Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shinogu Touya’s life was about as great as he could hope for. He was happy, successful, he had friends he treasured, a boyfriend he adored, and he’d been ranked the 17^th hero this year, one of the highest for his graduating class (sure, it’d been nearly five years since UA, but they still liked to encourage one another. Class A once, Class A forever).

He had a good home, a good family, a good thing going.

Which is probably why he was fighting so hard not to die.

“Is this the best you can do?” laughed one of the villains, his steel manipulation quirk saving them with an impromptu shield. “What happened to the Blazing Dragon?”

Touya gritted his teeth. He couldn’t see behind the metal panel, but the alleyway was narrow enough that no one would be able to sneak past him if he advanced. Where was his backup?

He rolled under a spray of spines courtesy of the porcupine-style mutation type, springing back to his feet within striking distance of the steel plate.

Nothing for it; he’d have to leave his back open.

He didn’t bother to answer their jeering. Actions had always spoken louder than words. It wasn’t good to use his quirk like this, but…

He threw up a wall of flames with his right hand, prompting a startled yell from one of the villains and obscuring him from the mutation type’s sight, and held his left hand aloft like a blowtorch, bracing himself. The melting point of steel was only about 1,400 degrees, well below even his coolest temperature. He was lucky it wasn’t something more flammable—the paperwork would be much lighter.

The villains started yelling. Not screaming—not yet—but shouting in hoarse voices that were growing higher and louder as they began to panic.

“Ugh,” groaned Touya, easing up on his left hand as the metal began to drip. “You’re too noisy. Settle down.”

He fell into a familiar stance as he crouched, left foot sliding forward, right foot sliding back. A single quirk-enhanced uppercut released enough concussive force to blast the melting shield and its wielders back into the brick wall at the end of the alley with a loud clang.

The shield fell away, bending against the ground as it tried to firm up again, and Touya counted out his quarry.

“Let’s see, one, two, three—wasn’t there a fourth one of you?”

“Ryuutou!” called a familiar voice, tense and alarmed, “On your six!”

Touya wheeled around, fists blazing, just in time to lock eyes with the missing fourth villain as he fired something from his arm straight into Touya’s chest.

He staggered backwards, winded, but refused to fall.

“Some kind of projectile quirk?” he wheezed, with a wry smile. “I’m afraid it takes more than that to…”

Uh oh.

Things were starting to blur around the edges.

Not a projectile quirk.

“Watch the back of the alley!” he choked, clutching at his ribs. The whatever-it-was had hit him square in the sternum, and it felt like flames that weren’t his own had taken root in his chest.

He heard a brief shout, saw a flash of red, and everything went black.

He woke up slowly, only dimly aware of the soft pillow under his face and the distant murmur of muffled voices, before he remembered.

Touya groaned as he sat up, looking around what he assumed was a hospital and—

Stopping.

This was decidedly not a hospital.

The room was dingy, with the un-lived-in air of a fleapit motel and the décor of a rock venue that had seen better days. Old posters layered the walls as if they were patching up drafts, and the floor was littered in dirty clothes and garbage. Touya grimaced, looking around more carefully.

Where the hell was he? He didn’t seem to be restrained in any way, and he could feel his quirk lurking unsuppressed below his skin. He lifted his hand to check—he’d feel much better knowing he was armed—when he caught sight of his wrist.

His eyes widened.

That… wasn’t his arm.

It felt like his arm, and it probably would have looked like his arm, but—it was scarred to hell and back, staples pinning the skin to his hands as if it was straining to escape. Was this some kind of body swapping quirk? He looked around frantically, springing towards the only mirror in the room, a small, cracked thing leaning haphazardly atop a dresser, and stared.

His reflection stared back at him like a stranger.

It wasn’t just his arm; his whole face was mutilated and pinned together like a sick joke, skin curling in a Glasgow smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes. Because while he was ripped up and patched together like a fucking zombie, the face was still indisputably Touya’s.

His lightning blue eyes, his dyed black hair, his helix piercings…

He looked back down at his scarred hands, summoning little bursts of flames to make sure he still could. It should have been reassuring, but instead it just cast horrible shadows over the gruesome mess of scar tissue, flickering in time with his nausea.

This… wasn’t good.

Internet. He needed the internet.

Shaking himself, Touya whirled on the pigsty of a room in search of a phone, a computer, anything—eventually flinging some empty pizza boxes halfway into the closet yielded a grimy old laptop and a charger with a fraying cord. He plugged it in a little frantically, wringing his hands and wincing when he caught the staples in his flesh, and booted it up.

Password.

Touya stared.

Forgot your password? He clicked on it nervously, praying to whatever deity wanted to listen that it was like, “Name your favorite sports team” or something.

name

Touya stared harder.

It did seem like his typing style, but it wasn’t exactly helpful. Whose name? His?

touya, he typed cautiously. It probably wasn’t booby-trapped or anything; this wasn’t really a high tech setup. Miraculously, it logged him in. He heaved a sigh of relief.

As he opened up the first browser he saw, it occurred to him that a name should be an easy thing to guess.

He decided to start there: His name. First his hero alias, Ryuutou, to see if he’d been reported missing or something, but—no results. No results. Like, some about dragon lights or whatever the fuck, but it was as if the Blazing Hero Ryuutou just… didn’t exist.

Touya licked his lips. Real name next.

Nothing.

His old name?

Todoroki Touya Declared Dead Following Fire of Unknown Origin.

Foul play suspected.

Flame hero Endeavor vows justice will be served.

Dead.

Huh.

He looked down at himself. A fire would explain the scars, though not what happened to him after. What did his father care anyway? The Endeavor he knew would’ve been happy to light the damn thing in the first place. Must be for his image.

Endeavor next, then.

Number One Hero Endeavor wins battle in—

Touya nearly slammed the laptop shut, expression curdling in distaste. Number One? Since fucking when? The divorce had brought his approval rating so low he was Number Four now, and that was only by virtue of his capture rate. But he had to figure out what was going on. He skipped that article and kept reading, adding ‘family’ to his search.

Oh, fuck.

They were talking about Mom like she was still fucking married to him. She was in a hospital? Well he couldn’t fucking blame her for that, he would’ve wound up in a hospital too if he had to keep living with that bastard.

His eyes caught on his stapled-together skin. Maybe he had.

Was this some kind of nightmare scenario? Had that guy’s quirk trapped him in his worst version of reality? It couldn’t be real. He knew better than to even speculate about that.

The news didn’t say much about him, Fuyumi, or Natsuo, but Shouto was mentioned in a few articles. The Sports Festival—he didn’t win? Had the attack at the USJ still happened? He searched for ‘UA attacked’ and startled at the results.

A student had been kidnapped at their training camp.

That… wasn’t right.

Anxiously, he skimmed the article. Most of the events lined up with what he knew of the attack, but apparently there had been a fire to add to the confusion, and a student named Bakugou Katsuki had been taken hostage.

He was about to search for news on the kid—it was an old article—when he caught the tops of some wanted posters at the bottom of the article. He scrolled to look, see if it was anyone he recognized, and—

And—

His own face, this new, mutilated version, stared back at him.

The sketch artist had done a good job; it captured that sardonic gleam in his eyes, the weight of his smirk. It would have been a great picture of him if he wasn’t covered in scars and staples and on a god damned wanted poster.

It said ‘reward for information,’ but it didn’t say how much. His name was listed as ‘Dabi’ which was—well—it was written like ‘cremation’ but the irony didn’t escape his notice.

Okay. So he was in some kind of nightmare-made-real scenario, or a parallel universe or something, and he was a villain.

A high profile villain, who had attacked Shouto’s class and kidnapped a teenager.

He searched for updates on the kid, so he didn’t have to process the rest of it.

What he found was… a mess. The safe return of Bakugou Katsuki was barely a footnote in heaps of articles about a battle in Kamino Ward and—the end of All Might.

Touya stared at All Might’s shriveled form with wide, wide eyes. He was beginning to lean more towards the ‘nightmare-made-real’ scenario, because this universe seemed personally designed to torment him. He couldn’t deal with this anymore. This was—this was way too much. He needed somebody to walk him through this.

He patted his pockets with growing desperation, flinging piles of crap off the bed until he finally found a burner phone, nearly melting in relief. Now: Who to call?

His first instinct was Takahiro, but—if Touya was a villain…

Who would want to help him even if he were a villain? He ran through a mental checklist of his friends and family. The trouble was, most were in the hero industry. Mom was in the hospital, Shouto was too young and a UA student besides, Natsuo would want to help but probably blab within the week—

Fuyumi. Of course.

He dialed her number, praying he’d remembered it correctly (he was pretty sure; the tone of the buttons sounded right) and anxiously drummed his fingers on his leg as he waited for someone to answer.

It rang for a small eternity, and he was certain he was going to be sent to the machine when a soft click! sounded and the voice he knew better than his own asked, “Hello?”

“Fuyumi,” he sighed, collapsing back onto the bed. His voice was raspy; when was the last time he drank anything? It probably didn’t matter if he was in some other reality.

The silence from the other end was deafening.

“… Who is this?” she asked finally, suspicion coloring her tone.

“It’s—it’s me,” he said, bewildered. Surely she could still recognize his voice? He wasn’t that thirsty. “Touya? Your brother?”

“My brother has been dead for years,” she said coolly. “What is it you want? Money? How did you get this number?”

“Fuck, I forgot,” he groaned, rubbing his face before his staples grated and he caught himself. “Listen, ‘Yumi—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “How did you forget you were dead?”

“Listen!” he insisted, wounded. “It’s me, alright? It’s sort of me, anyway. I—I got hit by this quirk, and I don’t—I have no idea what’s fucking happening.”

“What kind of quirk?” she asked. Her voice was still stiff, unyielding, but she’d want an explanation. He knew that much.

“I’m not sure. Some kind of—alternate universe quirk? Or a nightmare quirk? Because let me tell you, this is a fucking nightmare.”

“Convenient that you aren’t my Touya, or I could quiz you.”

“You can still quiz me if you want,” he said, wincing. “Just—you know, make sure it’s stuff from when we were kids. In my world Mom ditched the bastard when we were like, thirteen.”

She was quiet for a moment. “The public knows even less about our childhood,” she said carefully. “Is that what you’re after? Information?”

“Well, kind of what happened after that, to be honest,” said Touya. “Mostly I just fucking—I don’t know, I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind here and I needed to talk to somebody. I figured if anybody would get it it’d be you. C’mon, I know you recognize my voice!”

“That’s just it,” she said, still guarded, still so different from the Fuyumi he knew. “I recognize your voice, but no one’s heard that voice in years. What you’re saying is impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible in a world of quirks,” he snorted.

“A world where Touya—a world with Touya in it isn’t something I’m allowing myself to consider. You said you got hit with a quirk—how long are you here for? Did you just call me to rub salt in the wound?”

“I—no, ‘Yumi, c’mon. Listen, if this is a real world—if this is a reality at all—then your Touya is still alive. I’m in his body.”

“You’re in his body,” she said flatly. “If he’s alive, why wouldn’t he tell me? We were twins. We told each other everything.”

“I don’t know. It might have been to protect you? This guy is… in my world, I’m a hero, right? But this guy is… not.”

“What do you mean?” Her hostility was beginning to give way to curiosity, though he could tell she still didn’t really believe him.

“Don’t—don’t tell the old man,” he said, swallowing, “and—don’t tell Natsuo or Shouto. Definitely don’t tell Mom. Or the cops, until I figure out what to do. You know, maybe just don’t tell anybody—”

“Tell anybody what, Yacchan?” she snapped, patience finally breaking.

His lips quirked up at his nickname, some of his anxieties soothed by that little acknowledgement, however unconscious. The sort-of smile slid off his face as he braced himself to confess.

“Well,” he said slowly, “This place’s Touya is kind of… a villain.”

“A villain.”

“A bad one.”

“Aren’t all villains bad?”

“Maybe if you listen to Dad,” he snorted. “Some villains just don’t know what else to do, or they’re trying to help, but—I meant bad like he’s really… famous. Infamous. Whatever.”

“Who—who is he?” she asked, beginning to sound disturbed.

“I’m taking this as an agreement not to tell on me,” he said, pointing sternly at the phone even though she couldn’t see him, “and also that you believe I’m me, because I kind of just need you to believe me.”

“Who is he?” she repeated.

“Some guy named Dabi,” said Touya, listening carefully to her reaction. She sucked in a breath, and he could feel the tension radiating through the line. “I take it you’ve heard of him.”

“He—he’s a member of the League of Villains,” said Fuyumi. There was the faint sound of fabric rustling, as if she needed to sit down. “He was one of the ones who attacked Shouto’s training camp.”

He winced again. “Yeah, apparently. In my world that ended much more smoothly.”

“… He has your quirk.”

“He would,” said Touya thickly, holding his ruined hand out in front of his face, flexing his fingers. “He’s me. Or I’m him, anyway. At least for now.”

“I—Touya?” she asked, voice breaking.

“Fuyumi,” he said levelly, smiling. There it was.

“Touya, you—you were dead, where have you been, how could—?”

“I don’t know,” he interrupted, “I have no idea what this guy’s been up to, or how he feels about any of it. What I do know is: I need your help.”

▩ ▩ ▩

In another world, another pair of lightning blue eyes slid open.

“The fuck am I?” muttered Dabi, squinting into the bright fluorescent lights of a hospital room.

Chapter Text

Dabi was, in a word, vexed.

He was lying in a bed with the crisp sheets and sterile reek of a hospital room, but he didn’t seem to be restrained, which was weird. He hadn’t been to a hospital since he was a child, and even if he’d been in some kind of accident there’s no way somebody wouldn’t recognize him. He pushed himself into a sitting position, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Touya,” said a voice he thought he recognized, thick with relief. Dabi stiffened as if he’d been electrocuted, whipping his head around to stare down—the Wing Hero, Hawks.

“What did you just call me?” he said quietly, ice seeping into his words even as fire tried to seep into his hands. His quirk wouldn’t come. Figured. Another reason to hate hospitals.

“Touya?” said Hawks. “I—I’m sorry, was that too familiar? You prefer Shinogu?”

His mother’s maiden name. How did the Number Two Hero know his mother’s maiden name? Dabi narrowed his eyes. “I go by Dabi. Not Touya. Never Touya.”

“O-oh,” said Hawks, faltering. “I uh—I guess you must be wondering what’s going on, huh?”

Dabi didn’t say anything, staring him down. Like hell he’d admit to a weakness like that.

“Right,” Hawks chuckled weakly. “Uh. Well, you—or I guess, a version of you—you were hit by a quirk called Universe Swap. It changed out this world’s version of Touya for another’s, which is. You.”

Dabi kept staring. The way this guy was stammering, it would be faster to just wait him out.

“Uh—I guess I can tell you about this world’s Touya? He’s a pro hero, pretty well-ranked—”

Dabi’s eye twitched. A hero? A pro hero? In what fucking universe would he be a hero?

“It’s kind of funny that you called yourself Dabi actually, his hero name is Ryuutou—”

“What,” said Dabi, gritting his teeth. “Are you—is this a prank? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“N-no,” said Hawks. His wings drooped against the back of his chair. “It’s—I mean he spells it like dragon lights, but—”

“But nothing,” Dabi cut in. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the blur of blond and crimson that had better be fucking pranking him. “Why am I here?”

“In the hospital? We wanted to get you checked out. You blacked out when the quirk hit you, it’s been nearly two hours. Your mom’s on her way.”

Dabi’s eyes snapped open. “My mom?” he repeated incredulously. His mother? Todoroki Rei? The woman who couldn’t stand the sight of him even before he got burned to hell and back?

“Yeah, she would’ve been here sooner but she wanted to pick up Shouto,” said Hawks, apparently mistaking Dabi’s tone to mean he gave a shit. “Signing him out takes a while, and then they were on the other side of town, we’re technically in Tokyo—”

“Why are you here?” he interrupted.

Hawks faltered again. “Oh, uh—well, I was the first on the scene. I saw you go down, actually. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fucking peachy,” he grunted, falling back on his pillows and reaching up to run a hand through his—

His—

All of his skin was intact.

Dabi sat back up abruptly, staring at his hands like he’d never seen them before. In a way, he hadn’t; it’d been years since his burns, and his hands…

They were aging well. They looked like his mother’s.

“D’you have a mirror?” he croaked, looking to Hawks. It stung to ask a hero for even that, but—he had to see—

“Sure,” said Hawks, sounding surprised. He pulled out a little compact, the kind you’d use to reflect light rather than a face, but it was enough. Dabi snatched it from him hungrily, looking at the face he would’ve had.

He didn’t regret his looks so much, but—he’d always been curious, what he would have looked like if things had gone a little differently.

Turns out, he looked pretty good.

He still had his nose piercings, and helix piercings on both ears, but he had an eyebrow piercing over his left eye instead of a multitude of staples holding him together.

Thank fuck his hair was still black. If he had to look at Todoroki Enji’s hair in the mirror he’d rip out his fucking eyes.

“Do you look different in your world?” Hawks asked, breaking his reverie.

“Yeah,” said Dabi, without elaborating. Let him stew.

It didn’t seem to bother him. More was the pity. “How come you go by Dabi?”

Dabi gave him a sour look. “My quirk. Dabi’s spelled like cremation.”

“Oh,” said Hawks. “That’s—that makes sense. You didn’t seem to like ‘Touya’ very much, though—”

“Todoroki Touya is dead, as far as I’m concerned,” snorted Dabi. “I’m my own person now.”

“Hm,” said Hawks, smiling.

“Something funny about that, birdbrain?”

“No, just—our Touya said something similar when he changed his name, too. To Shinogu.”

“What happened there?” asked Dabi, feigning disinterest. “The old man finally meet a match he couldn’t handle?”

“Yeah, a divorce lawyer,” said Hawks, wrinkling his nose. “Wish it was worse honestly, but the only way your mom could take you guys was with like fifty gag orders. He dropped a few ranks and his popularity’s shot to hell, but… I get why nobody can say anything, I just—forget popularity, if people knew, he’d be in prison.”

Dabi watched him, the way his feathers puffed up like a bush warbler in winter, the anger steadily leaking into his tone. Interesting. So Hawks, at least, knew the truth of what Endeavor was.

“How come you know, then?” asked Dabi, raising an eyebrow.

“Touya told me,” said Hawks. “He doesn’t really care about the gag order, he just doesn’t want the media knowing his business.”

“That sounds about right,” snorted Dabi. He certainly didn’t want that. Part of him hated this world’s Touya for telling a hero what he’d been through, although it was nice to hear someone else dump on his old man. “In my world he just made Number One.”

Hawks twitched violently, hands clenching into fists. “Endeavor?” he asked stiffly.

“That’s the one,” he drawled.

“How the fuck did that—what happened to All Might?”

“Oh, All Might is a pathetic sham putting up a front in a desperate attempt to salvage his reputation,” snorted Dabi.

Hawks stared.

“It’s all an act,” he went on, happy to keep the subject away from him and his life. “He can barely throw a punch on his own, but he keeps ruining his body to uphold this bullshit ideal of the Symbol of Peace, the one who will protect us from all the big bad villains out there.”

“I—that’s why we need more pillars,” said Hawks. “We need more heroes who can stand with him.”

“More?” Dabi echoed mockingly. “More fucking fakes? More money- or fame-hungry bastards who only save people because it’ll make them look good? More conniving assholes who steal their wife’s quirks and beat their kids and burn whole families to ash? We don’t need more heroes.”

“We need better heroes,” said Hawks, some of his determination rekindling. “Quality over quantity. You’re right.”

Dabi snorted. He was always right, but that wasn’t what he was saying. There probably wasn’t a point in trying to explain it to this airhead, though. He had more pressing concerns.

“This guy have a phone or something?” he asked, gesturing to his pocketless hospital garb. “I wanna catch up on the news. Not like you know what’s different here.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Hawks, rifling through his jacket and producing a smartphone with a simple black case. “Passcode is 108.”

Dabi raised an eyebrow as he took the phone. “It’s what.”

“It’s—it’s because you can read it Tou-ya,” Hawks explained, apparently embarrassed on Touya’s behalf. “He’s really bad at remembering, so—”

“Fuck, that’s even worse,” he interrupted, squinting down at the phone. Man, he missed apps. When he got back he should find out if they had a hacker on call or something who could get him some apps. There were some okay-looking games, and a couple for heroics, including a Hero News App that he ended up selecting, switching the date back to around when he joined the League.

“Endeavor didn’t take down Stain?” he asked idly, scrolling through the old man’s tag.

“No,” said Hawks, laughing a little, “Touya did.”

“Touya what,” said Dabi, looking up from the phone sharply.

“Touya took down Stain,” said Hawks, grinning. “Said he was a big fake who just wanted an excuse to stab people.”

“And why did he say that?” he asked through gritted teeth. The Hero Killer? A fucking fake?

“Said if he gave a shit about fake heroes, he would’ve killed the fuck out of Endeavor years ago. Then Ingenium got taken out, and—well, his kid brother is in Shouto’s class. I think it hit kind of close to home.”

“So he was scared?” sneered Dabi.

Hawks raised an eyebrow. “He knew Stain’s motives were corrupt, and that Stain himself was becoming something of a media sensation. In a way it was truer to Stain’s creed than he was; he saw a threat to society propping itself up on false pretenses, and he decided to act.”

“He took down Stain alone?” Dabi asked, looking back at his phone, uncomprehending. He’d seen the photos of Stain after his arrest, scant though they were. He knew Endeavor hadn’t been the one to bring him in, not entirely. Stain would’ve been charred to a crisp. Had he—had this world’s version of him—managed to defeat someone his father couldn’t? Someone Dabi himself looked to as a source of inspiration?

“Well, I helped a little,” said Hawks. Dabi looked back at him. “My PR team says it’s probably what got me to Number Two. I’d been lagging behind Endeavor ‘til then, but I jumped two places in the rankings. You—uh, Touya—he lost his mind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that smug, which is saying something.”

“Hm.” Dabi looked back at his phone. “In my world, I’m not a hero.”

“You a vigilante?” asked Hawks, sounding surprised. “I guess it makes sense, if you had to grow up with Old Flamebeard. He’d hardly have let you go to a hero school or apply for a license.”

“Yeah,” said Dabi, curling his unmarred fingers into a fist and staring at it for a moment. Hardly.

“Well, you’ve got your license here, so there’s no need to go running around in the shadows,” said Hawks, smiling like he was giving Dabi the greatest gift ever. “I’d say it’ll be way easier, but there’s still the paperwork. I bet we could get you cleared to go to the Annual Dinner, even if they probably won’t let you back on active duty while Universe Swap is in effect. I’m sure you could at least tag along on patrols with me; they know I’ll keep you safe!”

“Mm,” said Dabi. Keep him safe. Like that’s who the heroes should be worried about.

This… could work to his advantage, actually. Granted it was another universe, but it seemed pretty similar to his own, and if they thought he was a hero… he could get info he’d have to kill for back home. He could uncover secrets and weaknesses or even plans and they’d never know.

“How long does this quirk last, anyway?” he asked after a moment.

“Oh,” said Hawks, wilting slightly. “Well, it’s up to the one who got hit by the quirk, actually. There’s nothing we can do on this end but wait. Could be anywhere from a day to… never.”

“Up to him?” Dabi raised an eyebrow. “I’d think he’d want back in right away.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not a matter of simply wanting it,” Hawks said gloomily. “He has to meet certain parameters. Since there’s no way to communicate with him, it’s more or less chance.”

Dabi grunted, schooling his face into something that wasn’t a smirk. Chance, huh? He could work with chance.

A knock on the door drew their attention, and Hawks called for whomever it was to come in, much to Dabi’s ire. Just whose fucking room was this?

“Touya!” called a much, much too familiar voice, and once again Dabi stiffened as if hit by a cattle prod.

Todoroki Rei faltered on the way to his bed, looking confused and a little hurt at his reaction, arms half-raised to embrace him.

Chapter Text

Touya tugged nervously at the edges of his hood, trying to make sure his face was properly obscured. He’d been able to scrounge up a pair of sunglasses, but he hadn’t had any luck finding a mask or gloves of any kind. The best he’d been able to do was dig up a ratty old sweatshirt with a hood big enough to hide him a bit.

Making his way to Fuyumi was going to be… a challenge. Mostly because he didn’t know where he was. He stared blankly at the door for a minute or two before finally working up the nerve to step outside and see what awaited him.

He slunk down a narrow hallway, closing the door as he went; he hadn’t been able to find any keys, but it was probably alright—who would rob a place that looked this shitty? He’d reburied the laptop and scooped up the burner phone just in case, but those’d been the only objects of real value, and even this flimsy door was a decent deterrent. There was a faded patch that indicated the door had once had a number, which he noted down as he glanced nervously around.

The building was a bit cramped, with a few other doors and a derelict staircase, and the walls were just as messed up as the ones in the room had been. Some of the rooms still had plates beside them, with weirdly elaborate themes that didn’t match one another. He tried the stairs first, following the sound of voices, moving as quietly as he could.

The decorations were gaudy, even gaudier than the room he’d woken up in, with pieces of the floor missing and all manner of crude graffiti. He was becoming increasingly convinced that this wasn’t an ordinary motel at all, and a blush crept up his face under the scarring.

He slipped into a dilapidated lobby, filled with busted-open teller machines and a reception desk with a cracked panel of frosted glass. Touya nearly groaned, but he could still hear voices, and he didn’t want to be noticed. He stole through the entrance, which was discreet (if ajar) and looked around.

