flowerbed, he freezes up. But there’s no alarm ringing the silence to pieces, nor a voice barking at him to put his hands up. No sound at all except his sneakers shuffling 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.
He pulls his hood low across his forehead and ducks deeper into his sweater. 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 on 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 trip the lock on the front door. It’s harder to actually walk through. How is it possible that the house still smells the same?
He walks through long hallways he remembers so well, running a finger lightly along the wood-paneled walls to leave singed marks. He’s tempted to brand 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 watching over little Shoto from a safe distance, so they won't interfere with his training.
Shoto’s room is at the end of the hall, across from what was once Touya’s room. Dabi 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 if they tried to chase his ghost out of the house. 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 beautifully cold on the blade of the knife as he pulls it out.
A knife. He's not experienced with handling blades, but he brought one just to be sure. He can't predict how his quirk will react to being in this house again, and there is no margin for error tonight.
He looks from the knife to the moonlit window, and then to the bed in the corner. He’s sober for the first time in days, but his head suddenly spins like someone has picked up the room and twirled it. His stomach roils like he's about to puke.
He's here. It's finally happening. So how is he going to do it? He didn't manage to plan this part out beyond destroy him, make him watch as I burn it all, make him say my name. He can never see past the blue veil of rage that settles over his mind whenever he thinks about his revenge.
Is he gonna cut the throat of his father’s favorite creation and leave him for Enji to find in the morning? Or is he gonna light the little hero on fire after all? He could even burn the entire house down with him, Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo in it. Yes, it would be glorious to rob Enji of his home and all four of his children in one go, but will that be enough? If Dabi dies, no one will ever know he was the one who did it. No one knows about his blue fire, after all.
Dabi's vision blurs. He stays nailed to the spot, one step inside the dark bedroom. His head spins and spins, trying to think of what would hurt his father the most. If he kills Shoto quietly, he could sit by his body and wait until morning. He could stay until he's discovered and watch the light die in his father’s eyes when he sees what he did. And he could finally show him Touya's flames, show him he was always worthy, as they all descend into hell together-
That’s when Dabi hears the sobbing. His attention snaps towards the bed, and he realizes the little hero is awake. He’s curled in on himself and smothering his cries in his pillow.
Fuck.
He didn’t count on the brat being awake. Quietly, Dabi sheaths the knife and tucks it back into his waistband. Shoto may just be a kid, but he’s a kid trained by Endeavor, and Dabi knows exactly what that means. If he spots an intruder in his bedroom and lashes out, Dabi will have more use for his flames than a knife.
Fuck it. Burning his replacement to ashes might be more poetic after all. And if he can hold out long enough as the house goes up in flames, he still might be able to welcome Endeavor home once he rushes to the scene.
He raises his left hand and calls up a small ball of blue fire. It flares to life with a faint crackle.
The crying halts abruptly. Before Dabi can decide to use his advantage and hurl his flames while his target is defenseless, 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, and a nasty sensation swoops through his chest. He's no longer looking at little Shoto. 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. And Enji’s blue eyes, the same eyes that stare back at Dabi from every mirror and in every nightmare. Except no, one eye is gray, like Rei's-
“Who are you?” Shoto asks, barely above a whisper. That breaks the spell. Dabi flashes him a deranged grin and kneels down. Of course, Shoto doesn’t remember him. Why would he? Hatred flares so bright in the pit of his stomach that he might actually spit fire. Who am I? Dad's first experiment. Perfect hero 1.0. You, but unlucky.
“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 and starts to move his still-burning hand towards the bed. The sheets will make for good kindling.
“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 grabs his arm.
That’s when Dabi notices the bandages around his wrists. And the taped-up fingers, the split lip, and the swelling under his right eye that is still blooming into an ugly purple bruise.
And Dabi knows. Instantly, he knows. Apparently, even a prodigy still needs to be beaten and burned and crushed into the floor of the training room until he is perfect.
Dabi is… oddly disappointed. He wishes he could feel only vindication at the sight; it is proof that Endeavor didn't learn shit from losing his eldest son to his own hubris, definitive proof that Enji Todoroki deserves to burn and worse. But a small, raw part of him wants to scream until someone tells him why he didn't even matter enough to be a lesson.
An even worse part of him floods with jealousy at the sight of Shoto's injuries. Why is he worthy of suffering for the family legacy when Touya got dropped into the abyss? Is he really so much better than Touya was? This miracle quirk in the shape of a child-
“Touya, is it really you? Where have you been? What…” His eyes race across Dabi’s face. Dabi can only imagine how ghoulish he looks in the flickering blue light; gnarly patches of dark purple quirk burns clashing with his remaining healthy skin grafts, and lined with rows of gleaming staples. "What happened to you? Did… Did dad do that?"
A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Dabi, too loud in the sleeping house.
“You could say that,” he giggles.
“Is that why you left?” Shoto’s eyes are so big, but there’s no hint of fear 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 dad 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 puppet, this… this crying child who looks so much like Touya. He's even clumsily bandaged up by his own hands just like Touya, because no one ever comes to help you when you cry in this godforsaken house.