Yeah. This sure was a Love Hotel.

He slunk along the side of the building, where a single driveway opened onto an alley, and pulled out his burner phone to try and get directions to… somewhere. Anywhere. Any place that wasn’t the broken-down husk of the “Korisei Romance Retreat”.

Apparently he was in a city called Koriban, a down-on-its-luck industrial area that had taken the last recession hard. He was all the way on the other side of Tokyo from Musutafu, and the subway would take hours, but if he could get a little closer to the station there was a bullet train that’d cut that in half.  

Touya weighed the chances of being recognized on his way as he slipped out of the alley onto a busier street, absorbed in his phone. Buying a ticket shouldn’t be an issue with the automated machines—he’d found a wad of cash at the bottom of a drawer that would more than cover it—but if he couldn’t find a mask or a scarf or something there was no way he’d get through a train ride.

“Hey!” somebody hissed at him as he brushed past. He fought the urge to turn around; there were too many people nearby, and he couldn’t afford a scene right now. Better to just ignore whomever it was and keep walking. The Kaiten Way was only a ten or fifteen minute walk from here, and—

“Hey!” said the voice again, and this time, Touya recognized it. Stomach swooping, he allowed himself to be yanked into another alley and more or less tossed against the wall behind a dumpster.

“T—Hawks,” he said, keeping his voice as level as he could under the circumstances. He cleared his throat when that came out… squeaky. Yeah, real smooth, asshole. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Surprise?” said Takahiro, scowling ferociously. “I was waiting for you for over an hour! What is your problem?”

“Uh,” said Touya, looking down at himself. Where did he start?

“And then I figured you weren’t coming and I should just go home and what do I find? You’re just slinking around in broad daylight wearing the same shitty hoodie you wear to half our meetings!”

“Our meetings?” Touya repeated immediately, straightening up. “You’ve—uh—we’ve been—?”

Takahiro looked at him strangely, finally seeming to realize there was something off. “Dabi? You are you, right? This isn’t the shape changer playing a prank or something?”

“I’m—well,” said Touya, gesturing inarticulately. “I’m not a shape changer, and I’m—kind of me, but—”

“But what?” asked Takahiro, a frown beginning to overtake his crisp features. Part of Touya wanted to wipe away the crease growing between his eyebrows, but—that would probably be weird. No, fuck, it would definitely be weird.

Although what did he mean by meetings?

“Okay, here’s the thing,” said Touya, blowing out all his breath in a huff. If he hadn’t been arrested on sight, maybe he could work with this. “This is my body, more or less, but—I’m not Dabi.”

“You’re… not.”

“I mean I’m me, but like, from an alternate universe? Or this is all a horrible, horrible nightmare. I’m still on the fence, to be honest.”

“You’re Dabi from an alternate universe, where you aren’t Dabi,” Takahiro said slowly.

“Yeah. Well—I mean, I’m the same person, but like—in my universe I’m not—this.”

Takahiro stared at him blankly. He had that stupid I-heard-the-words-you-said-but-processed-none-of-them look on his face, apparently trying to wrap his head around it.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he said eventually, “I don’t know what to do with that.”

Touya sighed. “Well, I do have one suggestion.”

“What?”

“Wanna give me a ride?”

Takahiro made a strangled noise that Touya took to mean ‘what the fuck’.

“No, no, hear me out,” he said, raising his hands in supplication. “We can meet about whatever it was later, but right now I gotta get to Musutafu ASAP. If you give me a ride I promise I’ll be on time—nay, early—to whatever shindig you want. Although it would be convenient if we could relocate that to Musutafu too, ‘cause like, I’m not so sure about taking a train like this—”

“Don’t you guys have a teleporter?” spluttered Takahiro. “I’m not—I’m not a fucking taxi, I’m—if people saw me carrying you—”

“Oh, pshaw,” said Touya, waving his hand as if he could shoo the thought from the air. “Like anyone can see you when you’re going top speed, much less identify the disfigured-yet-still-somehow-dashing figure in your arms.”

“The teleporter point stands,” muttered Takahiro. But, Touya noted smugly, no objection to his being dashing. This wasn’t so bad after all, though he hadn’t thought Taka would ever be able to stomach a villain. Maybe ‘Dabi’ was undercover? “Why don’t you just have someone warp you?”

“Because I want you to take me! C’mon, I got hit by a weird quirk and I don’t know any of these people. Are you gonna send me into the belly of the beast all by my lonesome?”

“Were you actually planning on taking the train?” asked Takahiro, looking him up and down in dismay. “You look like you’re about to rob a convenience store.”

“Is it the sunglasses?” asked Touya. “Be honest.”

Takahiro groaned. “Alright. Fine. I’ll take you to Musutafu if it will keep you from terrorizing public transportation, and if you agree to be on time for once in your life later.”

“I swear,” said Touya, grinning. The staples pulled uncomfortably at his face. God, how did this guy emote? It was like getting a cheekful of cactus every ten minutes. “Hell, depending how quick you get us there I might even throw in a little something extra.”

Takahiro frowned, not so much in disapproval as confusion, and Touya schooled his face into the closest to innocent he could manage while dressed like a criminal and transformed into a villain.

“Well, it shouldn’t take too long,” Takahiro said slowly, pulling his visor down over his eyes. “I mean, like you said—my top speed is nothing to be sneezed at.”

“I’ll say,” said Touya, earning another strange look. He leaned forward a little, hands folded carefully behind his back, and smiled up at him. “How do you want me?”

“Uh—sorry?” asked Takahiro, freezing in the middle of tugging his sleeves.

“Should I just cling to you like a koala, or did you wanna do a princess carry?” asked Touya.

“Oh. Um, princess carry I guess. I can catch you if you fall but like, neither of us wants that. So uh—where in Musutafu? I won’t be able to hear you very well when we’re in the air, so…”

That was true, at least. There had been far too many conversations derailed by the roar of the wind and the rhythmic beating of Takahiro’s wings. “Dagobah Beach would be good,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “I’ve gotta scope out the location first.”

“Of course,” muttered Takahiro. He held out his arms, stiffly, awkwardly. “Well, all aboard, I guess. Please don’t make me regret this.”

“Regrets are for things you didn’t do, not things you did,” said Touya, slinging an arm around his neck and hopping far too eagerly into his arms. “For instance, I think you’re regretting not tossing me in that dumpster and flying off earlier, but this? This was a great call.”

“That’s an… interesting philosophy,” said Takahiro, grimacing. “Particularly for a villain.”

“Oh, right,” said Touya, looking down at himself. “Forgot again. I might have to update my stance on regret.”

“You do that,” said Takahiro, taking off without another word.

The flight went without incident, Touya pillowing his head on Takahiro’s shoulder and trying not to doze off. He probably pressed closer into his neck than was entirely polite, but Takahiro didn’t say anything.

Dagobah was blessedly deserted, with the bulk of the crowds gathered along the waterfront. Takahiro was able to land them in the parking lot without anyone pointing or asking for an autograph, so they were more or less in the clear.

“How can I ever repay you?” Touya asked sardonically as he climbed out of his arms.

“By showing up on time,” said Takahiro. “Do not forget. The old Kuroiyou warehouse, midnight.”

“You got it,” said Touya, running over a mental map of the city. Provided it was in the same place, it was only a twenty minute walk from Endeavor’s place, where Fuyumi was apparently still living.

God, he hated that she was still living there. He hated that she’d had to do it without him. Dabi was a piece of shit and if this was a real universe Touya was going to fuck up his life as much as possible.

“Dabi?” Takahiro was saying.

Touya scowled at that, but didn’t correct him. He needed to touch bases with Fuyumi before he figured out what the hell was going on with Dabi and Takahiro. “What?”

“I said, ‘will you be good from here?’ Some of us have jobs to get back to.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” said Touya. “I’m… it’s been a long day. I’ll see you later, okay?” Automatically, he leaned in and pecked Taka on the cheek, only to freeze when he realized what he’d done.

Takahiro stared at him incredulously, the barest hint of a blush beginning to bloom across his face.

“What will it take to get you to pretend that never happened?” asked Touya in a slightly strangled voice.

“I will—get back to you on that,” choked Takahiro. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but apparently thought better of it, launching himself into the sky like he was fleeing the scene of a crime.

“Call me!” Touya called after him in spite of himself, yanking his hood lower when that earned him a curious look from some passersby. Nice line, dickweed. Hope it was worth the crushing embarrassment.

all clear? he texted Fuyumi, burying his undying shame deep, deep down.

Good to go. she sent back almost immediately. He’s overnighting in Kyoto, and Natsu is camping with friends this week so he won’t be dropping in unexpectedly.

He sent her an appropriately celebratory emoji, adjusting his hood one last time as he slunk his way out of the parking lot. Here went nothing.

Chapter Text

His mother stood painfully still between him and the doorway, and Dabi could swear he saw the ghost of fear in her eyes as she took in his reaction to her. Afraid of him here too, then?

“He goes by Dabi, apparently,” Hawks said hastily, and Rei relaxed, smiling at him sadly. His brows furrowed. Afraid of… his poor opinion?

There was a snort from the doorway, and Dabi leaned around her to see Shouto watching him with an impassive expression but twinkling eyes, no scar in sight.

“Really?” he asked, coming into the room with more confidence than Rei had been able to muster, taking one of the chairs opposite Hawks. He was still quiet—there was still something reserved there—but this was the brother Dabi had never been allowed to know. He could barely tell the difference aside from the impudent way the brat was addressing him.

“Oi,” said Dabi, scowling at him, “how was I supposed to know about this dumbass universe? It’s spelled like ‘cremation’.”

“You’re going to have to explain that to a lot of people if you want them to call you that,” said Shouto, crossing his arms.

“How are you feeling?” Rei asked anxiously. Dabi forced himself to look at her.

She looked well—very well. Better than he could ever remember seeing her. She didn’t have that hunted look in her eyes, or the hollowness of brittle bird bones, no bare twigs of winter in her build. She seemed healthy, watching him with open concern instead of the smothered loathing or terror he remembered.

This was his mother away from the influence of Endeavor, and Dabi had never hated the man more for what he’d done to her.                                         

In his world, Todoroki Rei was as dead as Todoroki Touya. The care and affection she was showing him now was a specter from a dream, his mother returned to life, restored to a state in which she could see him as anything other than his father’s second coming.

“Strange,” he said quietly. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so accommodating to another version of her, but—this was the mother he remembered, the one he adored, who told him he was worth something. “Everything is different here.”

“If you have any questions, we’d love to help make you more comfortable,” said Rei, moving slowly forward, like he was a stray dog she was trying not to startle. It should’ve been irritating, condescending, but instead he found it reassuring. There was no blow laced with fire. There were no screams from his siblings. There was just this ghost of his mother, brushing his bangs out of his face and smiling when she revealed his father’s eyes, like they didn’t bother her at all.

“Thanks,” he murmured, unable to look away from the kindness in her face. “Are you—happy?”

She blinked in apparent surprise. “Of course not,” she said, frowning, “you’re in the hospital, again—”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “that isn’t—fuck, never mind.”

“T—Dabi!” she scolded. “Watch your language!”

“Yes ma’am,” he said meekly, meeker than he had been in probably his whole life.

“I’m going to go speak with your doctor,” she said, huffing a little, a fond smile caught on her lips despite the way he could tell she was itching to roll her eyes. “You boys behave while I’m gone, alright?”

It was strange; even with his skin a charred ruin, he knew the way his face moved, and his mother… she mirrored that perfectly. He’d spent almost a decade trying to forge himself into his own person, distinct from his parents, free from his past, and yet it seemed he’d taken on more than he’d known. 

The door closed softly behind her, and Shouto leaned forward immediately.

“So,” he said simply. “Dabi. What’s your universe like?”

“Worse, from the sound of it,” said Hawks, before Dabi could so much as open his mouth. “Your parents never got a divorce, and Bastard Supreme just made Number One.” Shouto stiffened, and Dabi almost chastised Hawks instinctively for dumping that on him, before he remembered—this wasn’t his Shouto. It wasn’t his place to protect him from the truth of who Dabi was or where he came from.

Hell, it wasn’t his place to protect his own Shouto anymore, either. He’d let seeing his mother get to him; he had to remember himself.

He wanted to trounce the kid so thoroughly Endeavor would feel it. He wanted to defeat the prodigal son and watch that flaming, baleful light die out in their father’s eyes.

Dabi was the failed creation, the monster Frankenstein had unwittingly birthed. He was the fire delivered by Prometheus, he was the eagle set to rip him apart—he was justice free of this bastardized society, who would seize a better world by force.

Or subterfuge, if necessary.

“He won’t last,” he said, forcing his roiling emotions from his voice with the ease born of long practice. “Some villain nearly killed him just last week. Tore his face a new one.”

“Hm,” said Shouto, watching him closely. Too closely. “I wish there were a way you could stay here, when Touya comes back. I wouldn’t wish that world on anyone.”

“It’s me you shouldn’t wish on the world,” said Dabi, with a feral grin.

“No matter what universe, there’s no way he’d just sit back and be content with it,” said Hawks. He smiled reassuringly at Shouto. “This is your big brother we’re talking about.”

“I suppose if there’s one thing Shinogus are good at, it’s raising hell.”

“I’m not a Shinogu,” said Dabi, frowning.

“You actually prefer Todoroki?” asked Shouto, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I’m—it’s just Dabi. Alright? This isn’t fucking rocket science. No family name, just Dabi.”

Shouto hummed, watching him with open consideration. Dabi glowered back.

“So uh,” squeaked Hawks as the silence apparently became too much for him, “did you have the same weather in your universe? Talk about a beautiful day!”

Mercifully, this was when Rei returned.

“Oh, thank god,” said Hawks. “They were doing that silent staring thing. What’s the word?”

“He’s got a clean bill of health,” she reported with a small smile. “They’re getting started on the discharge paperwork, and then we can leave whenever he’s feeling up to it.”

“I’m up to it,” said Dabi immediately. Like hell was he spending a second longer than he had to without his quirk. Granted, he still didn’t really have a plan, but—he could figure that out later. Priority number one was blowing this popsicle stand.

“In the meantime, how about you catch us up?” asked Shouto. And damn, but his poker face was good. Was he suspicious? Did he know something? Dabi couldn’t tell. “I have to admit I’m interested in what my parallel self has been up to.”

Dabi cast a sideways glance at their mother, steeling himself. She isn’t your mother, idiot. She’s—something, to someone, but not to you.

“I don’t know how much I can tell you,” he said carefully. Sure, he could make something up, some radical tale of their fraternal adventures, but then he’d have to keep track of it. He’d have to know the kid well enough to hazard a guess, and he just… didn’t. The best lies were always the truth, anyway. “I haven’t really been allowed to talk to you since your quirk manifested.”

Rei grew very, very still.

“And I haven’t—seen you,” he told her, haltingly, hating the way the emotions crept like hoarfrost across her face. “When we were twelve, there was—an accident.”

“What?” Hawks asked sharply, either oblivious of the growing tension or just not caring. “Is—but if they didn’t get divorced, and she—she—”

“She isn’t dead,” Dabi said quietly, unable to look away from Rei’s warm gray eyes. “I just… she’s been in the hospital, and… she doesn’t want to see me.”

“There is no universe in which I don’t want to see you,” she said suddenly, fiercely. He was dismayed to see tears beginning to well in her eyes. “Dabi—you’re my son. I love you, and I’ll always love you, no matter what. How could you even think that? No matter what happened to me, of course I’d want to see you.”

He had to look away.

“The thing is,” he said quietly, “that isn’t what you told me.”

“Whatever I said,” said Rei, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed and reaching for his face, “Whatever I did—I didn’t mean it. I… I don’t know what’s happened to you, Dabi, but I know with all of my heart that if I did something to make you feel like you aren’t the most important thing in my life, then I regret it. I hope that when you get back to your world you can give me the chance to tell you.”

He still couldn’t look at her, but he allowed her to cup the side of his face, relishing in the sensation of her cool fingers. It was so nice to have nerve endings again; he hadn’t missed them much in his own world, but he had a feeling he might when he got back.

If he got back.

“It was just the old man?” asked Shouto after a few moments. Dabi glanced over at him, and even through his impassive features, there was a frown taking shape. “He—was the one who raised us?”

“Raised, razed—whatever you want to call it,” snorted Dabi. “Once she was out of the way, it was a free for all.”

“So… my ‘training’…”

“Never stopped, as far as I know.” Dabi inclined his head, looking down his nose at this stranger who had once been his brother. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a brother that knew? Who had also been chosen and trained and discarded—or even freed? Did ‘Shinogu Touya’ know what he had in this impertinent brat?

Shouto was staring down at his hands, clenched into fists. Rei was trembling on the bed beside him. The silence was growing tenser with each passing second.

Hawks got slowly to his feet, a lazy smile spreading across his face like ink in water.

“Hey!” he said abruptly, voice still soft enough that no one jumped. “Enough of that. It didn’t happen here, and Dabi will take care of it when he gets back home. And—Touya is there now.”

And, amazingly, they started to relax. Shouto even smiled.

“What, that’s all it takes? You’ve got that much faith in him?” asked Dabi, raising an eyebrow.

“Touya could pull the sun out of the sky, if he could reach,” said Hawks, beaming at him. “And that means you can, too. You can change the world.”

“Oh, I will,” said Dabi, with a small, ironic smile.

“It must be hard, worrying about them, but—they’re in good hands. The best. I think for now we should all just take some time to process. Do you want to go back to your mom’s place, or the apartment?”

“I have an apartment?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Damn. Nice. “Uh, there, I guess. I’m curious.”

Plus, he didn’t know how much more time he could spend with these… people. Especially all at once.

“Great!” said Hawks, beaming. “I’ll see about expediting those papers. And uh, you two—”

The ‘Shinogus’ turned to look at him, expectantly.

“I haven’t told him yet, so like—don’t say anything, okay?”

Dabi frowned.

“What?” he asked them, as Hawks left the room. “Told me what?”

Shouto was full-on smirking, while Rei just looked vaguely apologetic.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” she said, “it really isn’t our place to tell you. I promise it isn’t anything bad.”

“That depends on your opinion of certain—”

“Shouto,” said Rei, pointing at him sternly.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his smirk softening around the edges. It seemed he shared Dabi’s soft spot for their mother. That was almost useful, but it went beyond a double-edged sword; he couldn’t hurt even the shell of Todoroki Rei.

“You should come by the school, since you’re off active duty for a while,” said Shouto. “I’m sure you’ll get bored following Hawks around eventually.”

An insider look at UA’s security?

“Count me in,” said Dabi, lips curling into a reflection of his smirk.

Chapter Text

Touya didn’t bother going through the gate. He’d climbed over the exterior wall so many times he had it down to an art form—he didn’t even need to shimmy up a tree and jump anymore. When they were nine he’d burned (well, melted) a slot at a convenient interval that still served as a decent foothold. He was able to haul himself the rest of the way over no problem, landing with a solid but muted thud in a corner of the garden covered with moss and fallen maple leaves.

“Guess that heroing paid off after all,” he remarked to a weather-beaten yukimi lantern, stepping carefully around the planter to get onto the narrow stone path that wound through the yard. “That was practically a pull up.”

It was a beautiful garden; he’d always thought so. His father had never liked it much, so Touya and his siblings had seen it as a sort of refuge, a place they could get away from the chaos for a while. He and Fuyumi used to sit on one of the low stone benches beside the pond for hours, just watching the koi drift under the lily pads.

As he passed by, he realized the lilies were gone.

Maybe in this world, they’d never been there in the first place.

Touya was still staring at the water when he heard the slide of wood and rice paper, and turned to find Fuyumi framed in the doorway, blinking.

For a small eternity, neither of them moved.

“Hey,” he said softly, when it became apparent that Fuyumi was at a loss. “Uh. What’s up?”

“You must have been close,” she said after a moment. Her voice sounded far away, like it was dubbed over her lips moving. Like she wasn’t a part of herself. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“I wasn’t, actually,” he said carefully, moving nearer. He paused at the edge of the engawa, staring up at her, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was beginning to get the hang of avoiding the staples, but sudden movements or extreme expressions seemed to exacerbate them no matter what. “I hitched a ride.”

Fuyumi knelt in front of him, eyes roving his face. She held her hands in front of her like she was blocking the scars, trying to see past them to Touya.

“It is you,” she said softly. “It’s—you’re really—Touya, what the fuck.”

He flinched back from the sudden venom in her voice. He’d really been expecting more of a tearful reunion, but she looked about ready to rip off the rest of his face.

“I thought you were dead for years you—you little worm!” she yelled, swatting him around the head and shoulders. “We had a funeral. I—we didn’t have anything left to cremate so I had them burn your guitar—”

“Not the Les Paul?” gasped Touya, eyes growing wide in horror. “Wait, I didn’t get that until we were like fifteen, did—”

“It was a Yamaha and I wish I could burn it again!”

“’Yumiiii,” he groaned, shoulders sagging in relief. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Don’t scare you?” she shrieked. “Get inside. Now.”

“Alright, alright,” said Touya, holding his hands up in surrender. He shuffled awkwardly onto the engawa on his knees, keeping his shoes off the wood until he could wriggle out of them. They weren’t as sturdy as his boots, but they were decent. If nothing else, Dabi had an acceptable sense of style.

Fuyumi snatched the shoes away from him and practically hurled them into the entryway, pointing with menacing precision to the family room.

Touya swallowed, hunching his shoulders as he slunk to the table. He sat down quietly, watching Fuyumi pace—stalk, really—around the room, muttering to herself and waving her hands in erratic little gestures.

“What am I supposed to tell people?” she demanded eventually. “Oh hey, Touya’s alive, he was horribly disfigured and now he’s trying to kill Dad—”

“Whoa, I’m what?” he interrupted.

“Yeah, our father? You tried to kill him last week. If he hadn’t had backup you probably would have succeeded.”

Touya looked down at his patchwork hands. Honestly, that tracked. The only surprising part was that he’d gotten close.

“’Yumi,” he said slowly, “What happened to me?”

She stopped pacing.

Avoiding eye contact, she sank onto a cushion across from him, sitting neatly in a perfect seiza that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

Touya waited.

“There was a fire,” she said eventually. “Shouto was… he wouldn’t use his fire side after Mom… after the accident. And Dad didn’t… like that.”

The accident must be whatever had landed Mom in the hospital. Touya frowned; why should Shouto repress his fire over that? Was she burned somehow? Was it just to punish their old man?

“I don’t know the specifics,” said Fuyumi, fiddling with her folded hands. “Dad was doing something to get him to use his fire, and Shouto called for help, and you just—you couldn’t take it anymore. You told me to watch Natsuo and just stormed off for the dojo. It was the last time I ever saw you.”

Touya’s hands clenched into fists. He had never, ever heard his little brother ask for help. Not even with things like math homework, let alone something as dire as training with their father.

So Touya understood up to rushing in for him, alright. But what had possessed him to disappear afterwards?

“Was Shouto okay?” he asked after a short silence.

“He was unconscious when Dad got him out. The doctors said he had a concussion, probably from ‘falling debris’.” Her lips twisted unpleasantly, and he knew she believed that about as much as he did. “No burns, no smoke damage aside from some soot in his hair. Dad had some heat exhaustion and a busted lip, but that was about it.”

“So we had a fight?” asked Touya, leaning back onto his arms. He stared up at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the beams. A fight with his father. Endeavor got a bit hot, and Touya came out looking like this.

“I don’t know,” Fuyumi confessed. “Nobody knows except you and him. Shouto didn’t remember anything when he woke up. We don’t even know whose flames they were, since yours are orange too when they cool down. They might even have been Shouto’s.”

Touya snorted. Shouto’s control was impeccable; he hadn’t had a quirk accident since he was six years old and had frozen his fingers together while trying to ice a bruise. The idea that he could unintentionally start a fire large enough to ‘kill’ someone was ludicrous.

“The article I found just said ‘suspicious circumstances’ or something,” he said at length. “What was his story? Electrical fire? Kitchen fire? There was a break-in, he had to fight back, didn’t know poor little Touya was trapped inside burning to ashes?”

“He knew.”

Touya blinked. “What?”

“He knew you were in there,” she said softly. “He went back in to save you. That’s when he got the heat exhaustion.”

Touya stared at her, unsure how to process that. It was hard to reconcile his image of Endeavor with any kind of rescue, particularly if they had been fighting.

“He went back in to save you, but he was too late,” said Fuyumi. “We—we knew you were burning, we could hear you screaming even louder than Shouto, but by the time we realized there was a fire we couldn’t hear you anymore, and—Natsuo’s quirk couldn’t—but—mine could have—”

“’Yumi,” he said softly, reaching out to lay a hand over hers. She flinched back. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“But you’re not,” she said, tears finally welling up. “You’re not okay, Yacchan, you’re—look at you. You burned up! You’re a villain!”

“But I’m alive,” he said fiercely. “He’s alive. This Dabi guy is still alive, unless…”

“Unless what?”

He hesitated. “Unless we decide that shouldn’t be the case.”

She stared at him, first in confusion, then mounting fury.

“What are you saying?” she demanded.

“I think you know what I’m saying,” he answered grimly. “This guy—he’s a villain. He tried to hurt Shouto, he hasn’t contacted any of you—you had a funeral and he didn’t say anything—”

“He’s my brother,” she said fiercely. “He didn’t hurt Shouto, and—and I can’t blame him for not contacting us, not with Dad being—he’s my twin brother, I—”

“He’s me,” hissed Touya. “I’m him, ‘Yumi, and I can tell you right fucking now I’d rather die than be a villain.”

“I already lost him once!”

Touya drew back, slowly, watching her. She was sobbing in earnest now, face contorted like she was confused by the strength of her own emotions.

This Fuyumi was so different from his own, and yet so similar. The way she saw the best in everyone, the ferocity with which she cared—but she didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t have a drive for that force, so she was clinging to her original idea of a family with everything she had. She didn’t know what their family could have been, how much he loved being a part of it; she only knew this twisted joke of the Shinogus, a more glaring reminder of their worlds’ dissonance than even his fucked-up face.

“I already lost him once,” she repeated, with a small, broken sob. “How can you ask that of me? How can you come here and tell me he’s alive and then ask me…?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But people change, ‘Yumi. You’ve changed from what you’re like in my world. I’m sure I’m different than how you remember me. Dabi—he isn’t your brother. Not anymore.”

“He’s Touya.”

“I’m Touya!”

“And you’re wrong!” she snapped. “Of course you wouldn’t think a version of you was worth saving! You probably don’t think that about your actual self!”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Fuyumi wiped tears from her cheeks.

“I’m—I would not propose that we kill me,” he said eventually. “I like being alive. I like—my life. My life is great. It’s this guy—”

“What was it you said earlier?” she interrupted. “Some villains don’t know what else to do, or they’re trying to help?”

Touya’s face twisted. “We both know I’m something of a dumbass, but I’m not that stupid. How the fuck is trying to kill our little brother helping anyone?”

“We don’t know that you were trying to kill him,” she said firmly. “I—I don’t know why Touya left, or why he didn’t say anything, but—I know him. I know him better than anyone.”

“Better than me?” he asked incredulously.

“Obviously.”

He groaned, flopping backwards onto the tatami. That was more like Fuyumi.

“Maybe he’s a vigilante,” she went on, sniffing as she dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief. “Maybe—maybe he’s even a spy! He could be an underground hero, since Dad was so obsessed with rankings!”

“You need a license for that, ‘Yumi,” he grumbled, throwing an arm across his eyes. With sleeves covering the worst of his scarring, he didn’t have to deal with the gnarled and uncomfortably smooth tissue that passed for skin. He could just wallow in the comforting weight of a limb, whether or not it really belonged to him.

“Oh, right,” she said, obviously disappointed. “A vigilante, then.”

“And anyway, there’s no way the Number One Hero wouldn’t know about spy stuff like that. All Might is still on top in my world, and he gets at least a briefing email for anything involving the League.”

“Yeah, but Dad’s… well, he’s no All Might.”

Touya barked out a laugh in spite of himself. “You can say that again. You could be right about that, though—maybe we don’t keep him posted because he’s Number One, but because he’s All Might.”

They laughed at that for a moment, before tapering off into a comfortable silence. It should have been harder, right? She hadn’t seen him in years, and this was like a weird, semi-canonical version of his sister. They shouldn’t still be able to fit together so well in time—to fill the gaps in conversations like this with their own feeling of mutual understanding. They shouldn’t still feel like twins, but… they did. Or at least, he did.

“So… Kamino Ward, that—that villain—none of that happened in your world?” Fuyumi asked after a few moments.

“None,” he sighed, letting his arm drop back to the floor. He stared up into the ceiling, tracing the posts and lintels as if he were a mouse running across them, inspecting every knot and joint. When he was a child, he had often pretended he could turn into one—that he could just slip up a beam and out a window and be free. It was another element of his father’s house that he had always appreciated. He didn’t have a head for architecture or carpentry or any of that stuff, but he loved the aesthetics of it all—just like the garden, or the koi pond, staring up from the floor like he could see through to the sky filled him with a sense of nostalgia. It was a tangible reminder that there had been snatched moments of tranquility, even here. Even now. “Shouto’s camp was attacked, but it went off a lot better, apparently. Real embarrassment for the League.”

“You’re that good, huh?” she asked, and he raised his head off the floor at the teasing lilt in her voice, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m that good at being a piece of shit, yes.”

“Then you know what you need to do, right?”

Touya raised his other eyebrow. “Die?”

“No,” she said, pointing at him. “You need to be a piece of shit for the bad guys, instead.”

He sat all the way up.

“Uh,” he said rubbing his neck, “What?”

“Think about it!” she said, smiling broadly. “Dabi is one of the higher ups of the League of Villains. They think he was the leader of the attack on the camp, and we know he’s at least contributed to killing a pro.”

Touya twitched. God, he hoped that wasn’t anybody he knew. “Yeah, as we’ve established, he’s a piece of shit.”

“So they trust him,” she stressed. “You could get all kinds of dirt on them! You could even set up an ambush!”

“Uh, with who? Who’s going to trust ‘Dabi’ to give them reliable info on the League’s plans? I can’t take them all out by myself!”

“Oh,” said Fuyumi, frowning. “Hm. And I guess it would look weird if I suddenly had all this information about them. Nobody would listen to me either.”

“Not even the old man?”

“Especially not him,” she said, making a face. “He’s… trying, recently. He’s trying to be better. I mean, he’d listen to me, but…”

“But what? He’d think he could do it all alone?” snorted Touya.

“Well… I worry more that he’d… take it hard,” she said, twisting her mouth. They met eyes over the table, and he knew precisely what she meant.

Either Endeavor would accept that he had created one of the most prolific villains he’d ever faced, and nearly been killed by his own son, or he would think that Fuyumi had finally snapped under the pressure of trying to hold their family together.

“He’d think you were fixating on my quirk,” said Touya, lighting a small fireball in the palm of his hand and glaring down at it. “He’d see it as you wishing I was alive so bad that you found the first fuck up with blue flames you could, and decided it was me.” Whether he’d think that was his fault or not was up for debate, but there was no point in arguing with Fuyumi when her mind was made up about something.

“He’d stick me in the hospital faster than you can say ‘media scandal’,” she said sadly. “It’d be Mom all over again. And then I wouldn’t be able to help you anymore.”

“Mom all—is Mom in the hospital because of him?” Touya demanded, sitting up a little straighter. She said—Fuyumi had said it was an accident. Surely she wouldn’t defend him if he’d—if—

Fuyumi watched him for a moment, her soft eyes shuttering over with something unnervingly like pain. Her shoulders hunched slightly as she looked away. “We shouldn’t talk about that,” she said quietly. “I’ll—maybe I’ll tell you later, but right now we need to focus on doing some good. We should get you back to your world, if we can. You don’t deserve to deal with all of this.”

“I’m… ‘Yumi, I can’t just leave you to deal with this by yourself,” he protested. It scared him to hear her talk like that—like there were things about this world he wasn’t ready to know. Like it could possibly be any worse.

“I’m not by myself,” she said, looking back at him with a small smile. “I have Natsuo and Shouto, and—it turns out I have you, too. And as long as you’re alive, I can save you.”

“That’s a terrible attitude,” said Touya, chuckling in spite of himself. “What, are you a hero now?”

“Someone’s got to do it!” she laughed. “You can’t stay here, no matter how you feel. You have your own universe to get back to—your own Fuyumi to pester. So someone has to step up, and I’m not going to let Shouto do it.”

“Maybe Taka will handle it and you can relax for once in your life.”

“Taka?” she echoed, leaning forward. “Who’s Taka?”

“Oh,” said Touya, ducking his head. “Uh. He’s, um, Hawks.”

“You’re on a first name basis with the Number Two Hero?”

“I—well technically his first name is Takahiro, so—”

“You’re on a nickname basis with the Number Two Hero?”

“We’re uh. He’s my boyfriend,” said Touya, covering his face in his hands. “Stop smirking at me, asshole.”

“You can’t even see me doing it!”

“I can feel it. Your smug aura mocks me.”

“But that’s good, right? You know him, you can get him to believe you. We don’t have to involve Dad at all.”

Touya peeked out from behind his fingers. “Huh.”

“You can give your info directly to Hawks!” she said, with her best encouraging smile. “He might try to arrest you at first, but I’m sure once you explain—”

“He won’t try to arrest me,” he interrupted. “I don’t—I have no idea what his deal is here, to be honest. But… you might be onto something.”

“Is there anything else I can do to help in the mean time?”

“Yeah, I guess—how do you feel about breaking into Endeavor’s office? I need to figure out what quirk hit me to figure out how to undo it, but that kind of info isn’t just, like, google-able,” said Touya, waving his hands as if shooing away a fly. “I can ask Taka to do it la—when I see him next, but uh, I’d prefer to know as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” she said immediately. “That’s easy, he doesn’t even keep it locked. He keeps especially sensitive stuff at his agency, but if it’s just the quirk registry it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Cool,” he sighed, relieved. “Can we do that now, then? No offense, I’m just more familiar with navigating the site than you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Fuyumi, rolling her eyes. She got to her feet obligingly, leading the way.

Touya trailed after her, lingering for a moment in the family room, standing alone on the familiar tatami. Being here—not just in this world, but in this house—it was like wearing his shoes on the wrong feet. Everything felt uncomfortable and off, but—it was better than being barefoot. And he wasn’t alone, even now.

He followed Fuyumi down the hall, sliding the door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

“So we’re meeting your family for dinner, but you have a few hours to try to get used to everything,” said Hawks, unlocking the surprisingly fancy door of what was apparently Dabi’s apartment.

“Few hours oughtta do it, yep,” said Dabi, sauntering in behind him in the ‘emergency sweats’ Hawks had brought him at the hospital. Fuck, was this place nice. It was mostly western style, with huge windows and a fancy tv, and a full-sized fridge. He probably shouldn’t be so impressed by that, but he’d been living out of like, abandoned motels and shit for years now. He’d almost forgotten fridges came in a size bigger than ‘mini’.

“If you’re anything like Touya, you’re not going to get used to it at all,” said Hawks, with a resigned sigh. He walked into what was probably the living room, picking up some garbage and discarded clothing as he went. “You could just take a nap or something, but there’s stuff to distract you with if you’d prefer. Movies and video games mostly, but there’s some gym equipment in the spare room if you’re into exercise.”

Dabi made a mental note to delete all of Shinogu’s save files. “Oh, there’s a spare room? Swank.”

“Yeah, here, I’ll uh—I’ll give you the tour,” said Hawks, smiling a little awkwardly and gesturing for Dabi to follow him, crossing the living room and opening the only door on the north wall. Inside was a moderately sized bedroom with various types of exercise equipment sprawled in front of the windows, which were just as enormous as in the rest of the apartment. There was a sliding door set into them that opened onto a small balcony, which housed an ornate pot of half-bloomed zinnias.

“So this is the guest bedroom,” said Hawks, unnecessarily, with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the bland, inoffensive decorations. “Basically no one ever stays in here, so it’s more like an unofficial gym slash storage locker.”

“Pretty fuckin’ neat for a storage locker,” Dabi remarked, eyeing the floors. Not a single piece of garbage in sight. Was this really his apartment?

“Oh, you should see the closet,” said Hawks, trotting back out to the living room. “Okay, so you saw the kitchen, that’s the hall closet—this one here is technically the guest bath—”

“Technically?”

“Well basically no one bathes in it, it’s more for peeing,” said Hawks, grinning at him. He crossed the living room with practiced ease, a few of his feathers clearing up more garbage as he went. “And this here’s the master bedroom.”

Dabi went in first this time, flicking on the light. It was just as fucking fancy as the rest of the place, but it had a lot more character than the guest room. There were framed posters, bookshelves littered with baubles and—ugh—trophies. Because he really needed another reminder that he was supposed to be a hero. The bed was enormous, easily as wide as it was tall, taking up nearly half the back wall. As a whole it was cleaner than the living room had been, with no snack wrappers or errant socks in sight.

“Is he… neat?” asked Dabi, squinting down at a hamper. Somehow, it was even harder to imagine than being a hero. At least there was a sort of commonality in that—violence, setting shit on fire, etc.—but picking up after himself?

“Most of the time,” said Hawks, coming up behind him and smiling fondly. He was looking around the room too, like he was trying to see it from Dabi’s perspective. “He says he didn’t used to be, but I guess once you guys moved out he wanted to make things easier on your mom, and then he just sort of got into the habit.”

“Well, he can have fun cleaning up after me,” said Dabi, snorting and giving the hamper a slight kick. Not enough to tip it over, but enough to show it who was boss.

Hawks laughed, moving farther into the room to open the blinds, revealing even more windows, and a slightly larger balcony than the guest room. This one was free of houseplants, but did have a pair of folding chairs angled towards the horizon. It was late enough in the year that the sun was already beginning to set, staining the city gold and orange below them.

Dabi walked onto the balcony without really thinking about it, looking down on Musutafu from the unfamiliar vantage point with a keen interest. The apartment was much higher than any of the rooftops he frequented, so high that he could barely distinguish the passersby scuttling below him like insects.

It was intoxicating, looking out at the city like this. He felt like he was standing on the balcony of a castle, rather than an apartment building. He felt like he could burn his name into the world and brand the whole thing in his image, incinerating all the filth and corruption and coaxing a brighter future from the ashes.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hawks asked conversationally, breaking him from his reverie. “Touya loves the view so much he’s willing to put up with the elevator ride. He likes being able to see the whole city like this.”

“I do too,” said Dabi, trying for a smile that didn’t seem too sardonic.

It was ironic, in a way; in his world, Hawks was terrible at pretending to be a villain. Dabi kept meeting with him almost exclusively because it was so hilarious to watch. And he himself was playing at being the hero—though hopefully he was a better actor.

They watched the sun set over downtown for a few minutes in silence, until Dabi decided he should poke around some more and slunk back to the kitchen without a word, opening the fridge and appraising its contents.

A lot of like, real food. Which was both cool and kind of a bummer, because while he loved saving money he also loved shitty burgers, and there was a serious dearth of them in this thing. He grabbed a canned coffee and shut the door, wandering over to the table as he heard Hawks emerge from his bedroom.

“Oh good, you don’t have taste in any universe,” said Hawks, wrinkling his nose as Dabi slurped obnoxiously at his coffee.

“Fuck you,” he said offhandedly, leafing through a stack of papers that looked mostly like mail. Maybe there was a bank statement or something—if Shinogu was as loaded as he seemed, Dabi would love to blow it all on stupid shit. Like mail order a bunch of custom puppets or something that would take forever to build, and hopefully show up after they’d been swapped back. Only drawback was if they hadn’t swapped yet, Dabi would have to put up with a bunch of puppets.

He paused while sorting through the stack, frowning down at a name that wasn’t ‘Shinogu Touya’. It had shown up a few times now, and at first he’d assumed it was for a previous tenant, but this one was addressed to both of them.

“Hey,” he said, turning to look at Hawks, who was halfway inside the fridge, apparently picking chicken out of some leftovers with his fingers, like a god damned animal. “Who the fuck is Kakusu Takahiro?”

Hawks’s wings twitched so violently that the fridge door bounced on its hinges, slamming back into his shoulder. His throat bobbed as he swallowed with apparent nerves, staring at the mail in Dabi’s hand like a deer in headlights.

“Uh,” he said after a few moments of tense silence, “I am.”

Dabi made a mental note of that. It was always good to know a hero’s real name. Except—“Okay. Why the hell are you getting mail delivered to my apartment?”

“I uh,” said Hawks, closing the fridge and looking around as if desperate for an escape, “I live here?”

“Oh,” said Dabi, nodding and looking back down at the mail. That tracked, actually. He’d assumed it was just because he’d been on the scene when Shinogu got hit that Hawks had been shadowing him, but if they were roommates it made more sense. It explained why it hadn’t been his family showing him around his own place.

“Oh?” Hawks echoed, his voice a little higher than normal. Dabi glanced back up at him, surprised to see he still looked nervous. Was it such a big deal? He lived with a bunch of people in his own world, it was hardly the first time he’d shared an apartment with someone.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” said Dabi. He tossed the mail back on the table, running a mental list of why Hawks could still be freaking out. It was a two-bedroom place, it wasn’t surprising that a pair of heroes would split the rent, especially if they teamed up a lot.

Wait.

It was a two-bedroom place.

“Wait,” he said out loud, looking back over at Hawks, who seemed to be expecting the other shoe to drop any second. “You said the other bedroom was for guests. Where do you…?”

Hawks squeaked inarticulately, but Dabi got all the answer he needed from the look in his eyes.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Chapter Text

Touya scrolled through the search results, scrutinizing each picture carefully. As it turned out, there were quite a few quirks related to changing worlds. Some sent you back in time to meet your past self, some to universes where you were never born, some to places without quirks—but none of them were what had happened to him.

“Any luck?” Fuyumi asked softly. She had been more than helpful, getting him all set up in Endeavor’s office, bringing him tea, generally being an angel. What did he do to deserve her? Well, more accurately (and perhaps more aptly) what did Dabi do to deserve her?

“Not so far,” he said, grimacing at the screen. “The trouble is it can’t filter out real worlds and fake ones. Although I guess there’s no guarantee this isn’t fake. I maintain that this is a viable nightmare scenario.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. She leaned over him, resting one arm on the desk. “Have you only tried searching for people with a criminal record?”

“Yeah. I’m still looking through mugshots, but none of them look familiar so far. I guess I’m only like halfway through, but still.”

“What about without a criminal record? With a quirk like that, he has to be good at evading capture.”

“True,” he admitted. “But like… then there are no mugshots, and I have to read every single fucking entry.”

“Not if you use the ‘find’ feature that’s built into the browser, you colossal nerd.”

“Wh—how does not knowing things make me a nerd?” he spluttered.

“Because I try not to call people dumbasses, even if that’s what they’re being,” she said sweetly. “Weren’t you the one who said you knew this program better than I did?”

“I do,” Touya protested valiantly, “I’m—”

“Just incompetent at using the internet in general, got it, got it,” said Fuyumi.

“Fucker,” he muttered, changing his search filters and letting her hit the hotkeys so she didn’t have to walk him through the process of clicking a few buttons. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling down at him.

“So what do you do in this universe?” he asked idly as scanned each result. “You’re home pretty early in the day.”

“Oh, I’m a teacher,” she said, with one of the first genuine smiles he’d seen on her. He smiled back almost automatically, glad to see she was actually happy sometimes. “What do I do in your universe?”

“Teacher,” he said easily. At least she was still like, living her dreams. “You actually went to UA with me, but you switched to General Studies at the start of our second year.”

“I was training to be a hero?”

He twisted around to grin at her flabbergasted expression. “Of course. You’re pretty fucking powerful when you want to be. Although you keep your provisional license up, so technically you are a hero.”

“Why did I switch out?” she asked uncertainly.

“A few reasons,” said Touya, shrugging as he turned back to his search. “I think the biggest one was we had gone into the Hero Program together, using our quirks to complement each other, but the way the training was set up replaced that with support items. Since we couldn’t always be a team, we had to find ways to be our own people, you know? And in the process, you realized we were allowed to want different things. You started thinking about helping people in other ways, because—well—no offense, but you suck at fighting.”

“Hey!” she protested immediately, as if this softer, colder version of his sister had ever been in a real fight in her life. “I did great in all those self-defense classes Dad made us take.”

“Nah, nah, I don’t mean you have bad technique, or instincts, or any of that. You’re a great strategist, and you know how to keep a cool head, unlike yours truly. No, your problem is that you don’t like hurting people. When we weren’t paired up you were way more geared towards rescue, but your quirk is just too damn cold for most people. You’d shore up a falling building and some dumbass with no shirt on his costume would get hypothermia.”

“Oh. Wow. I… I hadn’t realized it was capable of that.”

“What, hypothermia? That’s nothing. Right after we got our provisional licenses you had to face this villain, and that bastard wound up with frostbite. Lost a toe and everything! Proudest moment of my life.”

“Yacchan!” she said, horrified. “That’s awful! How could you be proud of that?”

“’Cause he was kidnapping a little girl, and we never found his other victims’ bodies.”

Fuyumi was silent for a moment, expressions changing too fast for Touya to put names to. “Okay, frostbite may have been appropriate.”

“I think that’s what really did it for you, though,” he said, clicking on a promising entry to read the fine print. “It was all so intense, and—well, we all have a sore spot for kids in trouble. You were so worried about the girl that you just didn’t think about moderating your anger, and now a very shitty man has a limp. You just hated losing control like that. You never get angry.”

“Well—not when I can help it,” she said quietly.

He hummed in agreement. “Yeah. And I guess in heroics, you just couldn’t help it.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly to indicate he was listening as he continued to scroll.

“Well, you’re always angry. Or at least you were when we were kids.”

“Ah,” he said, laughing. “Yeah, you got me there. I still am, I guess. Always gonna have a temper. But I think that’s why I handled it better than you? I have way more practice not blasting people through walls when I get pissed off. I dunno if you get angrier than I do to make up for lost time or what, but you can be pretty scary. And in the end, you didn’t want to be scary.”

Fuyumi was quiet for a while after that, but she seemed satisfied with his answers. It must be nice to know that you would have made the same career choice under radically different circumstances—Touya was certainly envious.

It had felt so terrible at the time, like she was giving up on their dreams—like she was giving up on him, really, but in the end it had just been as simple as realizing it wasn’t her dream. She had the opportunity to be a hero, and she tried it out, and decided it wasn’t for her. It didn’t make her any less of a hero in his eyes. They’d still supported one another, just from different classes, and in different ways, and eventually Touya had learned to see things from her perspective.

The last thing he ever wanted was to force someone into a career in heroics for his own sake.

So it had been hard, yeah, feeling like she was abandoning him and wrestling with the voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like Endeavor) saying that choosing a different path was failing, that heroics was the best and only real way to make a difference. But then Fuyumi had decided to become a teacher, and Touya saw the way her eyes lit up when she talked about it, saw the joy she felt when she was able to help a child in need.

He was pretty awkward around kids himself, but it didn’t stop him from visiting her classes from time to time, any more than it stopped him from popping in on Shouto’s Foundational Heroics lessons every now and then. Hell, he even pestered Natsuo at his externship a time or two, though those kids had needed like, medical attention, instead of a blundering Pro Hero telling them to do their best—so those occasions were few and far between.

“That sounds promising,” said Fuyumi, interrupting his train of thought to point to an entry a few ahead of where he was. She always did read faster than him, the showoff.

“’Universe Swap’,” he read slowly. “’User launches a concentrated ball of energy from arms, which will transport whomever comes into contact with it to an ‘alternate universe’, exchanging them with the version of themselves from the secondary world. The universe selected is random, and can vary in its similarity to our own, but must include a version of both the user of Universe Swap and the target to be effective. It is believed to be an actual world, rather than an induced dream or illusion. Generally a harmless quirk, but can be disorienting. Those hit may become unconscious for a time. Can only be used once a day, regardless of whether or not the quirk hits.’”

“Is that it?” Fuyumi asked anxiously. “Nothing about the duration, or a cure?”

“Not so far,” said Touya, gritting his teeth and tabbing over to ‘Known Users’. “God, please don’t let him be dead or something. If I’m stuck here forever I’m gonna go ape shit.”

 “Gotta get home to your boooyfrieeeend?” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“First of all, fuck you, and second of all, yeah, he’s—oh god, he’s living with a murderer. Fuck. Shit. Oh my god. We’re swapped. Dabi is—he’s in my—”

“I’m sure it’s okay!” said Fuyumi, raising her hands in a calming gesture, though she looked very nervous at the idea. “Hawks is the Number Two Hero, he can handle himself against a villain like Dabi. They’ve actually fought before, and—”

“They’ve what?” Touya spluttered. “Are you fucking—was he okay?”

“Hawks? Yeah, he just used too many feathers. They didn’t really have time to get into it.”

Touya slumped in his seat, breathing a sigh of relief. Although what the hell did that make their ‘meetings’? Was Dabi actually a spy? At least if he were, Takahiro would be safe. If Dabi’s behavior in this universe was any indication, he didn’t have to worry about his family, but… fuck.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, throwing his head back. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“I can see how it might be,” Fuyumi said diplomatically, patting him on the shoulder in reassurance. “If it’s any consolation, you’ve really made my day?”

“Some, but not enough,” he sighed, straightening up. “Fucking hell ‘Yumi, what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, it seems like there’s only one known user,” she said bracingly, pointing at the screen. Touya looked back at it in a mixture of consternation and despair.

One known user, Shirotei Kenji. Duration: Varied. Countermeasure once hit: Undisclosed. Last reported address: An apartment block in Musutafu.

 “Double fuck,” groaned Touya. “I can’t just walk in and interview him looking like this. How the hell am I supposed to find out what to do?”

“I can think of three options,” said Fuyumi, holding up three fingers. “One, you hope it just wears off or you do something to trigger it accidentally. Two, you go around knocking on people’s doors like an NHK rep whose face got caught in a weedwhacker. Three, you ask Hawks to look for him instead, genius.”

Touya blinked. “What would I do without you?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist in a poor approximation of a hug, since she was still standing.

“Well, apparently, become a villain,” she said dryly, resting a hand on his hair. “Possibly get arrested going door to door in broad daylight, instead of sending your boyfriend to do it.”

“I love and appreciate you,” he told her stomach. “Thank god I decided to call you. Thank god you answered. You are the sole beacon of light in this cruel, cruel world.”

“I get that a lot,” she said sagely. “See what you can’t do to pass that on to Dabi, though, huh? I’d accept appreciation in the form of a ‘hey, I faked my death’ text every once in a while.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee I won’t kick his ass first.”