“So you ran away?” Shoto’s voice pierces through the fog that is filling up his head.
The memories will never leave him, even warped and twisted as they are by pain. He sees the charred remains of a boy, stumbling through the snow. The boy howls like a wounded animal, through lips and throat rended by flames. He walks on blistered feet, and when he lifts his arms, his skin curls up like burning paper. He is terrified of what will happen if he goes home like this, but mostly he is ashamed. He vanishes in the dark, so no one will have to see the failure he became. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, but no one comes after him.
“Yeah,” Dabi nods stiffly. “I got hurt for the last time, and I ran away.”
Shoto stares up at him, eyes widening like he understands. 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 grab at Dabi’s hoodie as he presses himself as close as he can get. The touch is so unfamiliar that Dabi feels it like a punch. His hand flares up angrily in response. The whole room is lit up 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. It hurts so much I can’t sleep, and he doesn’t care. I… Sometimes it’s so bad, I wish I were dead.”
Pain. Oh, the pain that coils inside Dabi could put every one of his burns to shame.
Stop calling me Touya.
Stop being Touya.
There's gasoline floating on top of his blood in a long rainbow swirl, and every second the kid keeps touching him, someone somewhere is counting down to an ignition.
“-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.”
The flames in Dabi's 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 just do it now. 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 pyre, Dabi and the little miracle would be ash, Natsuo and Fuyumi most likely as well. It would finally be over. He wouldn't have to burn alone anymore.
All of them, dead, just like they fucking deserve for burying him alive.
He places both hands on either side of Shoto's head and wrenches him away from his chest. Yes, that's better. 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. The faintest trace 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 here, 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 life raft on a sinking ship.
The kid couldn't possibly understand. He keeps calling him Touya, and he's begging, please, please, please take me away with a voice Dabi knows so well. That's Touya's voice, and Touya's prayer that no one ever answered.
But Touya died. Dabi can still feel the agony of it.
He looks down at the softly crying child 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. Not like this. Not when he's begging to be saved.
It all crystallizes when it hits him that Shoto looks at Dabi like he's a hero.
His father was right about one thing: Touya never could have been a hero. He’s too selfish. He doesn’t know how to stop burning. He was spoon-fed another man's ambitions, and when he lost that dream there was nothing left of himself.
But in Shoto's plea for his brother to save him, Dabi suddenly sees the path to a different 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 type of revenge that he can draw out and put on display for the whole world. A masterpiece he can sign with Touya's name. He instantly forgets that he was planning on dying tonight.
Oh Enji, and you thought you were rid of me. 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 Shoto's face when relief washes over him. 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 snaps at him when 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." Shoto 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 ice-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 Dabi's head enough that he can think at least a few steps ahead again. He slips into the role he’ll have to play for the foreseeable future.
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 strong suit. 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 Shoto's breathing 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.
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 his temperature fluctuating because he’s nervous? He pulls, and Shoto grabs onto his sleeve with his left hand to haul himself up. Yeah, his left is hot enough for Dabi to feel it through his clothes.
Damn, he always knew the kid was housing a powerful quirk in that small frame, but it’s something else to feel that power so strongly without him even manifesting anything. It’s a reminder of what he’s really doing here: stealing Endeavor’s best weapon. Oh, 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 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, Shoto is 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 and the tears running down his cheeks.
Shoto heaves out a sigh like it’s the first real breath he has ever taken in his life. A wide smile spreads across his face.
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 garden wall behind him to the lanky figure of his brother in front of him.
Shoto opens his mouth a few times like a goldfish, squeezes his hands into fists, shifts his arms uncomfortably. Ah yes, of course. Leave it to Enji to raise another kid who doesn’t know how to handle his own body’s need for comfort. Shoto probably hasn’t gotten a hug since Rei went off the deep end.
Not that Dabi wants a hug. Definitely not.
“You can talk now,” Dabi drawls. “And a thank you would be nice.” Shoto wipes his tears away with his sleeves, jams his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and takes another 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 pats the kid uncomfortably on the shoulder. Gods, he's so small.
“Remind me. How old are you?”
The kid pulls away and says, “I turned eleven on January eleventh.”
Huh. That’s right, he had just turned six when Touya died. He looks younger, though. Or maybe Dabi just aged a decade in one night.
“I just turned nineteen,” he blurts out, for want of a better response.
“Yes." Shoto nods. "January eighteenth, 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 that? We’re runaways now, so we’re gonna have to hide. 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 might 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, and it doesn’t stand out. Beyond that, Dabi doesn’t give a shit. “Now listen. I got you out of there, but life is 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 around 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 understand,” Shoto says calmly, “I don’t care. I’ll be with you, right?”
For fuck’s sake, it’s unbelievable that 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 might have walked out of that house a hundred times over already if someone had just offered.
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 thrumming right under his fingertips, and oh, it’s so tempting.
“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.”