“That’s fair.”

Touya groaned, getting to his feet with a halting stretch as he tried to work out which ways he could move without an unpleasant jab. “Well, now what? You said the old man’s out of the house until tomorrow, right?”

“Tomorrow night, yeah,” said Fuyumi, nodding. “I guess—is there anything else I could do to help?”

“I wouldn’t say no to some food,” he said, giving her his best puppy eyes as he headed out of the office backwards. “I’ve gotta be somewhere later, but we could hang out for a while if you aren’t too busy?”

“Too busy to hang out with my brother, who was until very recently dead?” asked Fuyumi, leveling him with a Look.

“Well shit dude, I don’t know your life! Maybe you have drinking buddies or something—”

“We’re hanging out,” she said with authority. “I’m making us dinner and we’re going to watch a nice kids’ movie, and we’re going to pretend we’re a normal family for ninety minutes of our lives.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Touya, beaming as best he could.

“Swapping universes,” Fuyumi muttered to herself as she brushed past him into the kitchen. “Some quirks are just ridiculous.”

Chapter Text

“I’m gay?”

“Of course you’re—did you not know?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know when I don’t fucking—”

“T—Dabi, calm down!” yelped Hawks, a few of his feathers detaching and patting at Dabi’s arms as tendrils of smoke began to curl from his exposed skin. His canned coffee was audibly boiling in his hand, and it was all he could do to drop it on the table beside the mail. Dabi all but growled at the unexpected pain of the burns, torn between wanting to fuck Shinogu’s shit up and not wanting to roast off all his skin again. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Dabi snapped, yanking his arms away from the feathers and breathing hard through his nose, trying to calm down. “Don’t touch me. I’m—how the fuck can I be gay?”

“Well,” Hawks began, but Dabi silenced him with a fierce glare.

“Shut up for a minute. I need—I need to process this.” Was it just Shinogu? Was Dabi gay too? That didn’t seem like the sort of thing that a person missed.

He ran through his life, his feelings, every interaction he’d ever had with a girl, with a boy, with anyone. He hadn’t dated much—one ‘girlfriend’ when he was fourteen that had lasted a grand total of two weeks because he started avoiding her like the plague. There had been an older woman who worked at a bar he frequented whom he’d flirt with, but that had been because she’d give him free food, and they’d never like, done anything. The most he’d ever done was kiss, and it was—well, frankly, boring. He couldn’t imagine it would be much different with a guy.

After he faked his fucking death, he hadn’t had much opportunity to play the field—who was going to want to fuck a stapled-together freak? His hands were full just finding a place to sleep at night, never mind finding someone to sleep with.

And there were times… yeah, it was true he didn’t like, check girls out. Not since he was a kid and he’d do it with his classmates, agreeing with whatever they said and mindlessly repeating sentiments he’d heard on tv a thousand times. To say his heart wasn’t in it was—well, an understatement. But his head was in it, and he fit in all right, didn’t he? He hadn’t ever even considered that he might not be straight. It had simply stopped seeming like an issue in the face of his actual problems.

He looked back at Hawks, who was hovering anxiously just outside of reach, clearly trying to give him space. Was Hawks attractive? Well yeah, of course, the dude was objectively beautiful. His ash blond hair, his feathery eyebrows, his stupid ass facial hair—he looked good, in the way that a movie star looked good, or a model. Like a nice painting, or the artful swirling of koi in his father’s garden.

But was Dabi attracted to him?

Honestly, it was hard to say. He looked at Hawks and all he could see was a hero, another bastard lying to himself about his motives until he thought he could save the whole world by picking on the weak and desperate. He didn’t want to kiss him—he didn’t want to touch him, unless it was with a solid sock to the jaw.

Was that how attraction worked? Was his opinion of the guy supposed to affect how sexy he found him?

“Can you…” he began, clearing his throat when that came out dry and raspy. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, of course, anything,” said Hawks, eyes widening. “What do you need? Water? Some time alone?”

“Can you take off your shirt?”

Hawks choked on nothing. “What?”

“C’mon,” said Dabi, scowling at him. “I need to—I can’t tell if you’re attractive.”

“Am—is my face not—am I like, unattractive?” Hawks asked uncertainly, nonetheless beginning to strip off his jacket. It was mostly divided in two in the back, resting on either side of his wings, with a third piece of loose fabric falling between them. These were connected with a tie that looked like a buckle, apparently so he wouldn’t have to wedge his wings into slits, as it more or less slid off him when he undid it and shrugged out of the thing.

“I can’t tell, I want to punch it at the moment,” said Dabi, watching the process of Hawks undressing with an intensity bordering on clinical. His shirt was actually open in the back, forming a shape somewhere between an oval and a triangle that reminded Dabi vaguely of a guitar pick. Lean muscle was visible through the opening, writhing as Hawks lifted his arms over his head to tug the shirt loose.

Hm.

Yeah.

So Dabi was gay.

“Uh… what’s the verdict?” asked Hawks, standing there looking supremely awkward with his shirt in his hands, apparently unaware of the effect he was having on Dabi.

“You can put your shirt back on,” he managed, though he wasn’t quite able to look away as Hawks hastily obliged. His muscles were taut and hard as he moved, his stomach a plane of tanned skin, his corded arms bunching as he lifted them over his head, and his chest. Fuck. It was probably from flapping those fucking wings all day, but—fuck.

How had Dabi not known that he was gay? Like, how had that never come up before? Granted he didn’t hang out with a lot of stunners, but he’d been around Hawks before and had never wanted to do—stuff.

Maybe he was onto something with the guy having a punchable face. Maybe he was only attractive when Dabi could trick himself into objectifying him.

“Are you gonna be like, okay?” Hawks asked uncertainly, taking a step closer. Dabi let him, grimacing in response.

“I guess. It’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, but—I wasn’t expecting it. It doesn’t really change anything.”

“Yeah, I guess coming out to yourself last is—something,” said Hawks, laughing nervously. “For real, if you have any questions or anything, I can at least try to answer them. It may not seem like a big deal if you aren’t gonna be dating back home, but it’s always nice to understand yourself better.”

Dabi snorted. He understood himself too well as it was; that’s why dating wasn’t going to be a fucking problem. “You’re still sleeping in the guest room.”

“I was planning on it!” Hawks said indignantly. “Honestly, even if you’d come from a world where we were together, it’s—it’s weird. You aren’t Touya. I don’t want to wake up and think this was all a nightmare or something until I kiss you and you’re… you.”

“Weirdly insulting way to say you find me kissable, but sure, okay.”

“That’s what makes it so confusing!” groaned Hawks. “Like, you’re sort-of Touya, and you’re in his body, so like if you had come from a universe where we were dating, would we be cheating on each other? Is it disloyal to think you’re hot if you aren’t actually my boyfriend?”

“Beats me,” said Dabi, smirking. “Not my problem, though. Everyone thinks I’m hot.”

He lit his hand on fire to emphasize his point, wiggling his fingers in a cheeky little wave. Hawks frowned.

“Hey, careful. You’re lighting too much, you’ll hurt yourself. Do you usually wear your gear back home?”

“Well yeah, but it doesn’t really matter on my hands,” said Dabi, shrugging. “My arms are pretty much fucked at this point, I roasted my nerve endings off years ago.”

Hawks’s eyes widened in horror. “What? Dabi—”

“It’s fine,” he said dismissively, waving his hand and extinguishing the fire in the same movement. “I’ve got equipment now, so it won’t get any worse. What am I working with here? Braces?”

“Yes,” said Hawks, though he seemed reluctant to move on. “And a cooling system.”

“Dry ice?” guessed Dabi, raising an eyebrow. That was Fuyumi’s quirk, and it had always worked wonders to counteract his overheated skin. They’d balanced each other out, once upon a time.

But Hawks was shaking his head. “Liquid nitrogen,” he said. “It’s colder, and it being a liquid means it can cover more surface area more efficiently. It’s also a deterrent to stabbing you, because the spray hurts anyone who doesn’t have at least half an ice quirk.”

“Hm,” said Dabi. “I might steal that when I get back. Haven’t really been stabbed, but it’s always fun to be prepared.”

“Yeah, with Toga Himiko running around, it never hurts,” said Hawks, grimacing.

“Ha! She’s active here too, huh? That means there could be two fake Touyas running around.” He set his no-longer-boiling coffee on the kitchen table, unwilling to finish what was left of the can. He’d been there before; it wasn’t pretty.

“You’re not—you aren’t fake,” huffed Hawks. “You’re just—different. You’re still you. Things have just… you’ve lived a different life. That doesn’t mean you aren’t real.”

“Nature versus nurture, huh birdboy?” he drawled, finally drawing away and planting himself solidly on the couch. “Never said I wasn’t real, though. Said I wasn’t Touya.”

Hawks sighed, sitting on the couch opposite him, as Dabi flicked the tv on and began perusing their recordings for something palatable.

It was true; he wasn’t Touya. No matter what this second rate hero seemed to think, he was a fake—and as long as he was here, he was going to enjoy himself.

Chapter Text

Fuyumi fell asleep about halfway through their second movie, bundled up in blankets and curled into Touya’s side as if he might disappear the second she stopped touching him. He finished the movie out, and even watched some bonus features to kill time, but eventually he had to get up.

Touya eased his way out from under his sister, amused to note that she’d already managed to drool all over his shoulder, and sent her a text letting her know he’d taken off but would be in touch. Leaving a physical note seemed like a bad idea, even if he knew she’d be up before Endeavor got home—and it was way harder to draw a stupid face than use an emoji.

He left the estate the same way he’d come in, now thankfully cloaked in darkness as well as his fraying hoodie, a face mask he’d dug out of the bathroom drawer wrapped securely around over his jaw and a pair of Fuyumi’s sunglasses stashed in his pocket for the next day. He’d considered grabbing some of Natsuo’s, since they fit better, but unfortunately they were all neon colors, bedazzled, or shutter shades, and Touya was trying to keep a low profile. The shades Dabi had left in his room were more for functionality than actually disguising himself. How had this guy not been caught?

He was leaving an hour early, just in case Kuroiyou was in a different place in this world, but it turned out to have been for nothing. The abandoned warehouse was tucked away exactly where he remembered it, castings shadows in the moonlight that helped further conceal him. He didn’t even need to use his quirk to get inside, instead shimmying up a drainpipe to reach one of the clerestory windows—although he almost fell off the building when it turned out to tilt instead of slide open.

As it was, Touya barely managed to squeeze his torso through the gap before the weight of his legs slammed the whole thing shut on his stomach, driving the window frame into his spine. He was gonna feel that in the morning.

He wheezed a little pathetically, peering down into the dark space below, unable to tell if there was a landing beneath him.

Only one thing for it.

Slowly, carefully, wobbling as he did so, Touya released his death grip on the window with his right hand, pointing it as carefully as he could away from the walls (and his face) and firing off a small burst of flame, just enough to cast a brief flare of light on the warehouse interior.

Unfortunately, he didn’t account for the backdraft.

Yelping, he teetered wildly for a moment as his arm rocketed upwards, nearly sending him sliding back down to the street before he overcorrected and tumbled, headfirst, into the building.

He landed with an enormous clatter against a metal walkway, barely able to get his arms up in time to prevent a broken nose, instinctively tucking and rolling at the first hint of a collision. In the end he wound up sprawled on his back, staring up at the ceiling in moonlight that was still too dim to make anything out, completely winded and definitely bruised.

“Okay, ow,” he told the shadows when he managed to catch his breath, sitting up with a groan.

“Did you just faceplant onto the catwalk?”

Touya stiffened, regretting it immediately when it sent a jolt of pain lancing through his body.

“Shut up,” he told Takahiro’s voice, igniting a steady fireball in his hand to illuminate enough of the warehouse to see him.

He was standing on the railing of the catwalk, his wings held out to counterbalance, an enormously cheeky grin on his face.

“Were you just waiting here in the dark?” Touya muttered, grimacing. “You’re super early.”

“My eyes adjusted,” said Takahiro, grin melting into a strange (though not unfamiliar) smirk. He had one eyebrow raised, and his eyes were wide and innocent below heavy lids, glittering in the light of Touya’s fire. This was the smirk he used when he was trying to seduce a target, or sweet-talk a reluctant witness who might be dazzled by the Number Two Hero’s best sultry stare. “That little lightshow seems to have set me back, though.”

To Touya, he just looked silly.

“Well, I’d have been waiting, but I got sort of stuck,” said Touya, gesturing to the tilted window. “I wondered why they’d make it so easy to break in, but I guess I sort of answered my own question.”

“They used to have security and such too, I’m sure,” said Takahiro, jumping lightly onto the path beside him and taking a seat, his wings fanning out dramatically as he did so. “So. You actually made it here early. I have to say, I wasn’t sure if I should believe that.”

“That’s me,” said Touya, grimacing. “Man of my word.”

“Since when?” asked Takahiro, raising his other eyebrow.

“Since this morning, apparently,” he said, trying not to let the bitterness leak into his tone. “When I woke up in the wrong universe.”

“Sticking with that story, huh?” hummed Takahiro.

“It’s the truth.”

“And in this alternate universe, you aren’t Dabi?”

“Hell no,” he snorted. “I’m a hero, not a villain. We team up sometimes, you and me.”

“I don’t really team up with people,” said Takahiro, a little of the smirk dimming.

“You didn’t used to in my world, either, but somebody had to talk some sense into you.”

Takahiro made a face, like that was a stupid thing to say, but just asked, “What’s your hero name?”

Touya groaned. “You’re gonna laugh.”

“I won’t, promise.”

“Don’t promise that, you’ll regret it.”

“No no, I promise!”

“Alright,” sighed Touya, “It’s Ryuutou.”

Takahiro made a very un-sultry snorting sound, completely losing his debonair façade as he slapped his hands over his mouth.

“I fucking told you,” said Touya, scowling at him.

“I’m sorry,” said Takahiro, when he managed to get a hold of himself. “I’m—it’s just—Ryuutou—Dabi.”

“Yes, thank you, I am aware.”

“So you just—woke up here?”

“Well, sorta. I got hit by a quirk back in my world, and then next thing I know I’m waking up in a trashed room looking like I tried to fuck a stapler.”

“A quirk?”

Touya nodded. “Yeah, I need your help with that actually. It’s called Universe Swap, but I can’t go find the guy when I’m, y’know, wanted for murder and arson and whatever the fuck.”

“So you want me running recon for you?” asked Takahiro, folding his arms. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he sighed. “Thank you. Do I have your number? I’ll text you his address and shit.”

“You do,” said Takahiro. He sat back, leaning on his arms as he watched Touya pull out his burner phone and scroll through the meager contacts. “So, in this alternate universe—what’s our deal?”

Touya looked back up. Takahiro was trying to put his flirting face back on, with little success—he kept cracking a distinctly unsexy grin, and his gaze was far too serious to maintain the vapid pretense that his googoo eyes routine required.

“Our deal?” Touya repeated.

“Yeah. You and me. I mean, you,” said Takahiro, clearly fumbling as he gestured between the two of them, “uh, earlier—you did sort of—kiss me.”

“We agreed never to speak of that.”

“Did not,” he huffed. He leaned forward again, finally schooling his face back into his bullshit seduction routine. “Come on. You can tell me.”

“Yeah, congratulations, in an alternate universe we’re a thing,” said Touya, pushing him back with a finger to the tip of his nose. “That means I know when you’re trying to hit on villains for points, smartass.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said loftily. “So uh—can you prove it?”

Touya frowned. “Prove what?”

“Prove that we’re dating. Like, uh, tell me something only the person dating me would know.”

“Like what? Your abandonment issues? You want me to list your fucking kinks?”

“Now there’s a thought! Tell me about the sex.”

Touya spluttered, the fire in his hand puffing like an old man with a pipe. “Excuse me?”

“The sex, Dabi. And, just to cover all our bases—haha, get it? I didn’t even plan that—how much you enjoy it.”

He had that stupid grin on. The smug one that made Touya want to smother him. He was past the seduction routine and now well into ‘fuck with Touya’ territory.

“By—by what metric?” he asked, gritting his teeth. He was blushing so much his staples felt tight.

“Inches, centimeters—whatever you prefer, I suppose,” drawled Takahiro. “Miming might actually be more effective, I—”

“No,” Touya hissed, “The—enjoyment. By what metric do I rate your fucking dick.”

“Oh. One to ten’ll do.”

“Mlemvm.”

“What was that?”

“I said an eleven, okay!” Touya burst out, groaning. He buried his face in his free hand, pressing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Fuck. Fuck you.”

“Well, I guess you have,” said Takahiro, and he didn’t need to see him to know the grin was getting wider. “So does this mean you trust me now? You’ll let me into the League?”

Touya’s head snapped up.

“What?” he asked. His entire body was suddenly cold as ice. His voice sounded strange even to himself. He had to have misheard that.

“The League,” said Takahiro. No—Hawks. He couldn’t let himself get it mixed up. “If you’re from this alternate reality where we’ve boned down, does that mean you trust me?”

“Don’t—don’t talk about it like that,” he muttered, still flustered in spite of himself. “I—you’re trying to join the League of Villains?”

“Well, yeah,” said Hawks, staring at him. “That’s what this has all been for, right? Why did you think we were meeting up in an old—oh.”

Touya flushed.

“Oh, dude, really? Would your universe’s Hawks be into this? Because like I could get on board but I’d need a lot of disinfectant—”

“No, I just… I thought it was just talking,” said Touya. He was beginning to grow a little miserable. He hadn’t expected seeing any version of Takahiro would make him feel this… shitty. “I thought you were a hero. I thought…”

“I am a hero,” said Hawks, “that’s why I’m so useful. That’s why you should let me in.”

“I don’t… alright, listen. I’m… I know I already told you but—in my world, I’m a hero. And so is my Taka. But now here I’m a fucking—I’m this, and I don’t know what you are and I can’t fucking stand that, I can’t stand looking at you and not knowing you and—I have to trust you, don’t I? If I can’t trust you then I can’t trust anyone, and then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Dabi?” asked Hawks, frowning a little in evident concern.

“Stop calling me that,” he snapped. “My name is Touya.”

“… Touya?” asked Hawks, in a small voice that didn’t belong on him.

“I… am going to assume that you’re a double agent,” said Touya, rubbing his face in exhaustion. “You’ve—you have to be, because there might be a world where I’m a villain, but you? No. No way.”

“Touya, I’m—”

“If you’re just going to say shit for your cover, save it. I’m not gonna tell on you or whatever the fuck.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Hawks started to protest, but Touya raised his free hand and he fell silent, looking lost.  

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to get me information on some hero thing. Nothing major, nothing that will hurt anybody, but enough to satisfy Shigaraki Tomura and make him think you’re going to be a useful informant. I’ll get you all the villain shit I can. Times, places, everything. You can work out for yourself what will seem the least suspicious to avert, because god knows they’re gonna suspect you before they think ‘Dabi’ turned on them. I just—I need you to know one thing.”

“What?” asked Hawks. His eyes were glistening gold against the blue light of Touya’s fire, and he looked so much like Takahiro that it hurt.

“If you’re really trying to become a villain,” Touya said slowly, “if—if you’re really that far gone—then I’ll save you.”

Hawks’s face flickered with something like pain, or fear—something Touya had almost forgotten the sight of. It wasn’t just his family’s lives that Dabi had disappeared from; he’d missed so much time with Hawks, and now he was trying to shoulder everything by himself. He was either turning to villainy or trying to singlehandedly infiltrate the League of Villains, with no one to rely on.

“Did you hear me?” Touya asked softly. “I promise. I’ll always save you.”

“There’s nothing to save,” said Hawks, the emotion sliding off of him like water off a duck’s back. “Nothing in this whole fucking world is worth saving, least of all me. This universe’s version of you knew that.”

“This universe’s version of me is a murderer,” he retorted. “Burning shit to the ground is kind of his go-to.”

“Sometimes it’s the right thing to do,” said Hawks, getting to his feet.

Touya stood too, with a lot of groaning and flinching as he felt the beginnings of bruises bloom. “We’re gonna talk more about this,” he said. “You want into the League, and I’m your contact, right? You can’t get out of it that easy.”

“I don’t want out of anything,” said Hawks, grimacing. “I’m just—I need to wrap my head around this, alright? This is a lot of stuff you’re asking me to believe.”

“Yeah,” he said glumly. “What are the odds you’ll give me a ride back to Koriban?”

“Slim to none.”

“Aw, c’mon,” said Touya, his pout held back by metal reins. “I’m stranded. Wasn’t I a good enough contact to merit a return service? You’ve got half of Dabi’s secret identity in your hands and a guarantee of future info. I can’t exactly run reconnaissance if I’m on the wrong side of Tokyo.”

“They’re in Koriban?” asked Hawks, pausing on his way towards the windows.

“No idea, but that’s where Dabi was. There were other people in the building too, so—maybe? The point is I’m never gonna find out anything if I can’t find them.”

“Nnnnn.”

“C’mon,” he wheedled.

“Nnnnn,” said Hawks again, turning around and bundling Touya up in his arms, adjusting his hold whenever Touya flinched. “This had better be worth it.”

“With us, it always is.”

Chapter Text

“I’m not wearing the tie.”

“Please?” asked Hawks, attempting something that was probably intended to be doe eyes but functionally just made Dabi want to kick his ass. “It’s a nice restaurant, everyone else will be wearing one. I’ll be wearing one. And you look so nice in ties!”

“I would literally rather set my entire body on fire than wear a tie,” said Dabi, fiddling again with the cuffs of his sleeves. They didn’t do much to inhibit the use of his quirk, besides being (presumably) flammable, but they felt restrictive just the same. There was something about the nicer fabric of a dress shirt that was so much more limiting than a shitty sweatshirt or something; he felt almost claustrophobic wearing this thing. He started to push the sleeves up to his elbows, but Hawks sighed and stepped forward.

Dabi forced himself not to move away, watching warily as Hawks folded the cuffs back with deft hands, so they were snug but not constricting.

“Thanks,” he said belatedly, as Hawks stepped away, back into the closet he and Shinogu shared.

“You’re welcome,” came the weary reply. “Touya does the same thing. He just pushes his sleeves up, they inevitably come back down because he hasn’t rolled them or anything, he pushes them up again, ad infinitum. He says it doesn’t bother him but it drives me crazy.”

He emerged in a three piece suit, all blacks and charcoals aside from a tie the same vibrant cinnabar as his wings. He was fiddling with it, adjusting the inexpert knot unhappily before apparently resigning himself.

“Let me guess,” said Dabi, “he helps you tie your ties.”

“It’s hard,” whined Hawks. "I never had to tie one before I became a hero, and even then it’s usually for an interview or something so the hair and makeup people will fix it.”

Dabi snorted, imagining Hawks preening like the bird he was, a little napkin tucked into his collar and everything. He wished he had had the luxury of never learning how to tie a tie, but when you were a Todoroki, image was everything. He’d had ties since elementary school, and he’d tied them himself since he was six or seven. This spoiled little brat probably couldn’t tie his shoes by then.

“We’d better get going,” said Hawks, finally giving up on the haphazard knot he’d managed and striding towards the balcony.

“Uh,” said Dabi, staring after him as he slid the door open. “Where y’going?”

“Oh. Right.” Hawks paused on the threshold, looking between Dabi and the city below, half-awash in the electric lighting of twilight in Musutafu.

“Wrong,” said Dabi, taking a deliberate step back as he began to catch onto just what Hawks was up to.

“I didn’t think about it,” said Hawks, grimacing. “Shit. Uh—fuck. We can’t take a cab, we’ll be late. We can get one on the way home, I’m sorry—for now, just—humor me?”

Only years of being covered in staples gave Dabi the self-control to refrain from making a face.

Trusting a hero like that… trusting a hero to literally hold his life in their hands… that was a lot. Even if he knew, intellectually, that the little lovebird would never kill him in this body—not if it was the only way to get Shinogu back—his instincts screamed at him to refuse, to call a cab or even walk there out of spite.

But he was supposed to be a ‘hero’ himself, right? Heroes did stupid shit like trust each other with their lives all the time. So he couldn’t flat out refuse without calling his paper thin ‘vigilante’ excuse into question.

“Fine,” he said eventually, “but keep the fancy flying to a minimum, alright? I get motion sickness and I’m not looking to hurl before dinner.”

“I’ll be careful,” Hawks said immediately, open and sincere. He held his arms out to Dabi, leaving the question of positioning up to him.

He dithered for a moment; he definitely wanted to be facing Hawks, so he could grab on in case the son of a bitch dropped him anyway, but that still left the question of forward or sideways. A princess carry would be putting more faith in Hawks than he was entirely comfortable with, but it did require a lot less physical effort than clinging with all four limbs—and it couldn’t hurt to make Hawks think he had Dabi’s trust.

He slung an arm around Hawks’s shoulders, readjusting when they were broader than he had thought, despite having seen the guy topless like twenty minutes ago. Maybe it was just because the wings made him look narrower in proportion, or maybe Dabi was projecting, but it was a welcome surprise.

Less likely to be dropped like this, he told himself as Hawks hefted up his legs and clambered (somehow gracefully) onto the balcony railing.  

Hawks was true to his word, the flight to the restaurant so smooth Dabi was almost impressed. The height of the apartment made even more sense knowing that Hawks lived there too; they had glided for most of the trip, sinking through the warm evening air like Dabi might sink into a cozy blanket.

They touched down in a courtyard of sorts about a block from the restaurant, a traditional little building tucked between skyscrapers. Hawks gave the name Shinogu at the door, and they were escorted to a private room with a view of the garden, awash in the glow of the restaurant and electric lights tucked into lanterns.

“Ah,” said Hawks, stopping abruptly to bow. Dabi blinked, looking away from the verdure and into the room itself to find… his entire family. “How are you all this evening?”

“Hungry!” said Natsuo, leaning around the table to take an unabashed look at Dabi, using his sister as an anchor. He wasn’t wearing a tie, Dabi noted sourly. “Hey, are you sure this isn’t Touya? He doesn’t look any different.”

“Yes he does,” Fuyumi disagreed, shoving him off her shoulders and sending him crashing to the tatami with a yelp. “He’s standing weird, look at him.”

“Wh—I am not,” Dabi disagreed immediately, scowling at her. “I’m just standing.”

“Behind Takahiro! We’re your family, nerd, we’re not going to bite.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Shouto, quiet as ever beside their mother on the other side of the table.

For her part, Rei seemed in good spirits, watching her children bicker with a fond smile that only became a little sad when she turned it on Dabi.

“Hey Mom,” he managed, raising his hand in an aborted wave.

“Is he just ignoring you? That’s pretty rude,” Natsuo stage-whispered to Fuyumi. “Are you sure he’s not Touya?”

“Natsuo,” said Dabi, half greeting and half reproach. “You’re as loud as ever.”

“And you’re just as sassy,” said Natsuo, grinning up at him. “You really aren’t Touya, are you? I can’t even remember the last time you called me by my full name.”

“That’s funny. Neither can I.” Dabi took the seat farther away from his side of the table, next to their mother, and Hawks took the spot beside him without question.

It was grating to hear ‘Touya’ so often. Part of him still jumped at it, even though he couldn’t exactly hide his identity from these people, not with his face still put together. He’d just have to suffer through it until Shinogu figured his shit out.

“Have you told him yet?” Rei asked Hawks, soft and quiet. Dabi watched her out of the corner of his eye, keeping the lightning blue she so loathed turned away.

“Yeah, but—well—he had a little more to process than I was expecting.”

“Dabi?” asked Rei, concerned, looking straight at him. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Dabi grimaced, turning his head farther to stare at the table, lined with empty water glasses and place settings. “It—it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Dabi, they already know,” Hawks said gently. Too gently. It made Dabi’s hackles rise; he didn’t need pity from a fucking hero. He didn’t need to be coddled and walked through whatever process Hawks had decided he was supposed to be taking.

He snorted as derisively as possible, leaning back on his palms and looking around the table with his usual deadpan expression. It’s not like he had anything to fucking lose—it’s not like he’d give a shit even if they’d had a bad reaction, which they wouldn’t, because they already knew.

“No shit,” he drawled. “Which is why I didn’t think we needed to touch on it, but if you insist: It turns out I’m gay. And I didn’t fucking know, so it was a weird afternoon, but I got body-swapped with myself this morning, so not that fucking weird.”

“Whoa there, pottymouth,” said Natsuo, gesturing towards Rei, who seemed almost alarmed.

“You didn’t know?” she asked, reaching for his hand, withdrawing when Dabi didn’t reach back.

“Nope. I’m not really one for dating.”

“You don’t have to be dating to know you’re gay,” said Shouto.

“That’s rich coming from you,” said Natsuo, though his eyes lingered on Dabi. “Hey, have you been practicing that trick I showed you?”

“Oh,” said Shouto, reaching for one of the empty water glasses. “Yeah.”

Slowly, he curled the thumb and forefinger on his left hand into a crude square, placing it against his right palm and the lip of the glass. “It’s hard to get the timing right, though. I keep ending up with longer ones than I mean to.”

“That’s what it’s all about!” said Natsuo, gesticulating wildly and grabbing his own glass to demonstrate. “It’s an exercise in timing! Much as it pains me to say, I doubt this is gonna help you in combat directly—unless you’re up against a villain of improperly cooled drinks.”

Dabi watched his little brothers compete to make perfect ice cubes, caught up in the spectacle of it, and only looked up when he felt a pair of eyes on him.

Fuyumi was smirking at him from her side of the table.

He scowled back, looking away, but—

Damn it all. One glance was all it took to know what she was telling him. Natsuo had done that on purpose, and Dabi hadn’t even noticed.

Just how well did these people know him? How similar was he to Shinogu, that they could parse his moods and steer the conversation in other directions so subtly? Why could he still understand Fuyumi so well so quickly? 

What would it take to wash himself clean of his past?

“Any progress on selective melting?” Hawks asked from beside him, breaking him out of his brooding. Shouto shook his head.

“I can melt stuff onto it, but it’s hard to do it on this small a scale, especially when I can’t access it from all directions. If it was floating ice, maybe.” He curled his fingers into an awkward position, sending slivers of ice between the cubes he’d already created, then melting them with his left hand. It was an ungainly process that left him with too much ice and not enough drink, but Dabi envied the ability to even get that far; he certainly couldn’t drink his fire in an emergency.

“Well, we can’t all be gifted,” said Natsuo, puffing out his chest self-importantly as he held his hand over his own glass and—

Filled it with water.

“What the fuck?” asked Dabi, jolting forward off of his palms, banging his knee on the table. “What—do you—what the fuck was that?”

“Uh—my quirk?” said Natsuo, startled out of his bravado. He looked alarmed, confused—everyone did.

“You have an ice quirk,” said Dabi, pointing at the glass of water, “so what the fuck was that?”

“Oh,” said Natsuo, relaxing back into an easy laugh. “Oh man, did I never work it out in your world? No, dude, I have a water quirk. I can just move the temperature up or down.”

“Since when?” Dabi demanded.

“Since I was… maybe twelve? Thirteen? You’re the one—well, Touya’s the one who helped me figure it out, when we were training for UA. You were telling me how you make your flames hotter ‘cause we were thinking it’d be the same mechanism to make my ice colder, but—well—it just got hotter.”

“You went to UA?” asked Dabi, stealing a glance at Shouto, who was watching him impassively.

“Yeah, we all did.”

“Dabi,” said Hawks sharply, “your arms are smoking again.”

Dabi took a very deliberate breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Stay calm, idiot. Stay undercover. “Right. I’m—it’s been a lot. I’m alright now. So everybody went, huh?”

“Well, I didn’t,” said Hawks, watching the bared skin of Dabi’s forearm. “I went to Shiketsu. But Touya did, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And Natsuo has a water quirk.” A powerful one. Imperfect, but a decent split between fire and ice. It could be used in any number of combat situations—an icy platform, a spray of boiling vapor, refreshments in the field. “Does the old man know?”

“Yes,” spat Natsuo, glowering at the mere mention of Endeavor. Dabi half-smiled at the vehemence; now this was a reaction he could empathize with. “He turned up after I made it through the Sports Festival. Offered to ‘train’ me—as if I hadn’t seen what he’d done to you and—well. I put out his beard, and I guess he got the message, because I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Good riddance,” said Shouto, holding up his awkward, chunky glass in a toast.

“Good riddance,” echoed Dabi, hoisting his own empty glass in the air in tandem with Natsuo. Fuyumi was rolling her eyes at them, and Hawks was just watching Dabi with his usual vacant expression, but Rei seemed—amused. Blessedly amused, instead of that far-away look she used to get when he was mentioned, before—everything.

The arrival of the waiter, who for his part looked only a little confused at the filled waters, gave Dabi a moment to excuse himself.

“Bathroom,” he said by way of explanation, clambering to his feet and slipping out after the waiter. The second he slid the door shut, he slipped against the side of the wall, back pressed flat to the wooden beam and ear to the rice paper wall.

“What do you think?” asked Hawks, almost immediately.

“He’s weird!” said Natsuo, laughing. “Doesn’t seem to like us very much.”

“He seemed to warm up when you mentioned dousing Dad,” said Fuyumi. “It’s more than that, though. He’s hiding something. Shouto?”

“He doesn’t like heroes,” said Shouto. Dabi grimaced from his impromptu hiding place. He knew the kid was watching him, but he was sharper than he let on. “When he talks about Endeavor he just flat out roots for the villains.”

“Who doesn’t?” muttered Natsuo, barely loud enough to be heard through the wall.

“That’s an understatement,” said Hawks. “You should have heard him when he first woke up. He was talking shit about—sorry, Shinogu-san—he was dragging All Might through the mud. Said heroes are fakes, All Might is a liar—he seemed to empathize more with Stain than Touya.”

“Poor Dabi,” said Rei, quietly. “He must have had such a hard time, and we weren’t even there to support him… He won’t even look at me.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Fuyumi. Dabi could just picture her reaching out with a conciliatory hand. “We all know who’s to blame if he doesn’t like heroes.”

“I’m worried that it’s more than that, Fuyumi-chan,” said Hawks. “I… well, I hope that’s all it is. I hope we can remind him that he has us—or at least, all of you—to rely on, whether he feels it’s true or not.”

“Can’t he rely on you?” asked Natsuo, a teasing lilt in his voice that made Dabi want to thump him upside the head.

“I meant in his own world, Waterboy,” said Hawks.

Dabi pushed his way off the wall with one shoulder. He’d heard enough.

He reentered the room without preamble; they all knew he wasn’t the type to knock anyway.

“What’d I miss?” he asked, settling back in.

“We were talking about you,” said Natsuo. Fuyumi thumped him upside the head. “Ow! Like he didn’t guess that anyway!”

“I had a sneaking suspicion,” Dabi said dryly.

They settled back into idle chitchat, and Dabi felt—self-conscious. They were reading him much better than he had anticipated. He’d known Fuyumi would be able to tell he was holding back, but he hadn’t been counting on Hawks or Shouto to fill in the gaps for her. Had he overplayed his hand? If they were all working together against him, his cover was as good as blown.

Part of him didn’t care; it wasn’t like this was a permanent arrangement, after all. Another part, much quieter, cared about what Rei in particular thought of him. ‘Poor Dabi’, she’d said. When was the last time someone had said that and it hadn’t made him want to burn their head clean off? But when it was Rei—when it was his mother—would she still think that if she knew what he’d done? If she knew what he was doing right now?

He wasn’t one for pity, or regretting his choices. He’d fought tooth and claw for his agency, and he’d defend it by whatever means necessary and damn anyone who denied him that right, but… If Rei thought he was evil for doing what he had to do, if she weren’t just afraid of his father’s eyes or hair or quirk burning through him… that was something he would regret. It wouldn’t change his mind, or make him choose a different path—but part of him would be destroyed by that rejection. The only way he’d survived it in his own world was knowing she couldn’t see him past the shadow of Endeavor—so if she saw him, Dabi, casting his own shadow and burning brighter than the sun, and she judged him a monster?

He might just become one.

Chapter Text

Touya woke up unhappy.

Part of him was still hoping this was all an elaborate dream, and he’d awaken in a cold sweat to Taka’s feathers in his nose and the smell of brewing coffee. He shifted under sheets of the wrong material, pressing his face farther into a raggedy pillow, and tried to just pretend for a moment.

Maybe they’d changed sheets, or he’d used the wrong pillow, and that had inspired an unfortunate nightmare. Maybe the distant sound of muffled voices was just their elderly neighbors, who happened to be shrieking like toddlers for some reason.

He sat up as footsteps thundered nearer, lightning eyes flashing open in anticipation of attack. The door sailed open far too quickly, and he lit one hand in preparation, ready to face whatever onslaught he had to—

“Daaaaabiiiiii!” whined wanted serial killer Toga Himiko, “Twice drank my juice!”

“I did not!” said Twice, barging into the room right after her. “I drank it.”

Touya blinked, letting his fire go out.

“What—what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?” he groaned, flopping back onto the bed. He should have asked Hawks more about Dabi. Would Dabi set these people on fire for waking him up? Touya kind of wanted to.

“Make him buy me more!” said Toga, pouting. “He listens to you.”

“I listen to you too!” said Twice, “I’m just a terrible listener!”

“Oh my god, shut up,” said Touya, covering his face with his hands. “It’s too fucking early for all this yelling. Why don’t you go tell Shigaraki Tomura?”

Suddenly, blissful silence. He raised his hands from his face to discover the interlopers were staring at him. “…What?”

“You called the Boss by his whole name,” said Twice, pointing at him. “That’s weird. Are you really Dabi?”

Shit. That was fast.

“Of course I’m fucking me,” he growled, sitting back up, mind spinning as he grasped desperately for an excuse. “I got hit by a weird quirk yesterday, alright? Everything’s fucked.”

“Oh no!” Toga exclaimed, bouncing over and launching herself onto the bed beside him, feeling his forehead. He swatted to try and get her off, but she seemed to be expecting that. “What kind of quirk? This is why I say you shouldn’t go out recruiting alone!”

“It’s—it’s like, partial amnesia or—could you get off me?” said Touya, finally shoving her off the bed. She lay in a giggling heap on the floor, beaming up at him with her too-sharp teeth. So Dabi went recruiting, huh? He could use that. “I remember stuff like who we are and what we’re doing, but I don’t remember like, specifics, or what I call you.”

“You call me Himiko-chan!” she said immediately, climbing onto her knees and folding her arms on the bed. She liked to test boundaries, this girl.

“I’m not gonna fucking call you that,” he groused, shoving her off again. “I was looking more for ‘Toga’ or ‘the yandere’, not cutesy nicknames.”

“This is extremely suspicious,” said Twice, moving further into the room to join Toga in infringing on Touya’s personal space. “Do me next!”

“Uh—Twice, or—was it Bubaigawara?”

“Jin!” said Twice, beaming beneath his mask. “The guy so nice, they named him Twice!”

“I guess I could call you Clone Saga or something, but really, I’m not looking to shake things up. I remember who everybody is, it’s how I fit into it that gets weird,” said Touya, grimacing. God, he was talking out his ass here. It was a good thing it was the loudmouths who barged in and not one of the craftier bastards. “I think the guy was trying to disorient me. To be fair, it super worked.”

“At least your quirk still works!” said Toga. She was edging back onto the mattress, just out of Touya’s reach. “I bet that means you really are you. When I turn into people, I can’t use their quirks at all!”

“What if there’s a copying quirk?” asked Twice, inching onto a heap of clothes that didn’t technically include the bed, which Touya allowed on a technicality. “Somebody could copy your quirk and Dabi’s, and pretend to be him!”

Toga rolled her eyes, waving her hands as if shooing Twice’s statement from the room. “Not forever, though! Only Tomura’s sensei could do something like that. And I’d be able to tell if it wasn’t him! He’s still Dabi, he just doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Twice, wilting. “I knew it! Anybody could be this mean to us.”

“I can be meaner, if you’d prefer,” said Touya, climbing out of bed. Apparently considering this to mean he ceded the territory, Toga and Twice immediately scrambled up to occupy the space. “Are we doing anything today?”

“We’re working on our plan!” said Toga, dragging one of what must have been his shirts over her own clothes. “If you haven’t had any luck recruiting, I bet Tomura will want you to come along!”

“What’s our plan?” asked Touya, scowling at her. It was kind of hard to remember she was a serial killer when she was swimming in an oversized band shirt and giggling like a child.

Twice wasn’t much better beside her, wrapping himself up in the blankets like they were a veil on a bride. “We’ll brief you later. It’s a secret!”

“Okay, in the meantime, get the fuck out of my room,” he said. “It’s ass o’clock and I’m not changing in front of you creeps.”

“You’ve changed in front of me before!” said Twice, visibly wounded.

“I mostly meant Stabby McGee over here,” said Touya, jerking a thumb at Toga, who had produced a knife from somewhere and was running it along the seam of another of his shirts. “I don’t think she’ll leave unless she’s keeping you from drinking more of her juice.”

Twice’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah! That’s bullshit,” he said cheerfully, abandoning the bed entirely and sprinting out the door.

“Twice, no!” yelled Toga, leaping after him. “He’s trying to distract you!”

Touya shut the door behind them with a relieved sigh, taking a moment to flop back onto the bed. His entire body hurt. The warehouse misadventures last night had definitely fucked him up, but he was somewhat reluctant to change clothes; thus far he’d avoided seeing the extent of Dabi’s scars, but that couldn’t last much longer.

Without getting up, he dragged his shirt over his head, craning his neck to scope the damage. Between the bruises and the twisted scar tissue, there was scarcely an inch of him that wasn’t a vivid purple.

He ran his hand over the ruined skin of his forearm, tracing patterns like braille that had bled together into a mess of scar tissue, too deep for most of the nerves to respond to his touch.

It was surprisingly symmetrical, though clearly inexpert. The surgical staples were set too far apart in most places to be doing much good, and it was long past the point that any of this could be salvaged, anyway.

His medical training was negligible, but if there was one thing Touya knew how to treat, it was burns—and whoever had done this either had no idea what they were doing, or was willing to sacrifice months of pain and permanent damage for an aesthetic.

It worried him that he couldn’t say which category Dabi belonged to.

He pulled on the most palatable outfit he could assemble, throwing the hoodie back on over it and shouldering his way out of the room before he could go back to sleep. He should probably—in the interest of reconnaissance—see what was going on with this Love Hotel. If Toga and Twice were here, did that mean it was an official base of operations? Did they all just share abandoned motels like they were neighbors in a sitcom?

At least he didn’t have to hunt through the whole building for information; he just had to follow the commotion.

“Come at me bro!” Twice’s voice rang out from an open door. “Please don’t stab me!”

“I told you I would!”

“Hey, hey,” said a third voice, “Let’s everybody calm down, alright?”

“You calm down!” huffed Toga.

Touya peered cautiously around the doorframe, braced to block any projectiles, and found Twice crouching on top of a shabby counter, warding Toga (who was, of course, armed) off with a broom. Mr. Compress, appropriately wearing a mask with an exaggerated frown, was standing behind her with his arms raised, obviously trying to placate the two.

Touya slowly pulled his head back.

Gathering information could wait until after he knew what the deal with Universe Swap was. He sent Hawks a quick text, sidling down the hallway outside the villains’ line of sight, donned his (okay, shoddy) disguise, and crept out into the alleys to wait.

It was fairly surreal to see the League of Villains acting so… like that. Aside from the very real threats of bodily harm and the fact that they were apparently squatting in an abandoned Love Hotel, that could have been a morning in a generic family. That could have been his family, if things were much quieter and they knew better than to ask him to mediate. How many times had Natsuo eaten Fuyumi’s food without asking? How many times had they all busted into his room at the ass crack of dawn?

There was no sense in lingering on their dynamics, though, or how Dabi fit into them. Touya needed concrete information before he could make any moves, and he wouldn’t get it in a deserted break room.

There were bigger fish to fry.

Chapter Text

                “Hey. Get up.”

“Fuck you,” said Dabi, pulling the blanket over his head. This was the nicest bed he’d slept in in like, years. No fucking way was he gonna leave it before the sun was even up.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late,” urged Hawks, yanking the blanket off of him.

Dabi half-groaned and half-growled, squinting one eye open enough to glare at the hero leaning over him. “It’s too god damn early for this.”

“It’s nine thirty,” said Hawks, rolling his eyes and taking the blanket with him. Dabi watched it go longingly.

“Bullshit it’s nine thirty, why’s it so dark if it’s nine thirty?”

“The windows face west, dumbass. You want me to open the blinds?”

“No,” huffed Dabi. He dragged himself into a sitting position, stretching his arms over his head. Shinogu’s pajamas were fancy too, a soft t-shirt and warm pants lined with fleece. “Oh, I meant to ask you last night—why does this shirt say ‘Bursary’?”

Hawks made a peculiar expression that was mostly a grimace.

“What?” asked Dabi. “Is there like a hero bursary or something?”

“When I was a kid, I had nightmares a lot,” said Hawks, folding his arms over a bundle of clothing. “And I was—there wasn’t really anybody to ask for help, so I would just lay there and tell myself nursery rhymes until I could fall back asleep.”

“Uh,” said Dabi.

“I told this to Touya, and he immediately got a shirt printed to say ‘bursary’, because ‘it was the only nursery rhyme he could think of’.”

Dabi stared, waiting for Hawks to bust out laughing and tell him he was just kidding, Shinogu would never do such a thing.

Hawks didn’t burst out laughing.

“C’mon,” he said after a moment of stunned silence, dropping the clothes on the bed, “hurry up and get changed. Patrol is mostly for show anyway, so it’ll be a good way to put people’s minds at ease.”

“I don’t want to put—it—fine,” said Dabi, scowling down at the hero costume. It was way too fucking early to be traipsing around playing the good guy when he and Hawks both knew that was bullshit, but it wasn’t as if he could talk Hawks into letting him stay here alone.

The hero costume was… not as bad as he was expecting, actually. From what he knew of Shinogu, he’d been anticipating an over-the-top dragon fursuit or some shit, but this was workable. It was pretty much just sturdy pants and a jacket, with full bracers and patches of faux scales that Hawks informed him were valves for his cooling system. Two white stripes ran along the lower part of the jacket, mimicking a firefighter uniform, which Dabi couldn’t help but smirk at.

He was somewhat baffled by the belt buckle, though. It was shaped sort of like All Might’s, but it had some sort of kanji in it—except, he didn’t know it. It looked like two ‘human’ characters stacked on top of each other, but—

“It’s ‘ice’,” said Hawks, watching him frown at it. “Before it became the ice radical, that was the character for it. There’s no double ice radical like the flame kanji is doubled fire, so…”

“Another ‘fuck you’ to the old man, huh?” asked Dabi, turning it over in his fingers. He could live with that. It seemed like one of the only things he and Shinogu had in common.

“Yeah,” said Hawks. “Now c’mon, get dressed or we’re gonna have to fly there.”

“Bite me,” said Dabi, offhandedly as he stripped out of his pajamas.

“I’m still here!” protested Hawks immediately, covering his eyes with one wing.

“Well go ahead and enjoy the view, it’s not like you haven’t tapped this,” snorted Dabi. It was difficult to think of it as being his body, honestly—his body was something he put up with, something that caused him a great deal of pain on a daily basis, but he wasn’t exactly concerned with modesty. He wore his scars for the world to see, so one hero seeing his ass was kind of… meaningless.

Also? Shinogu was shredded. He was still lanky as fuck, but instead of jutting ribs he had like, muscles. Okay, maybe not shredded so much as ‘not malnourished’ but Dabi sure wasn’t complaining. It was amazing just to stand up without getting a head rush; he was kind of excited to take this baby for a spin, truth be told. If this was the difference between twink and twunk, he needed to work out more.

“I told you, it’s different,” said Hawks, squawking indignantly as Dabi tossed his discarded shirt onto the wing between them.

“What, scared you’ll like me better?” asked Dabi. He hopped a little as he pulled on the boots, saving his shirt for last—if he had to see Hawks’s pecs, he was going to rub this in.

“I’m concerned that you’ll get the wrong idea,” said Hawks, frowning as he finally lowered his wing, one feather carting the shirt off to the laundry hamper. “I don’t want you to worry I have—ulterior motives, or—unseemly thoughts, or whatever.”

“Unseemly thoughts?” asked Dabi, tilting his head to grin sideways at him. “I’m not worried. You’re not exactly my type, feathers.”

Hawks made a face at him. “Evidence would suggest I’m exactly your type.”

“Well, physically, sure,” said Dabi, waving a vague hand. “I have high standards and you’re hot enough to meet them. I’m talking about your personality.”  

“Again, I cite the fact that you’ve been dating me for nearly four years in an alternate universe.”

“Yeah, and whatever made our universes different, it gave me a sense of taste,” said Dabi. He shrugged into the jacket with a little difficulty, having put the bracers on first like an idiot. “I don’t go for goody two shoes hero-types.”

“Goody two shoes?” Hawks repeated indignantly.

“What, you aren’t the Number Two Hero?”

“I’m—you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Hawks. Surprisingly, he seemed to be closing off. Dabi lifted an eyebrow; what, had he touched a nerve?

“Sure don’t,” he agreed easily enough. “Let’s go. I’m not flying.”

“I kind of wish I’d let you sleep in,” muttered Hawks, leading the way out.

Patrol was, in a few words: Super Fucking Boring.

“So we just fucking wander the city for a few hours? Is that it?” whined Dabi, trudging petulantly behind.

“It’s about establishing a presence,” said Hawks. “It deters crime.”

“It deters shit,” said Dabi, rolling his eyes. “It just makes you a target for any villain who just happens to wander by and catch you with your guard down.”

“Why on earth would my guard be down when I’m on patrol?” asked Hawks, turning his head enough that Dabi could see his incredulous expression. “I can take on any villain who’s dumb enough to try to get the jump on me in broad daylight, especially when I’ve got backup.”

Yeah, ‘backup’. As if Dabi would do anything other than laugh if he got jumped.

“Look, I’m just saying, it’s easy for you to be like ‘oh yeah, patrol is the best, whatever’ when you can send your feathers out on errands or whatever the fuck, but some of us are bored.”

“I’m sorry, should I call a babysitter for you tomorrow?”

“Call me a fucking zookeeper, I need some enrichment or I’m gonna blow a goddamn gasket. Give me a puzzle box full of tasty treats or prepare yourself for some shredded curtains tomorrow morning,” said Dabi, banging his fists together to extend the weird knuckle-claws Shinogu had put on his costume.

“Well, here’s something,” said Hawks, “that bank is being robbed.”

Dabi perked up immediately, lighting his fists as a man with a gigantification quirk smashed his way free of the bank in question, yelling incoherently as six accomplices streamed out in his wake. Hawks bundled three up with his feathers in an instant, pinning them to the sidewalk, but the bulk of his attention seemed to be focused on the giant, who was swatting at feathers like flies.

“I’ll get the stragglers, shall I?” asked Dabi, delighted to finally have something to do.

“No!” said Hawks, still running towards the giant. “This will only take me a minute, just wait!”

“Hell no,” he snorted, darting off after the three remaining targets.

“You’re off active duty!” Hawks yelled after him. “Wait!”

“For my ‘protection’, right?” Dabi muttered to himself as he ran, putting as much distance between them as he could. “God. How fucking hard does he think it is to be a hero? Oh no, I wonder if I’ll survive a game of fucking tag, it’s not like I can light myself on fire or anyth—”

His muttering was abruptly cut off as he was clotheslined at the mouth of an alley, slamming neck-first into a burly arm and bouncing off onto the sidewalk, choking.

“Ryuutou,” growled the criminal, a stocky man who either had a mutation quirk or was the hairiest person Dabi had ever seen in real life.

“Dabi,” he coughed from the ground, glaring up at him.

Hairy paused, frowning in confusion. “What?”

Dabi, still laying on his back, swept his legs out from under him and rolled to punch, claws still extended. Hairy yelped, eyes growing wide, and threw up an arm in defense.

Dabi’s claws scored long, bloody furrows in the exposed flesh of his wrist, but as he drew back for another hit he was yanked away by an irresistible force, crashing heavily into a second criminal, who apparently had some kind of telekinesis. This second criminal forced his arms behind his back, shouting at the first to get up.

“You’re forgetting something,” Dabi all but wheezed, smirking as he met eyes with the bleeding man as he opened his mouth to warn Dabi’s captor, and went up in flames.

The second criminal screamed horribly, right in Dabi’s ear, and immediately sprang back.

“Kiyomizu!” barked Hairy, watching Dabi with wide, terrified eyes.

“He’ll live,” Dabi said offhandedly, raising a single hand between himself and Hairy. “You—”

Again, he was cut off mid-sentence, this time by a cannon of water slamming into his side, hurling him against the wall of the alley with such tremendous force that the wind was knocked out of him, his head cracking painfully against the bricks.

“The dumpster!” yelled a third voice, unfamiliar and clearly panicked. “Hurry!”

Dazed but resentful, Dabi lit his arms as the water momentarily lessened, steam pouring off of him as someone—probably Hairy—snatched him by the front of his shirt and tossed him bodily into a dumpster, which to his great relief was empty of garbage.

Relief turned quickly to panic as the water cannon resumed at full blast, flattening him against the rapidly filling container, and

Dad’s hand was hot against his neck, fingers digging into his collarbone because it was simply too large compared to his own undersized body, the water basin sat mockingly before them like a cruel joke—

Dabi gritted his teeth, scrabbling for leverage against the water-slick metal beneath him, boots digging for purchase as he fought to stay in the moment. Not now. Not now.  

“Burn it off before it boils,” said Dad, “or you’ll be cooked alive. Or drowned, if you keep pretending to be so weak.”

“Dad, I can’t—” he tried to protest, barely sucking in a breath before his head was forced under the water,

Dabi flipped himself over, the water buffeting his chest now instead of his back, and squinted through the spray towards his assailant. He was long since out of breath, and his head was beginning to feel foggy, but it was hardly the worst scrape he’d ever gotten out of.

He woke up in a puddle on the floor, coughing up water.

“Again,” said Dad, already pulling him to his feet.

The scales on Dabi’s suit flared as liquid nitrogen flooded his jacket to counteract his surge in body temperature, and he managed to raise one arm between himself and the barrage of water.

It wasn’t his body, but the nerves were intact, so—he had better make this shot count.

He unleashed an enormous jet of fire, hissing in pain as the water around his hand turned to boiling steam, and pushed with all the strength in his legs to press the advantage he’d made for himself.

The third criminal—Kiyomizu, presumably—was screaming, and as Dabi got to his feet, rib-deep in water that smelled like fucking garbage, he crumpled to the ground, curling instinctively around his injuries.

“You piece of shit,” said Dabi, hopping out of the dumpster as Hairy and Thief Number Two watched in obvious terror. “You think you could hold a fucking candle to me? You’re garbage.”

“Ryuutou—” tried Hairy, and Dabi hurled a fireball at his feet just to shut him up. It was all he could do to keep the rage off his face; even with the cooling system activated, steam was twisting off his body.

His face stung, his hair was sopping wet, he had bruises in the shape of his father’s hands and burns in the shape of his own fear and desperation, he was crumpled to the ground, curled instinctively around his injuries—

“You’re weak,” said Dabi, through gritted teeth, igniting one hand as he loomed over the bastard who thought he had what it took to kill him. “You don’t even deserve to—”

He broke off sharply as the other two villains were thrown backwards by a series of bright red feathers, yelping as they slammed into the wall of the alley.

“The cavalry’s here,” he told the cowering Kiyomizu, letting his hand go out. “It’s your lucky day.”

Chapter Text

“Are you fucking kidding me?” asked Hawks.

“What?” asked Touya, looking down at himself. “It’s a cunning disguise.”

“You look like you robbed a funeral home for the ugliest shit they had, and then got attacked by a cat on the way out,” Hawks said flatly. “What is that beard even made out of?”

“I don’t know, but it smells terrible,” said Touya, shifting his enormous fake beard a little further down his face. He was almost glad that Dabi didn’t seem to have feeling in half his body; no doubt that this thing was gonna chafe like a bitch.

“You look like you lost a fight with the ghost of Jacob Marley,” said Hawks, turning away in disgust.

“But I don’t look like a serial killer, now do I?”

“You look like you serially kill delinquents and collect their jewelry as trophies. Why are you wearing so many pocket chains?”

“They look cool,” said Touya. He straightened the lapels of his cheap, admittedly old-fashioned suit, shaking out his arms to make sure the edges of the staples were covered. “Okay, I’m ready. Are you done heckling my outfit yet?”

“You look like someone put pictures of clothes on a dartboard and made a monkey throw the darts.”

“Monkeys can throw really hard, that’s a compliment if you think about it,” said Touya, leading the way up the stairs of the apartment complex.

“Monkeys have shit shoulder articulation and this particular monkey missed the dartboard entirely,” Hawks muttered, though he seemed to finally be winding down. “How is this not suspicious? How have you only blown the League’s cover once?”

“Oh, I can blow it a whole lot better than getting spotted on the street,” said Touya, turning his head to grin back at him. “We just need to find out what’s up with this quirk, and then I’ll blow what-ever you want.”

Hawks made a face at him, his twisted cheeks not quite enough to hide the color climbing up them. “Must you turn everything into a line?”

“Yes, I absolutely must,” said Touya. “Tell you what, c’mon over here and I’ll turn something into a line right n—”

“Oh look, we’re here!” Hawks interrupted loudly, shouldering past him with one wing raised like a shield. “Please remember that we agreed to let me do the talking.”

“I agreed to nothing and I am absolutely going to talk,” said Touya, knocking on the door before Hawks could more than squawk in protest.

The door opened a crack, a single burnt orange eye peering out at them through the gap and squinting in apparent confusion as it took them in.

“… Hawks?” asked the man behind the door, sounding as confused as he looked.

“The one and only!” said Hawks, beaming his best Media Smile. “My associate and I are conducting an investigation and we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

“About what?” he asked warily.

“Your quirk, mostly,” said Touya, affecting a deep voice that he was certain Hawks wanted to strangle him for. “Shirotei Kenji, I presume?”

“…Who are you?” asked Shirotei, closing the door a sliver more.

“I work for the city,” said Touya. “I understand somebody has a parking ticket, and I’d like to get that cleared up for you—since you’re going to be so helpful and cooperative, it’s the least I can do.”

Shirotei shut the door.

There was a muffled jangling sound as he apparently undid a chain lock. “You’re… going to clear up my parking ticket?” asked Shirotei, flinging it open. “Really?”

“Sure am,” said Touya, grinning under his ridiculous beard. Well, Hawks was, but this guy didn’t need to know that. “Although I have to ask, how did you even get an eighty thousand yen parking ticket?”

“Well,” hedged Shirotei, shifting guiltily. “I may have parked… on someone.”

In his peripheral vision, Touya saw Hawks shut his eyes.

“Water under the bridge, my good man!” boomed Touya. “May we come in?”

“Please,” said Shirotei eagerly, gesturing them inside. There weren’t enough slippers for all of them, so Hawks elected to stay in his socks and sigh a lot. He was so dramatic; it was so god damn cute.

“So what do you need to know?” asked Shirotei, settling on a shabby couch and wringing his hands. He was a stocky man, shorter than both of them but broader as well, with short hair so blond it was nearly white and a faint striping on his skin.

“Well, for starters, how does it work?” asked Hawks, cutting off what was admittedly going to be a nonsensical excuse for Touya to use his annoying fake voice some more.

“Universe Swap? It’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like,” said Shirotei, shrugging. “I shoot this ball of like, energy at someone, and they change places with themselves from another universe. Sometimes it barely works for ten minutes, sometimes it seems—permanent.”

“Permanent,” Touya repeated faintly.

“As far as we can tell,” said Shirotei. “It seems to be related to how similar the universe was to their own—the people who swap back the fastest are the people who went to worlds more or less identical to ours. I think the longest case I ever had was when I swapped my friend in grade school and he didn’t come back until high school; said he’d been in a world without quirks.”

“Was his quirk anything in particular?” asked Hawks, jotting down notes on a little pad.

“Rhino mutant type,” said Shirotei, shrugging. “He missed the horn a lot, apparently.”

“Sure, sure,” said Touya. “But—there’s no trigger to reverse it? No magic words or little dance or anything?”

“None that I know of,” said Shirotei, watching him with a growing frown. “I really don’t use it much. It was usually an accident, when I was a kid, you know? And it’s, you know, illegal.” He shot a sideways glance at Hawks as he said so.

“You do need a license to use your quirk, yes,” said Hawks, a little placidly.

“Yeah, and you need to use your turn signal but half the drivers on the road—”

“Touya,” said Hawks, cutting him off again. “Try to remember your position as a city employee before you finish that analogy.”

Shirotei looked between them. “So… what exactly is this investigation you’re conducting?”

“In an alternate universe, we have reason to believe that you’re a villain,” said Hawks. Shirotei visibly paled.

“I—I’m not in this one, I swear,” he stammered. “I—that parking thing was an accident, I thought he was a piece of plywood—“

“We have no reason to suspect you,” said Hawks, raising his hands in reassurance. “It’s only that this alternate version of yourself seems to have taken this world’s version of a colleague of mine and replaced him with… someone else.”

“Oh,” said Shirotei, eyes widening in understanding. “Oh. So—you—a?”

He gestured weakly at Touya, who grimaced under his fake beard.

“Me,” he confirmed. “I’d really like to get back to my universe, if you don’t mind.”

“Well,” said Shirotei, “I’d hit you again, but if you wound up swapped with the wrong universe who knows what would happen? I dunno if the effects stack or anything, so you might just get locked out of your original ‘verse.”

“Okay, so please don’t hit me,” said Touya, springing to his feet. “I think—I’m good here. Hawks?”

“I’m good,” said Hawks. “Thank you for your time, Shirotei-san. We’ll get that ticket cleared up right away. Since Ita-san wasn’t actually hurt, it should just be a simple bureaucratic matter.”

Shirotei visibly sagged in relief. “Thank you. Thank you both so much. I’m—I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m awfully sorry. For villain-me, too.”

“Well,” said Touya, smiling ruefully. “We can’t help what we did in another universe.”

Chapter Text

“So,” said Hawks, catching Dabi’s wet clothes as he stripped them off. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?” asked Dabi, scowling as he turned on one of the showers. Why did they even have so many showers? It was a locker room in a hero agency, not a gym. “I’d be pretty fine never talking about it.”

“You clearly aren’t fine,” huffed Hawks, dumping the clothes into a bag. “You think I don’t know what Touya looks like when he’s—unsettled? You think I haven’t seen that look in his eyes?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” muttered Dabi, stepping under the biting cold spray. One advantage of his mismatched quirk: He never had to wait for the water to heat up.

“I knew it was a longshot, growing up with him for so long, but part of me still hoped you’d been to therapy,” sighed Hawks, sitting on one of the benches between rows of lockers and looking up at the heavens as though asking for strength.

Dabi snorted and focused on rinsing the garbage-smell out of his hair. “What’s a therapist gonna do? Tell me to avoid situations where I’m likely to be drowned? Pretty sure I was gonna do that anyway.”

“It’s not about situations like that,” Hawks said, voice tight. “It’s about how you react to them. What happened to you—it wasn’t okay, Dabi. Endeavor should never have—”

“He was right though, wasn’t he?” Dabi broke in, hating the bitterness that seeped into his tone. “He did it to teach me to be stronger, and I was. He taught me how to do that.”

And wasn’t that the fucking kicker? When he’d been backed into a corner, when anyone else would have died in a dumpster like a fucking rat, he’d had that foundation to rely on. He’d had the training his father had plied him with, and the arsenal to escape that very situation. To counter his own intrinsic weakness.

“That doesn’t matter,” said Hawks, face twisting with something ugly. Dabi bit off his retort at the sight of it; he’d never seen the Wing Hero look less camera-ready, and even this deep in a sulk he needed to take a moment to treasure that. “It doesn’t matter why he did it, or if in some sick, fucked up way it worked. What matters is this.”

“This?” echoed Dabi, grabbing what he hoped wasn’t a communal bar of soap.

“This fucking—look at you, Dabi!” he burst out. “You—when I came into that alley, do you know what I saw?”

“A sopping wet asshole beating the shit out of three even bigger assholes?”

“I saw you ready to fucking kill someone. I saw you seconds away from bringing down the axe on some third rate bank robber like you were judge, jury, and executioner.”

“You already knew I was a vigilante,” said Dabi, sloughing off soapy skin and the phantom reek of filth. “You knew I didn’t operate within the fucking system. I don’t—”

“You don’t have any right to kill people because you think they’re beneath you,” said Hawks. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What? You don’t want to harangue me some more for winning a fight against three villains at once?” spat Dabi, ignoring the stinging in his fingertips as he continued to scrub.

“I’m talking about why you feel that way.”

“That they’re beneath me?” asked Dabi incredulously. “That doesn’t take a rocket scientist. I beat three of them. They’re pathetic. No passion, no ambition—weak. I feel that way because it’s true.”

“So because you’re stronger than them, you’re better than them,” said Hawks. “And the weak don’t deserve to live, is that it?”

Dabi’s fingernails drew sharp lines against the intact skin of his arms.

“He was wrong about you,” said Hawks, and Dabi, who had been expecting Hawks to—call him out on being a villain, or arrest him, or something—looked up in surprise. Hawks was still staring determinedly at the ceiling. “He was wrong to treat you like that, and to say those things, but he was wrong objectively, too. You were never weak.”

“How did we get to talking about me, all of a sudden?” asked Dabi, making a face. “Of course I’m not weak. I could kick your ass right now, Mr. Number Two Hero.”

“Touya is the strongest person I know,” said Hawks, ignoring him completely. “You were both born with incredible expectations placed on you, unrealistic goals and irresponsible experiments and so many burdens that weren’t yours to bear. A quirk that eats away at you. A face you can barely stand to look at. A family you aren’t allowed to see until it’s too damn late.”

The water in the shower finally heated up enough that Dabi could feel it, scalding against skin that wasn’t his. Everything was wrong about this. Hawks shouldn’t know this. No one should know this. He felt naked in a way that his actual, literal nudity hadn’t been able to accomplish.

“He tried to wield you like a weapon, to forge you like a blade in a crucible, but you came out of it blazing brighter than he ever could. When he tried to temper you, you stayed molten. You didn’t become what he wanted you to be.” Hawks turned to look Dabi dead in the eye. “So why are you acting like you did?”

“… What?”

“He tried to burn your heart out of you,” said Hawks, getting to his feet. “He tried to beat you into a shape he could handle, something sharp and angry and easy to point in the right direction. Pliable. Brittle. I told you before—I’ve seen that look in Touya’s eyes. That fire never goes out, never goes away. That rage is always there, violence is always gonna be the easiest reaction—the most natural, even. What’s a blade supposed to do but cut?”

“You don’t know me,” said Dabi, cold despite the heat of the water on his back, fury boiling in the pit of his stomach like liquid nitrogen. “I’m not Touya. I’ve seen shit he only sees in his fucking nightmares.”

“Here’s the thing, Dabi,” said Hawks, gold eyes sharp and narrow. “You don’t know me, either.”

Dabi barely held back a snort. Didn’t he? Hawks was a spoiled little brat with a perfect quirk and the world handed to him on a silver platter. There wasn’t anything to know other than he was smarter than he looked.

“If you believe the things that he told you about yourself—that you’re weak, that your quirk is a mistake, that you’re worthless—then you’re going to have some real fucked up ideas,” said Hawks, after a moment’s silence, when it became clear Dabi had no intention of replying. “That having a volatile quirk means you’re weak, that being weak means you’re worthless, that weakness is something to be punished. Endeavor is the kind of bastard who would have looked at those villains and burned them like garbage, and he did his fucking best to make you and Touya think that way. His way.”

Dabi glowered at him, mute in the cascade of water slowly turning his shoulders an angry red to match the shallow burns on his hand. His way? There was nothing of Endeavor left in him. Dabi had burned it out years ago, except for the eyes. Except for the memories.

If it were his way, Endeavor wouldn’t be at the top of the list of people to kill. In spite of everything, Endeavor was strong. In Endeavor’s world, his strength would be recognized, respected. Idolized, even.

In Dabi’s, it would be sacrificed to build something indestructible, something that would uplift the weak, that would give them the means to protect themselves from bastards like his father. The villains today were weak, sure, but they weren’t born that way. They chose to be weak, a symptom of this warped, twisted society.

Dabi wasn’t better because he was stronger; he was stronger because he was better. Because he knew where it had all gone wrong, and he was going to fix it, god damn it.

Hawks held his gaze as a single feather twisted the shower off. He tossed a towel to Dabi, gentle despite the something he was obviously trying to rein in, and Dabi caught it with one hand.

“I wasn’t finished,” he said idly, making no move to turn the water back on.

“Look, I get it. Alright? You resent Touya because he got out and you didn’t,” said Hawks. “It’s an easy thing to do. You think he has a perfect life and he takes it all for granted.”

“Taking it for granted? I think he’s wasting it,” Dabi disagreed, shaking his head. “He appreciates it, but too much. He’s squandering what he has because he’s afraid he’ll lose everything and turn into me, but I already have lost it, and I know the truth. I can see the heroics industry for what it is. I can see society for what it is.”

For all that Hawks claimed to understand him, bringing Shinogu into it just proved how little he had parsed of Dabi’s behavior. He kept comparing them like the only thing different was their names, but Shinogu was nothing, to him. A cocky, wisecracking idiot, too absorbed in his own success as a hero to take a critical look at the system that had built him up.

“And you think he can’t?” hissed Hawks. “You think we don’t know? I was plucked off the streets at five years old because the Hero Commission saw my quirk and thought it would be useful. They looked at me and who I was, and they saw a weapon they could claim for their righteous war against the people they forced into villainy. They didn’t see me as a person, as a child, but as a legacy. A tactical nuke to drop on the downtrodden and parade in front of cameras like a show pony.”

Dabi paused halfway through toweling off, staring at Hawks. His wings were flared, his eyes narrowed—even in his own world, Dabi had never seen Hawks like this.

“Everything that society has become, everything that it values when it shouldn’t—that’s what we’re fighting. Not petty thieves or people whose quirks leave them no other recourse. We’re going to change the industry, and through it, the world.” Hawks threw a bundle of sweats at him, spinning on his heel and storming out of the locker room while Dabi fumbled to catch it, watching him go.

He was a little taken aback, frankly.

Taken for training at five years old… It was older than he had been, but it was close enough to his own situation that it prickled at him. He didn’t know much of the inner workings of the Hero Commission to say whether their training had been similar, but he knew enough of heroes to hazard a guess.

But then, Hawks had seen it through, hadn’t he? He was a hero. Where Dabi had been discarded and eventually ‘killed’ by his own shortcomings, Hawks was flawless. A masterpiece.

And he hated the industry that had created him as much as Dabi did.

It was enough to give him pause, certainly. It would seem he had misjudged Hawks, in this world and his own. If that was the way of it—if his take on Hawks had been missing a giant, gilded birdcage all along—then maybe there was hope after all. Maybe he could be persuaded to see the truth; that the world didn’t need slow and gradual change—it needed a hard reset.

It was too far gone, and people were too ignorant and prejudiced to see what was right in front of them, even if a pretty face like Hawks was the one telling them to believe it. The only thing that inspired the stupid was fear. Fear and a desperation to protect their own interests, whether that was expressed through vanity or the hoarding of capital or the molding of children into weapons and legacies.

Maybe he was wrong, though—just because Hawks understood didn’t mean he was ready to accept it. He shrugged on the sweats Hawks had provided him, leaving the towel in a heap on the floor, and headed out of the locker room. Stewing over it wouldn’t solve anything; he needed more information.

Hawks had a few questions to answer.

Chapter Text

Touya pulled off his fake beard, slumping backwards onto the rooftop, arms splayed out beside him. He felt as if he’d just been in a huge, life-or-death battle, or stayed up for three days in a row, or something. Exhaustion pressed down on him like a physical weight, grinding him into the dirty cement in a way that made his staples prickle.

“It could be worse?” Hawks tried, sitting at his hip.

“How?” asked Touya. He didn’t even look at him; his eyes were fixed on the vast, blue sky, and wondering if it was different from his. Were their stars the same? Would he ever see his own again?

“There are still some things we could try! We could go find the rhino boy,” suggested Hawks, though he didn’t sound especially optimistic about it. “Or like, look at it this way: Shirotei could have been dead, or evil, or something. What if he’d told you how to do it, but it was the wrong way, and you thought you were stuck forever?”

“I’m starting to think I am,” said Touya, covering his eyes with the back of one arm. “God, am I going to die here? Am I stuck in this shitty body for the rest of my life?”

“It’s not—that could be worse, too,” said Hawks.

“If we really are swapped, then he’s in my body,” said Touya, grimacing. “He’s got a license and full access to everyone and everything I care about. Knowing Takahiro, he’s living with my boyfriend.”

Hawks twitched at the use of his real name, hard enough that Touya felt it from where their sides were pressed together. Or maybe it was at the reminder that they were a couple, in another world? Taka would certainly be disturbed to learn he was dating a villain.

“About that,” said Hawks, and Touya raised his arm enough to peek up at him. “I was actually hoping you could… tell me some stuff about…you know, that.”

“What?” asked Touya, “Me and Takahiro?”

“Yeah,” said Hawks.

Touya squinted up at him. He was clearly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the embarrassed flush he’d expect to see on Taka in this scenario. Hawks was trying to get him to talk, but about what?

“Me and Takahiro,” he said slowly, “or just one of us?”

“I mean, I am… curious,” said Hawks, looking away, out over the city. “About how things are different, sure, and—I guess I have no idea how a relationship between us would even begin to function, but I still mostly know you as Dabi. Why don’t you start by telling me a little more about yourself?”

Ah.

There it was.

“Man, your hero name should have been Osprey, with the way you’re fishing for clues,” said Touya, grinning and letting his arm flop back to his side, nudging Hawks’s shoulder in the process.

“I—what,” said Hawks, blinking down at him.

“Classic hero line, babe,” said Touya. “’Why don’t you tell me about yourself?’ Gets ‘em every time. Nobody can resist prattling on about their life or their interests or their hopes or dreams or whatever. Except, joke’s on you, because I’ve seen you pull that shit a thousand times and a half. Even some of the villains spill their guts.”

“If you don’t want to share, you don’t have to,” huffed Hawks, looking away again. “I was just—expressing an interest.”

“Nah,” said Touya, watching his face carefully. “Not yet. You’re still in investigation mode. But mark my words, birds—by the time we’re through you’re gonna be hopelessly in love with me, and the LOV will be the furthest thing from your mind.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” said Hawks, grimacing.

“Oh no?” asked Touya. “You know what beats Valentine’s chocolates?”

Hawks looked wary. “What?”

“Information,” he said promptly. “My full name is Shinogu Touya.”

Hawks twitched again, whipping his head around to meet Touya’s eyes.

“Although don’t bother googling that, because it’s not Dabi’s. He still uses our dad’s name. At least, legally. Well, I guess legally he’s dead, but—”

“Which is?” asked Hawks, voice strained.

Touya watched him wait for a moment, contemplating.

On the one hand, this was information he knew Hawks was both desperate for, and would put to good use. On the other, Endeavor was his favorite hero as a kid, and this was probably going to fuck him up a little.

“Todoroki,” he said finally, watching the gears start to turn.

“Todoroki… isn’t that…?” he murmured, frowning slightly as he stared back at Touya. “But—no, there’s no way. What’s—who…?”

“It’s him, Taka,” Touya said softly, laying a conciliatory hand on his arm. “I know it’s—”

Hawks slapped his hand away, getting abruptly to his feet.

“No,” he said sharply. “No. I know you like to fuck with people, but—”

Touya stayed on the ground, making himself as nonthreatening as possible. He might be able to beat this Hawks in a fight, if only because he knew his moves, but he wasn’t willing to let it get that far. He raised a single finger off the ground and lit it, watching Hawks’s eyes zero in.

“Your quirk,” he said, a little breathlessly. “But—that doesn’t make sense. There’s—why wouldn’t I have heard about you? Why would no one know you exist? How would you—become—”

“I don’t know how he became Dabi,” said Touya, letting his finger go out, keeping his voice soft and soothing. “But you never heard of me because that’s how Endeavor wanted it. Have you ever heard of Natsuo, or Fuyumi?”

Hawks stared at him, lost.

“My brother and sister,” said Touya, looking at his own hand. Well—Dabi’s. “See, my father… he wanted to beat All Might. Taka told me that’s what he used to admire about him; that he was the only one who even tried. But he wasn’t just—trying. He gave up a long time ago. He knew he would never win against the Symbol of Peace.”

“He never—he never gave up,” said Hawks. “He’s always been fighting. And this year—to win, but like that—”

“Oh, I’m sure he was furious,” Touya chuckled. “But no. He gave up over twenty years ago. He needed an upgrade, see? To counteract the heat exhaustion his quirk could give him. A countermeasure. By the time he was twenty years old, Endeavor knew he would never be the strongest.”

Hawks watched him, chest heaving, not saying a word.

“So he found my mother.”

Touya couldn’t help the vicious twist of anger that still curdled in his stomach when he thought of it. The disgust. The visceral sense of injustice.

“She was so young,” he said, fighting a losing battle to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Younger than I am now, when he found her. Shinogu Rei—soft, kind-hearted. She loved flowers and—and watching birds, and helping people. More than anything, she loved helping people.”

“Is that why he—?”

Touya laughed, cold and dark, like his father. “No. He found her through the quirk registry. That’s really all she ever was to him—her quirk. I’ve wondered, sometimes, if she was the only marriageable young woman with an ice quirk, or if there were others. Was she just the closest? From the best family? Whatever the reason, he chose her. He set up the omiai immediately.”

“A quirk marriage,” said Hawks, with dawning comprehension. “Unusual, these days.”

“They were back then, too,” said Touya, lip curling in distaste. “Guess they were controversial in the beginning, even. It’s one thing to find someone’s quirk attractive, or think you might get along with someone who’d understand yours, but the way my father did it—well, I can’t really call it eugenics given that it produced a fuckup like me, but that was more or less his aim. He was trying to make an upgraded version of himself. Someone who would have all of his strengths and none of his weaknesses.”

“Shouto,” said Hawks. He sat down heavily.

“There are worse things, right?” said Touya. He was barely talking to Hawks at this point; this had become an argument with imaginary detractors, faceless shadows he fenced with in the loneliest hours of the night. “It’s not so bad to want your children to be the best they can be. To be successful. Some people would argue it’s natural, to seek out the qualities that you know will provide your offspring with the best chance of success.”

“I… I guess,” said Hawks. “Although that’s such a crapshoot—how are you supposed to account for—for every possibility? And who’s to say that a child born without the ‘perfect quirk’ wouldn’t be—happier?”

“And you’ve already put more thought into this than Endeavor did,” said Touya, grimacing again. “See, Daddy Dearest failed to consider that he was mixing two extremely powerful quirks, which could combine in unexpected ways. So on his first try, he got me and my sister—Fuyumi.”

“Your quirk hurts you,” said Hawks, looking at the ruined skin of Touya’s forearms. It wasn’t a question. “You… smoke, sometimes, after you use it.”

“Yeah, he really fucked up with me,” said Touya. He laughed a little, thinking about it, because—well, how else was he supposed to react? He was an experiment, and he’d failed spectacularly, just by being born. “My fire is stronger than his. Bigger, hotter—it’s harder to control, but that’s just because of the sheer volume, you know? If I had been born to any other woman, he’d have had a great heir right off the bat.”

“Oh,” whispered Hawks, eyes widening in sudden comprehension.

“Yeah,” said Touya, “Not so fireproof.”

“That’s…”

“Statistically improbable, apparently. The chances were much higher that we’d inherit one or the other, or maybe a mixture of the two. I can’t overemphasize how little research he did into genetics before he decided my mother was her quirk, and she belonged to him.”

 “So what makes you different?” asked Hawks. He was visibly uncomfortable, trying to change the subject—although Touya couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful. “You and Dabi. How did you end up a hero?”

“As far as I can tell, it was just the fact that I got out. We left my father’s house, and I got some therapy, and I got to know the rest of my family.”

“You didn’t… know them, before?”

“Well, I knew Fuyumi for a few years,” said Touya, shrugging. “And Mom. But as soon as my quirk came in, Endeavor started… ‘training’ me.”

“And that kept you away from your brothers?” asked Hawks, frowning.

“There was no guarantee Shouto would come along, you know?” said Touya, looking back up at the sky. “For all he knew, I could have been his best chance. So he… well, he tried to fix me. He tried to make me stronger.”

Hawks was quiet for a while, and Touya knew he was thinking of his own training.

“He kind of just beat the shit out of me until I learned how to dodge,” said Touya, chuckling weakly. “Or, uh… he’d have me use my fire too much. He thought maybe I could build up a thicker skin, right?” He held up his ruined arms. “I mean, I guess he was sort of right, but I think even with the scars this is technically thinner.”

“He had you set yourself on fire?”

“Not always,” said Touya. “Sometimes he’d do it himself.”

Hawks turned away from him.

“Honestly, the heatstroke was worse. And it was really only until I was like, ten or eleven,” said Touya, flexing his stapled hand in front of his face. “When Shouto’s quirk came in, he didn’t have any reason to train up the failed creation, you know?”

“And Dabi… never got out.”

“Well, apparently he faked his death a few years ago, so yes and no,” said Touya.

“He never—the Number One Hero—god, the look on his face when he had to give up on killing Endeavor—you can’t—he was falling apart,” said Hawks. Even in his peripheral vision, Touya could see him bury his face in his arms. “He was trying to kill his father. My hero. And I should have let him.”

“Whoa,” said Touya, sitting up. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Hawks turned to him, dismayed, despairing. “Why not? He—he tried to fucking destroy you. He took everything from you. From both of you. And now he’s doing the same thing to Shouto, but it will never end.”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t be incredibly psyched if he died, understand,” said Touya, patting him gently on the shoulder. “And I’d rather die myself than forgive him for fucking any of it. But—and this is key—if we kill him, we don’t get to break him.”

Hawks stared.

“I’d love to watch him suffer a little of what he put us through, but in the end? I want everyone to know he’s nothing. I want him to know he’s nothing. He can die when he’s alone and unloved and he realizes he’s a piece of shit, but only then. Killing him is shit closure, even if I were willing to do it,” said Touya, mouth curling into something that was half a grin and half a snarl, metal pinching at his gums.

“Dabi is,” said Hawks, a little more resolution stealing onto his face. “We should—we have to do something. We have to expose him.”

“Dabi?” asked Touya, raising his eyebrows. “I mean sure, although I’d really prefer we figure out how to get me home before we stick him in prison—”

“No. Endeavor.”

Touya blinked. “Oh.”

“What do you mean ‘oh’?” snapped Hawks. “You must have—proof, or something, right? Fuck, look at you. We could just get a DNA profile and we’d have proof.”

“The thing is… people don’t always believe proof,” said Touya, swallowing reflexively. He pulled away from the warmth of Hawks’s side, drawing his legs up enough to rest his elbows on them. “I don’t… I was never brave enough to… he’s the Number One Hero here. And I’m… stuck in a villain. No one is going to believe me.”

“They might believe me,” said Hawks, fiercely. Fiercer than Touya was anticipating. He shot him a sideways glance.

Oh.

He was being genuine. That was nice, in a way. Talking to even part of Taka, instead of the practiced façade.

“’Might’ isn’t good enough to risk exposing my family to that,” he said ruefully. “I don’t want… I don’t know why my mother is in the hospital, here, but he’s hurt her before. I don’t want to hurt her too. And—Natsu already hates him, and—‘Yumi can’t—won’t—Shouto is safe. Shouto’s away from him, and if we could just… just keep him safe, everyone else can handle their own shit.”

“Why Shouto?” asked Hawks, softly, like he might startle.

“He’s—you know, he’s the baby. He was the last straw,” said Touya, shrugging. “When I was being trained… nobody knew what to do. Nobody knew how to react. But when he started on Shouto… we were older. We… had grown used to living, a certain way, but… I couldn’t ever leave it alone, you know? He was my baby brother.”

“And you knew what he was going through better than anyone,” said Hawks, grim.

Touya shrugged again, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m not going to leave this alone,” said Hawks. “But for now, I think I have more than enough to think about. I’ll grab us some food, okay?”

“Okay,” said Touya, quietly, half to his twisting hands. He was getting better at wringing them without catching the staples, fingers curling into one another and forming complicated knots. They matched the ones tangling in his stomach.

Hawks took off with his usual grace, cutting a red gash in the bright blue sky, and sailed out of view. Touya watched the space he’d vacated, an uneasy pressure blooming in his chest like a bruise as he sat alone on the cold cement rooftop, carefully rebuilding the walls around his past.

Chapter Text

                “This is extremely unnecessary,” said Dabi, watching the city pass by through the windows. His arm was resting on the sill, propping up his chin, and he was doing his level best to look as bored as he did irritated.

“Well apparently I can’t take you to work with me, so I had to find a sitter,” said Hawks, the humor in his voice tripling Dabi’s irritation.

“I’m a grown man,” he muttered. “Can’t you just put me in police custody and fuck off?”

“Nope!” said Hawks brightly. “The cops hate Touya’s guts. There’s only one place in town willing to put up with you for a few hours.”

“We’re here, sir,” said the driver, pulling to a stop along the curb. Dabi glowered at him.

“Thank you,” said Hawks, dipping his head in a short bow as he got out.

Dabi patently refused to move.

“Get out,” said Hawks, slightly muffled through the window.

Dabi locked his door with an audible click.

The only warning he had was the sound of the opposite side’s door opening, and suddenly he was being dragged from the car by feathers.

“Oh fuck you,” he spat, clawing at the faux leather interior, not quite able to get a grip without those stupid gloves Ryuutou’s costume had.

“No fire?” asked Hawks, as his feathers set Dabi upright.

“You think that piece of shit car won’t go up like a tinderbox?” he huffed, straightening out his sweats and glaring ferociously at the passersby that slowed to gawk.

“Ah, right,” said Hawks, closing the door. “You don’t know it’s fireproofed.”

“Then it wouldn’t have worked anyway, asshole,” muttered Dabi, turning his glare up to the gates instead.

UA towered above them, bathed in sunlight, surrounded by chirping birds, and filled with chattering students. He half expected to hear cheerful background music.

“I have to get back to work fairly soon, but I’ll see you in first, alright?” asked Hawks. He hadn’t said a word more about his childhood on the ride over, despite Dabi’s pressing; where he got off pretending to be as stupid as he acted remained a mystery.

“So to translate, you wish you didn’t have to spend any extra time with me, but you’re not gonna let me bolt before entrusting me to a more responsible hero,” said Dabi, rolling his eyes.

“You know, some people don’t say things because it isn’t polite, not because they’re hiding something,” sighed Hawks, scanning their ID cards and gesturing him through the gate.

“Those people are called cowards,” said Dabi.

He fell into petulant silence as they approached the main building, dragging the shitty sneakers he’d been given as much as he could.

It wasn’t even like he didn’t want to be here—like, it had been his plan from practically the beginning to scope out UA’s security from the inside, to get an idea of what he was working with. It was just, like—Hawks was being such a dick about it.

All Dabi wanted to do was ask him a few probing questions. Maybe dredge up his tragic past and pick over it for exploitable weaknesses.

You know, friend stuff.

“Are you going to sulk the whole time you’re here?” asked Hawks as his feathers held the door for them. “I need to know if I should send the faculty apology flowers.”

“I’m sulking at you,” said Dabi, making a face.

“Well then you owe me apology flowers,” said Hawks. “Ah, Nedzu-kouchou. You received my email?”

“Of course!” said a surprisingly loud voice from somewhere around Dabi’s kneecaps, sending him shooting nearly a foot into the air. “We’re delighted to have Dabi-san for the afternoon!”

Dabi squinted down at Nedzu, trying to decide what to make of him. It was nice to hear his actual name, although any kind of honorific sounded… strange (Toga’s shitty nicknames notwithstanding).

He was shorter in person, barely the height of a child, but Dabi could see an unnerving gleam of awareness in his dark eyes that kept him from finding that comforting. Nedzu was not a person—or, at least, principal—to be underestimated.

“Thanks,” he said shortly, though he didn’t bow or otherwise lower himself; while taking a knee would be a nice shot at the kind of condescension that was sure to rile up Hawks, he didn’t want to risk the principal’s ire so early in his ‘visit’. 

You don’t piss off the warden during orientation, after all. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say thank you non-sarcastically,” observed Hawks, his impressed expression coming off as genuine despite the little smirk growing around his mouth. “Have you finally realized you’re a handful?”

“I haven’t realized shit,” said Dabi, snorting. “It’s just nice to be called by my name for once instead of ‘Tou-Dabi’ or whatever.”

“Sorry,” said Hawks, actually looking contrite. “It’s mostly reflexive still. I try to catch myself, but don’t hesitate to call me out if I do it again.”

“I’ve never hesitated to call you out for anything,” said Dabi, raising an eyebrow.

“Then don’t stop now!”

“Right this way, Dabi-san,” said Nedzu at their feet, smiling beatifically up at him. “We’re going to have you sit in as a guest teacher for—”

“Let me guess,” he interrupted, sighing heavily, “Class 1-A.”

“Why, yes!” said Nedzu.

“I’ve gotta get back to work,” said Hawks. “I’ll come pick you up when I’m off shift, okay?”

“What, you’re not gonna make me stick around for a club or something?” asked Dabi.

“Only if you want to!”

“I want to go home and take a nap,” he grumbled.

Hawks rolled his eyes, turning to leave.

“Wait,” said Dabi, impulsively reaching for the back of his jacket before he caught himself. “I still—we’re going to talk more about what you said this morning.”

Hawks stared back over his shoulder with an inscrutable expression. “If you want,” he said finally, facing forward and raising a hand in farewell as he continued out.

“Dick,” Dabi huffed at his back.

“So, Dabi-san,” said Nedzu, walking in the opposite direction with a clear expectation that Dabi would follow, “tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell,” he said uncomfortably, jogging a little to keep up. For having such short legs, Nedzu was pretty fast. “I’m just… Dabi.”

“From what I’ve been told, your mother was hospitalized when you were fairly young, leaving you in the care of your father?” asked Nedzu, eyes on the path forward instead of Dabi’s face, which felt itchy and ill-fitting all of a sudden.

“Care is a strong word,” he managed, fighting back a scowl. “It’s, uh… It’s not like I stayed, though.”

He wouldn’t get out of this exchange without losing something. Without exposing some secret he’d prefer remain buried. He and Nedzu both knew that—but as long as he knew that, he could steer the interrogation. He could sacrifice less valuable secrets as pawns.

“Where did you go?” asked Nedzu, his tone still conversational, light.

“The streets,” said Dabi, shrugging. “Condemned apartments. Old theaters. Anywhere I could get some shelter, really.”

“And that’s when you became a vigilante?”

Dabi looked at his feet, trudging one after the other with muted steps against the linoleum floor of the hallway, caught in an automatic rhythm he didn’t need to think about.

“No,” he said eventually. “I, uh… I was actually kind of… a criminal.”

“A criminal?” Nedzu echoed, still not looking at him.

“There was some breaking and entering if I knew somebody was going on vacation and I wanted to like, take a shower,” said Dabi, rubbing the back of his neck. “But mostly it was like, shoplifting. Stealing food, you know.”

“But you don’t do that anymore,” said Nedzu, with a certainty that prickled at Dabi’s keen sense of impending doom.

“No,” he admitted. “I’m pretty stable, now. I’ve got some roommates and one of them keeps the place well-stocked, so there’s no need to risk anything.”

And there wasn’t. Mr. Compress was more than happy to use his not-actually-known-to-the-public face to do some grocery shopping now and again, so they didn’t generally steal food anymore, aside from the occasional ‘it’s right there I might as well grab it’ street stand.

Now, money, on the other hand…

“And are these roommates aware of your status as a vigilante?” asked Nedzu, slowing to a stop outside one of the obnoxiously tall doors of the classrooms.

“Sure,” said Dabi, shrugging. “We’re all in it together. Changing society, eschewing the heroics system, all of that.”

“Interesting,” hummed Nedzu. “You’re an interesting person, Dabi-san. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Well that’s ominous,” he muttered, as Nedzu slid the door open without knocking, practically bouncing inside.

“Hello, students!” said Nedzu, as Dabi weighed the pros and cons of just bolting. “You’ll be having a special visitor today!”

“What?” unnervingly familiar voices called, as some demanded more information.

“Who is it?”

“Is it a hero?”

“Is Recovery Girl gonna lecture us again?”

“Quiet,” said Eraserhead, the only person inside the classroom who could actually see Dabi from where he was lurking just outside. It wasn’t the first time Dabi had seen him this close (perhaps the first without either of them trying to kill the other), but he looked almost exactly the same in the classroom as he did in the field. Somehow, he’d expected a tie or something. “If you’d all shut up, you’d find out.”

“Your class is being observed by the pro hero Ryuutou today!” said Nedzu, clapping his paws together. “He’s been kind enough to agree to weigh in on the activities later.”

“Activities?” someone asked nervously, as the principal gestured a grimacing Dabi inside.

“He’s probably talking about the practical later,” said Small Might, craning his neck to get a better look at Dabi. “I wonder why he isn’t in costume…?”

“Some two-bit villain tried to drown me in a dumpster,” said Dabi, grimacing as he stopped in beside Eraserhead’s desk. Immediately, the classroom fell into silence. “Had to change.”

An awkward silence.

Shouto was staring at him with that same bored, distant expression he always wore, leaning his chin on his hand and watching him like a cat watches a bird outside a window.

“Ryuutou was hit by a psychological quirk earlier this week, so he may not have all the answers to your questions,” said Eraserhead, staring directly at Small Might, who only wilted a little. “Don’t pester him or Shinogu about it. Everyone thank Nedzu-kouchou.”

The students chorused their thank yous, Nedzu left, and Dabi sat down awkwardly in Eraserhead’s chair, which was pushed back to allow room for an enormous yellow sleeping bag.

Their first few classes were… incredibly dull. It was all regular school shit, so he didn’t even get to learn something he could use against them, except who was likely to nod off during math. The whole time, Shouto watched him instead of the lesson, impassive as ever. It was starting to make him feel itchy again.

He thought lunch, at least, would be a reprieve—but as he moved to file after the students, Eraserhead caught his arm.

“Your presence has been requested in the teachers’ lounge,” he said, leading him in the opposite direction of the crowds. “I’ll have some food brought to you.”

“Requested, my ass,” Dabi griped. “You just don’t want me to slip away while no one’s looking. I don’t need you to fucking babysit me.”

“Good, because I won’t,” said Eraserhead, shoving him through an open door and closing it behind him without another word.

Dabi stumbled inside, set to whirl around and roast that fucker as long as he could before his quirk got shut off, when he saw who must have ‘requested’ his presence.

Shinogu Fuyumi was beaming down at him, cradling a little girl with snow white hair in her arms.

Dabi stared.

“Dacchan!” said Fuyumi, and he twitched in spite of himself. “I heard you had a rough morning, so I was thinking we could eat lunch together with Eri-chan!”

“Dacchan?” he repeated flatly, still staring at the child who looked unnervingly like his mother and sister. Eri-chan, was it? Why did that sound familiar?

“Well, I know you don’t like being called Touya, so I thought Yacchan would probably be out, too,” said Fuyumi, with an exaggerated pout that was obviously for Eri’s benefit. “But I can’t not give you a nickname, so Dacchan it is!”

Well. It beat ‘Touya’.

“Right,” he said, straightening from where he’d been half-crouched after his stumble. Eri buried her face in Fuyumi’s neck as he drew up to his full height, shying away from him. “So, uh—you have—a—?”

Fuyumi flushed, her face doing a complicated maneuver between ‘pleased’ and ‘offended’.

“Eri-chan was rescued from some very bad people, who didn’t take very good care of her,” she said after composing herself, with the stern tone she used when he had better shut the fuck up and read between the lines. “I’ve been looking after her while she’s here at UA!”

Oh, shit.

The Eight Precepts’ brat.

Something curdled in Dabi’s stomach as Eri peeked back out at him, one oversized red eye visible. He hadn’t realized the kid was so… young. He felt a surge of vindictive pleasure as he remembered the state they’d left Chisaki in.

The whiplash of thinking he had a niece, realizing he didn’t and was an idiot, and then further realizing this was a girl whose continued captivity his team had facilitated—for even a second longer than they needed to—it was dizzying.

“Hi, Eri-chan,” he managed after half a minute of them just staring at each other. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is—well, you can call me Dabi, for now.”

“Hi, Dabi,” she said quietly. “You know Sakufuu?”

“Uh,” said Dabi, because no, no he did not, but Fuyumi broke in smoothly.

“He’s my brother, like Natsu and Shouto,” she told Eri softly. Was she going by ‘Sakufuu’ now? “We’re twins.”

“What’s a twin?” asked Eri, turning her big eyes on his sister instead.

“It means our mother had us on the same day,” said Fuyumi with a gentle smile. “He can make fire like Shouto’s left side. Do you want to see?”

Eri’s eyes grew impossibly wider as she swiveled back to him. “Yes, please.”

Obediently, dumbly, Dabi raised his hand and made a plume of fire about the size of a golf ball.

“Oh!” gasped Eri, the light reflecting off her face and turning her eyes a shade of blue that punched Dabi in the gut even knowing they were in no way related. “It’s so pretty.”

Pretty.

No one had ever called his quirk pretty, except maybe Fuyumi in the very, very beginning. It was always ‘cool’ or ‘powerful’ or ‘terrifying’. Words like pretty didn’t belong to him.

“It looks like the sky,” she went on wonderingly, looking back up at Fuyumi. “I thought fire was red, like Shouto’s?”

“Fire can change colors if it changes temperature,” said Fuyumi, still soft, still gentle, not at all perturbed by his flames flickering so close to her and her tiny charge. “Dacchan’s flames are blue because they’re even hotter than Shouto’s.”

“Hotter,” repeated Eri, turning back to watch them. He was half-worried that that would pique her curiosity and she’d reach for them to see how hot, but she was composed, for a child.

Too composed. It hit too close to home.

He extinguished the flames as the door slid open, turning so that he was in front of the girls, only to see Shouto, holding two trays of food on his arm.

“I brought lunch,” he said levelly, shifting one of the trays to his other hand, leaving himself unarmed. Part of Dabi relaxed at that, even though that was ridiculous—even though he knew perfectly well that a tray of food would stop Shouto or his quirk.

“None for me and Eri-chan?” asked Fuyumi, pouting again. “Shouto, how could you?”

“Lemillion’s bringing yours, stop fussing,” said Shouto, setting a tray down on a small coffee table in front of a couch. “I’d love to join you, but I’m not actually allowed in here.”

“You are with a teacher’s permission!” said Fuyumi, winking broadly and settling on the couch, Eri sliding down into her lap.

“You’re not a teacher here, Fuyumi.”

“I’m a teacher, I’m here,” she said, waving a hand vaguely. “It’ll be official next semester. If anyone asks just say you’re keeping an eye on Dacchan.”

Shouto stared at her blankly. “On whom?”

“Me,” said Dabi, with a two-fingered salute. “I’d argue, but you know Fuyumi.”

“Call me ‘Yumi,” she said, glaring at him from over Eri’s head.

“You know ‘Yumi.”

“Dacchan doesn’t even work with your little theme,” observed Shouto, plucking a pillow from the couch and using it as a cushion to settle across the coffee table from the girls.

“Neither do you, and yet, here you are,” said Dabi, collapsing onto the couch beside Fuyumi. Sure, it gave Shouto a better vantage point to continue his uncomfortable staring, but it was way more comfortable than the floor.

“Touché,” said Shouto, setting down his own tray. Dabi dragged the first one towards himself, inspecting it critically.

Damn. It looked delicious.

“We should do this more often!” said Fuyumi, beaming at them. “Family lunches! Would you like to join us, Eri-chan?”

“Yes,” said Eri shyly, pushing some of her (frankly, still jarring) white hair behind an ear. “Is Natsu coming too?”

“Not this time, but we can invite him in the future if you’d like,” said Shouto.

“Would you like that, Eri-chan?” Fuyumi prompted after a moment’s silence, smiling encouragingly down at her.

“I… I like Natsu,” she hedged, smiling back. “I also like Deku, and Lemillion.”

“We’ll invite them, too,” said Shouto, his own lips curling up just a hint. “Deku nearly invited himself, but he had to go talk to one of the teachers.”

Dabi very pointedly looked around the teachers’ lounge.

“In a private room,” said Shouto. “It’s a personal matter.”

“Uh huh,” said Dabi. He occupied himself with eating, letting the other three—and eventually four, when a blond kid that must’ve been a third year showed up with more food, one tray balanced neatly on his head—engage in light, casual conversation.

Sitting in the teachers’ lounge of UA, eating lunch with his brother, sister, a random hero-in-training, and a little girl that wasn’t his niece, his side bathed in sunlight, background chatter practically lulling him to sleep—it was surreal.

It was as if he hadn’t almost been drowned this morning, as if he weren’t in the wrong universe, as if he had never even become a villain.

This was just was Shinogu’s life was like all the time. And for once, rather than being resentful, or even envious, Dabi felt… relieved.

This shit was chaotic, and confusing, and loud. He was beholden to so many people, all of the time, and the public was watching him constantly. It was bullshit.

But this, this one moment—this was okay. This was nice. No one was pressuring him to join in conversation, no one was shooting a water cannon at his face, nobody wanted anything from him. He could just relax and eat his free food.

That was all life had to be.

Chapter Text

“And you’re sure he’s not home,” said Touya, fiddling with the string of his hoodie with his free hand.

“I told you, he’s still out of town,” huffed Fuyumi. “You still shouldn’t come over until dark though—”

“I’m already almost there, nobody’s seen me,” he interrupted. “Unless there’s some other reason?”

“Well, Natsu said he was going to stop by to grab some stuff from his old room while Dad’s gone, but since Dad’s trip got extended through the weekend he’s probably going to stop by on Saturday.”

“Aw, c’mon,” said Touya, grinning under his mask, “What are the odds of Natsu doing anything a minute before he has to? The kid lives and breathes procrastination.”

“True,” she allowed, “but I’d really rather be safe.”

“Hey, it’s my neck on the line, and I’m willing to bet it won’t be an issue.” He did a sweep of the street as he reached the gate of their father’s house. Not a brick out of place. “You said he had a camping trip anyway, right? He probably just wants to get home and unpack.”

“Yeah, because the chronic procrastinator can’t wait to put stuff away,” said Fuyumi. “Oh, was that you?”

“Don’t sass me. And yeah, probably, I’m… out… front.”

Natsuo turned at the sound of his voice, one hand still raised from where he’d been turning his key.

Touya shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Uh… hey,” said Natsuo, blinking at him. “Are… who are you?”

“I’m—Ryuutou?” said Touya, trying to make his voice a little raspier. He probably wouldn’t recognize it, right? They never got to spend time together in this universe. He’d have to really play up the face mask.

“You sure?” asked Natsuo, smiling a little. He turned the rest of the way around to get a better look. “That sounded like a question. What brings you here, Ryuutou?”

“I think I might have the wrong address,” he said faintly. The sound of Fuyumi’s voice from his jacket pocket had cut out, which made him even more nervous, because what if she—

“Tou—oh!” said Fuyumi, coming to an abrupt and awkward halt as she opened the door. “Natsu! Hello!”

“Fuyu-nee,” he greeted, smiling blooming into a grin as he immediately went to hug her. She returned it automatically, with a nervous glance at Touya. “You know this guy?”

“Yes, this is my… colleague…” said Fuyumi, clearly floundering as she stared at Touya for some kind of clue. The part of her raised to be polite and proper was probably screaming at her for not introducing him immediately.

“Shinogu Ryuutou,” said Touya, biting the inside of his cheek. Fuck. Well, at least he wouldn’t forget it.

“Oh, Shinogu-san, huh?” asked Natsuo, clearly amused. “That’s our mom’s maiden name. You use the kanji for ‘endure’?”

“No, it’s spelled differently,” said Touya immediately. “Fu—Todoroki-san and I have laughed about the coincidence before, but I prefer Ryuutou anyway.”

“Well, Ryuutou-san,” said Natsuo, with a short bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, won’t you come in?”

Touya cursed himself up and down as he returned the gesture. When did the little brat get so polite? He never bowed first. “Pleasure to meet you,” he echoed, “but—that’s alright, I was just—uh—”

“Nonsense, don’t mind me,” said Natsuo, grin growing wider. “You’re here to talk to Fuyumi, right? I’m just grabbing a few things, don’t let me bother you.”

“That’s very gracious of you,” said Touya through gritted teeth, following his siblings into the house. Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck.

“You feeling under the weather, Ryuutou-san?” Natuso asked innocently as they took off their shoes. Touya kept his face turned away, under the edge of the hood. This was… not great. “You look like a spy, with all that.”

“Oh, is it the sunglasses?” he asked, laughing nervously. “I have a—a bit of a headache, you see.”

“Sure, sure,” said Natsuo, leading the way further into the house. “Well, s’long as it isn’t contagious. Fuyumi said you were colleagues, right? What brings you by the house?”

“He wanted to see the lesson plan for next week,” Fuyumi jumped in (to Touya’s great relief, as he didn’t have any idea what a teacher might want). “He spilled coffee on his computer this morning, so I couldn’t email it, but I told him to just come on by and grab it. When did you get back from camping?”

Damn, she was a much better liar than his Fuyumi. Touya tried not to grimace, tugging his hood a little lower.

“Like ten minutes ago, I thought I’d stop by and pick stuff up so I could unload everything at once,” said Natsuo. “Coffee on the computer, huh? That sucks, man. Glad Fuyumi’s so hospitable, or that could’ve been bad.”

“I’m in her debt,” said Touya, with probably more fervor than was necessary, but fuck—it was true.

“You work the same classroom, or different grade?” Natsuo went on, still talking as he wandered down the hall towards his room. Touya paused uncertainly at the juncture of the halls, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to know the layout of the house and following at a jog.

“Um, different grade,” said Touya, and then, casting frantically for a subject change, “Oh, a bedroom.

“This is Natsuo’s old room!” said Fuyumi, hot on his heels and hiding her panic remarkably well for all that it was an awkward thing to say. “He moved into the dorms when he started college. How’s that going, Natsu?”

“Alright,” said Natsuo, sighing as he rifled through a drawer. “I think it’s time we cut the bullshit.”

Touya laughed nervously. “Natsu—o-san?”

“We all know what’s really going on here,” said Natsuo, straightening up and turning to face them. Fuyumi edged slightly in front of Touya, as if that would help anyone. “You two…”

“Look, Natsu, it isn’t—”

“Are dating!”

Touya and Fuyumi stared.

Natsuo stood, beaming triumphantly and pointing at them like he was a detective that had just cracked the case of the century.

“Uh,” said Touya, because on the one hand, it was a much better cover story, but on the other hand… gross?

“You can’t fool me!” crowed Natsuo, shifting his hands to his hips. “I heard you almost call her by her first name! And coffee on your computer—as if you couldn’t just use the internet on your phone, instead?”

“You, um, got me,” said Fuyumi, face stiff in a way that Touya knew meant she was restraining herself from making an ‘unladylike’ expression. “You can leave now.”

“Leave?” Natsuo echoed, miming an arrow to the heart. “C’mon! I wanna get to know the guy better! I ain’t even seen his face properly!”

“That’s—um—I have a cold, on top of the headache,” said Touya, coughing into his shoulder. Best not to draw attention to his hands. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

“What, that’s not just a corny disguise? C’mon, you don’t need your hood up—” said Natsuo, moving closer as if to pull it off of him.

“Nope!” said Fuyumi, stepping neatly between them. “He’s very contagious. Keep back.”

Natsuo, however, didn’t seem to be listening to her, frowning slightly as he stared at Touya, who was doing his best not to bolt. “Hey,” he said slowly, “What’s that on your face?”

“Stripes!” said Fuyumi, “He’s got stripes!”

Natsuo took another step forward.

Touya swallowed, tugging the hood lower.

“Stripes, huh,” said Natsuo, his grin reappearing. The heavy atmosphere lifted like sunshine cutting through fog, and he turned back to his things. “Well, that’s cool! Anything to do with his quirk, or one of those random mutations?”

“My quirk,” said Touya, shoulders sagging a little in relief. “I, uh—I can always land on my feet. They think it’s like, tabby stripes.”

“Cool, cool,” said Natsuo, uncharacteristically absent. He pulled his phone off the bed, flicking it open with a swipe of his thumb. “I like that. Nothing too flashy. Y’know, Fuyumi and I—”

He yelped as Fuyumi froze his hand solid.

“Wh—Fuyumi!” said Touya, so startled he dropped his fake-cold-voice. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, Fuyumi, what the fuck?” demanded Natsuo.

“He was calling the cops!” said Fuyumi, indignation pouring off of her. “What the fuck yourself, Natsu?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, do you know who that is?” he hissed, knocking his hand against the dresser to chip the ice away. His phone had gone black the second it hit, too cold for the battery to function.

“Do you?” she shot back, applying another layer the second he was free.

“Yeah, fucking Dabi, you dick!” he yelled, gesturing broadly at Touya. “Wait a—Ryuutou? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“That’s a coincidence,” said Touya, pulling off his disguise, “and I’m not Dabi.”

“Oh, excuse me, didn’t mean to mix you up with the fucking identical criminal mastermind with the same exact scars—”

“He’s Touya, Natsu.”

Natsuo stopped, staring at her blankly.

“I mean, he’s—this one is from another universe, but he’s also Touya, but—”

The blank stare switched to Touya’s ruined face.

“Hey, Natsu,” he said softly. “Long time no see, apparently.”

“No,” said Natsuo, shaking his head. “No way. This is all—I hit my head while we were hiking or something, and I’m hallucinating.”

“I know it seems crazy, but—it really is him, Natsu!”

“You just want it to be him!” he burst out, whirling on her. “Just—just because he has the same quirk, and they look similar—”

“You don’t get it!” she snapped, “It’s not like with you and me, it’s—we’re twins, you don’t think I can tell if—you sound like Dad.”

Natsuo recoiled as if she’d slapped him in the face. “No I don’t,” he said immediately, looking back at Touya as if he’d find support. “Dad wouldn’t—Dad would have set him on fire by now. I’m being rational. Touya-nii is dead, he—”

“We never saw the body!” said Fuyumi. “There was no body, don’t you think it’s weird that there was no body? Even with how hot his flames are—”

“That’s—it’s—there has to be a more logical explanation than ‘our brother is a super villain’!”

“Why? Our father is a superhero! Shouto is training to be one! Heroes and villains are two sides of the same coin. Why couldn’t Touya have just… landed on the other side?”

“Because it’s sad, alright?”

Fuyumi stopped backing him into a corner, clearly waiting for him to continue. Touya held his breath in the doorway. He should like, sneak out now, probably. Yeah. That was a good plan.

“I don’t want him to have been by himself this whole time,” Natsuo muttered, shoving his hands (one still iced) into his pockets. “I don’t… want to think that he couldn’t count on us.”

He looked up just as Touya was beginning to sidle into the hallway, locking eyes with him.

“I don’t want to think that you couldn’t count on us now.”

“W—well, I can,” said Touya, trying for a reassuring smile that probably looked grisly on Dabi’s face. “I know I can, and Dabi can, even if he doesn’t think so. You guys’d never let me down.”

“Seems like we already have,” mumbled Natsuo.

“It’s never too late to start making things better,” said Touya, reaching up to clasp his shoulder. “D’you want me to thaw out your hand?”

“… Yeah.”

Somehow, they all wound up in the living room again, pressed shoulder to shoulder, watching more cartoons. Natsuo briefly excused himself to take a shower to wash off the ‘camping smell’, and Fuyumi started preparing dinner, leaving Touya to stare mindlessly at the screen.

Towering camphor trees, a dusty road weaving between rice paddies, the buzz of cicadas that might just be in his head. A shrine in the dappled light of the forest, shinde hanging limp in the summer heat. Satsuki, looking for her little sister, growing more and more frantic, finally reuniting and being whisked away to visit their mother in the hospital, leaving an ear of corn on the windowsill like an offering at a shrine.

“What happened to her?”

“Who, the mom? I dunno, think it’s a case of Anime Mom Disease. Vague and nonthreatening,” said Natsuo, rejoining him with a shrug, a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

“No,” said Touya, as the credit scenes started to roll and showed the mom playing with her children, “Our mom.”

“Oh,” said Natsuo, pointedly fixing his eyes on the screen. “Uh—Fuyu-nee didn’t tell you?”

“Just that she’s in the hospital and it’s Dad’s fault.”

His expression darkened. “Well, she was right about that.”

“Did he—” Shit, he didn’t even know how to phrase this. He looked down at his ruined skin, clenching his hands into fists. “He hurt her?”

“Loads of times,” said Natsuo, voice hollow. “Whenever she stood up for herself, or one of us, or disagreed with him. It was… watching him chip away at her like that, that’s one of the only things I remember about him. I barely know the guy at all, beyond what he did to you and Mom and Shouto.”

“And one day he went too far?” asked Touya, swallowing. He’d always—whenever she had tried to protect him, he’d always been terrified of that. That that would be the day Endeavor went too far. Her body was as vulnerable to fire as his was, after all—if this is what he’d been reduced to, cinders stapled to an empty husk…

“He went too far for too long,” said Fuyumi from the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. “She couldn’t—it wasn’t her fault.”

“It was his,” Natsuo added bitterly. “Nobody could stand up to that kind of stress, that kind of pressure—as furious as it fucking makes me that she’s still stuck in there, it’s better than having her here under his thumb.”

“What wasn’t her fault?” asked Touya, almost despairingly. “Did she—did she try to hurt herself? Is she okay?”

“She’s okay now,” Fuyumi assured him, but she was still across the room, so far away that he couldn’t feel the warmth of her presence, the comfort of her smile.

“She hurt Shouto,” said Natsuo, blunt as ever.

Touya stared at him, disbelieving, because—

No. No way.

“She wouldn’t,” he said immediately, scoffing a little. “C’mon, she’d rather die than hurt him, there’s—”

“She didn’t know it was him,” said Natsuo, voice growing a little rougher as some of the anger burned brighter in his dark eyes. “She only saw his left side, and—she thought—”

Touya’s heart sank, completing the picture Natsuo seemed unable to voice, even now.

“She thought it was him,” Touya said dully. “She thought he was gonna hurt her again.”

“It was self-defense,” said Fuyumi. “As much as anyone could determine, anyway. But who do you press charges on, then? The wife, whose fear grew to be too much? The husband, who inflicted it on her? In the end, the only one punished was Shouto.”

“And we failed him, too,” said Natsuo, grim. “Without Mom, he… things got worse. He stopped using his left side at all. He hated himself so much, and we were just—powerless. I couldn’t wait to get out of here, and Fuyu-nee… she still thinks we can fix things. I’m not willing to give that bastard another chance.”

“He doesn’t have to be involved in fixing,” said Touya. “He—everything he does is just fuel on his personal fucking bonfire. The best way to fix our family is to keep it away from him, so you—so we can heal.”

“Shouto’s doing better,” Fuyumi said quietly, apparently unwilling to argue the point of forgiveness at the moment. “UA has been good for him. He’s making friends. He started using his flames, and making them his own, and—and I think he might end up okay.”

“And how about you?” asked Touya, looking between them.

Neither answered.

“We don’t have to watch Grave of the Fireflies next, do we?” asked Natsuo after a moment’s silence, leaning forward to survey their movie options. “I don’t think I could take that shit right now.”

“You can never take it,” said Fuyumi, disappearing back into the kitchen, “You’re a huge crybaby.”

“So sue me!” he called after her, nudging Touya to make a selection instead. “I can’t help it if I have feelings, shit. Tears are manly as hell.”

“Depends what they’re for,” said Touya, elbowing him lightly. “Last week you started crying because I finished off the candy at Mom’s place.”

“I can’t express loss? I can’t express bereavement?” asked Natsuo, clasping a hand to his heart. “Forgive me for being so in touch with my feelings, Onii-sama. I’ll make sure to roll my eyes and scowl more, that’s the real path to manliness.”

Touya, whose instinct in this situation was to scowl, pursed his lips to avoid proving his point.

“Food’s ready!” called Fuyumi. “Come eat at the table, we’ll put on a TV show for now.”

“Thanks, ‘Yumi,” said Touya, dipping his head in a little bow as he sat down. “All I’ve eaten today is some shitty hot wings, you’re a lifesaver. I could help cook next time—”

“Nonsense,” said Fuyumi, waving her chopsticks. “You’re a guest, sort of. And I’m already making you do the dishes.”

“What, the Human Dishwasher blew out his quirk?” asked Touya, making a face at Natsuo. 

“Shut up,” said Natsuo, apparently reflexively. “Wait, the Human what?”

“Aw shit, did you never figure out your quirk here?”

“What?”

Chapter Text

                Dabi hated walking behind Shouto.

For one thing, he walked too fast, leaving Dabi to either keep up or be left behind—and the only thing worse than being stuck watching these brats would be being stuck watching random brats.

For another, he was quiet. Annoyingly quiet. He didn’t try for polite conversation, or small talk, or even big talk like Nedzu was so determined to pull off. He was just silent as the grave, even his footsteps muffled, the same soft toe-to-heel step Dabi himself learned picking their way through their father’s halls.

At least if he was walking behind him, he didn’t have to worry about the kid sneaking up on him.

Dabi had never considered himself a nervous person. Even growing up, even when he was fearful more often than not, that was always rational. So he simply wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t prone to things like chatter or feelings or the basic social niceties that people insisted on observing, as if they could mask their own discomfort.

He’d always been a big believer in forcing people to acknowledge the discomfort he inspired.

It was like forcing them to acknowledge him, in a way; ‘Dabi’, after all, was a symbol. Maybe if he were still ‘Touya’, if people were acknowledging him as an individual—maybe then he would be nervous. Maybe then he would prattle on about this and that to fill awkward silences, or hold back his opinion for the benefit of others’, but he was Dabi, now.

Dabi was the symbol of incineration.

Incineration did not make small talk. Incineration did not get nervous because a teenager was tight-lipped or walking too fast.

He simply followed his erstwhile brother down the halls of UA, two sets of near-silent footsteps that could scarcely be heard over the distant clamor of students, and waited.

The number one rule of negotiations was declining to speak first.

“Shoucchan!”

Dabi blinked, his scowl slipping an inch in surprise at the nickname, looking up from where he’d been staring daggers into the back of Shouto’s heels.

Small Might—Midori-something, Midoriyama? –Kawa? Something. His hero name was definitely Deku (fat chance that Dabi would forget that shit). Midori-what’s-his-face was approaching them at a slow jog, waving enthusiastically and beaming so bright it hurt Dabi’s eyes.

“Izuku,” said Shouto, nodding briefly in acknowledgement and slowing just slightly as Deku fell into step between the two of them. Damn. There went his best chance of learning the kid’s family name.

“Dabi,” said Dabi, pointing at himself, when neither saw fit to greet or introduce him. Shouto looked over his shoulder and blinked, like he’d forgotten Dabi was even there.

“Dabi-san,” said Deku, with a short bow that he didn’t stop walking for. “It’s nice to officially meet you! Shoucchan’s told me a lot about you!”

“God, I have so many questions,” said Dabi.

There was a brief, expectant pause, before Dabi realized they were actually waiting for him to ask them.

He rolled his eyes. “One, ‘Shoucchan’? Two, why do people keep appending honorifics to Dabi like it’s a totally normal name? Three, and this is more of an observation than a question, but I don’t believe this taciturn brat has ever told anyone ‘a lot’ about anything. Four, what did he tell you?”

“Oh!” said Deku, still beaming. He held up a finger. “One, Shoucchan and I are childhood friends! We met after your parents got divorced. I called him Shouto for a while, but… um…”

“I wanted a nickname,” said Shouto, nonchalantly, as if that wasn’t something tremendously embarrassing for a teenage boy to admit.

Dabi’s brain briefly short-circuited as he tried to think of an appropriately scathing nickname to volunteer. What was there to call him that the Bakugou kid hadn’t already screamed on live tv?

“Two, I’ve just been looking at it like a hero name!” Deku continued, oblivious to Dabi’s internal dilemma. “I guess I know how you feel, sometimes people call me Deku-san and I get real weirded out, but I think it’s more important to be polite!”

“Weirding people out is polite?” asked Shouto, raising an eyebrow.

“Freezerburn,” said Dabi, snapping his fingers and pointing in his face. Shouto blinked.

“Okay,” said Deku, apparently deciding after a moment’s silence that he should keep going, “Three, Shoucchan can be very communicative! When you’ve known each other as long as we have, you don’t always need to use your words to express something!”

“So, four, he mostly just grunted at you and made minimalist facial ‘expressions’,” snorted Dabi.

“If it works, it works,” said Shouto, completely unaffected by both the conversation and Dabi’s (absolutely devastating) nickname.

“There were some words!” laughed Deku. “He wanted my opinion on some things. No matter how many times I remind him I’m only good at analyzing quirks, he expects me to ‘just know things’.”

Abruptly, this conversation seemed a lot less inviting.

“Things, huh?” said Dabi, swallowing. His mouth was dry, suddenly. Weird.

“He’s very observant,” said Shouto mildly, actually looking at Dabi’s face for once as he said it.

Why? What was he playing at? Why was it so hard to get a read on this brat?

“He said that Hawks-san mentioned you use your quirk differently?” said Deku, looking almost hopeful. “I’d love to hear more about that when you have time!”

“Uh,” said Dabi, weighing the pros and cons of spending more time with this kid. On the one hand, he could get some good intel—on the other, so could the kid.

“Just think about it!” said Small Might, and holy hell his eyes were huge. He was like, born for puppy eyes.

“How was your meeting?” asked Shouto, still by all appearances unconcerned.

“Oh!” said Deku, perking up. “It was good! He said it’s never happened to him, but it was probably fine regardless? We ran into Aizawa-sensei, too—he was with Shinsou-kun again, but Shinsou-kun was kind of weird when I asked about it? I think we should do some more digging.”

Shouto hummed noncommittally, but Deku seemed to take this as a wholehearted agreement, if the way that he bounced enthusiastically was any indication.

Dabi squinted at the pair of them. 

Childhood friends, huh? It certainly wasn’t the case in his own world. Shouto didn’t have a childhood. He trailed behind them, watching Deku chatter indiscriminately and Shouto give the occasional nod or one word answer, and tried to remember anything concrete about Deku to compare to this… version.

Unfortunately, remembering any details about the kid was as hard as trying to remember his name. He was just… bland. A generic teenager with a green overlay, and eyes the size of a bush baby’s.

“Dabi,” someone said from a side hallway. He turned expectantly, locking eyes with Eraserhead. “With me. You two, hurry up and get changed. Ground Gamma today.”

“Yes, sensei!” said Small Might, towing Shouto after him at a brisk jog Dabi was glad he didn’t have to match.

“Did you have a good lunch?” Eraserhead asked, walking down the hallway he’d emerged from and apparently expecting Dabi to follow.

“Lunch Rush is better than I expected,” he allowed.

“And Eri?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting her at all.”

“Has she been rescued in your universe?” asked Eraserhead, glancing over his shoulder at him. His black eyes were as flat as they ever were when his quirk was inactive, but with his scarf up Dabi couldn’t guage his expression.

“She has,” said Dabi.  “I just… never met her. Fuyumi doesn’t work here.”

“And you don’t speak to her, anyway.”

Dabi made a face. “Do you all know everything I’ve shared? Is there a group chat or something?”

“No,” said Eraserhead, “your brother told me.”

He snorted. Yeah, right.

“Ah, Eraserhead! Ryuutou!” boomed a familiar voice. Dabi stiffened as though electrified. “I’m glad I caught you!”

“All Might,” said Eraserhead. “Did you want something?”

“I was hoping to introduce myself before we got started!” said All Might, drawing nearer. He was huge, hulked out and muscled and looking every inch the hero he pretended to be. His permanent smile was tacked on, and he looked eager—excited, even—to see them. He proffered his hand to Dabi immediately.

Dabi eyed it for a moment, mind completely blank.

His first instinct was, irrationally, awe. Here was the Number One Hero, in all his glory—here was the back his father had chased and cursed and resented. Here was the symbol of everything he had ever been told to achieve, every goal he was born to surpass, here was thereason he was alive at all.

Here was a liar, towering over him with a smile Dabi couldn’t trust, addressing him as if he had any right to call a version of the mess he’d instigated a peer.

“Er,” said All Might, fingers curling awkwardly as he instead bowed respectfully. “I apologize for not coming to see you earlier. Young Hawks had mentioned I was retired in your world, so I just thought…”

Mechanically, Dabi bent his head in a short bow.

“All Might,” he said through his teeth. “I guess I got a little starstruck, there.”

All Might looked deeply relieved, his smile softening a little. If cozying up to him was what it took to make it through this, Dabi was more than willing. After all, anything his father hated had to be good for something.

Think of Stain, he reminded himself. Stain deemed All Might a true hero, so he can’t be anything worse than a liar upholding a system of exploitation and violence. If that’s all, maybe he’s just an oblivious idiot.

Maybe he was oblivious to all that Endeavor had done in his wake.

“Forgive me, I’ve forgotten what name you chose for yourself,” said All Might, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I know it’s something to do with fire, but…”

“It’s Dabi,” said Dabi.

“Ah! Dabi-san!” said All Might, clapping him on the back enthusiastically. Dabi, who had been braced for it, was shocked at how gentle it was. He’d expected to be bowled off his feet. “I heard you had a rough morning. Feeling better now, I hope?”

Dabi considered. “I had a nice lunch,” he said finally.

“Good!” said All Might, beaming down at him. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but—I’m very curious. How is it I came to be retired, in your world?”

Dabi looked between him and Aizawa, weighing his options.

If All Might knew that his most hated enemy was still at large, if he knew half of the things that Dabi had uncovered in his time with the League—would that be good, or bad?

All for One certainly hadn’t done anything to challenge hero society. In fact, he seemed to relish in it. He was a behind the scenes kind of guy, in stark contrast to Shigaraki’s brazen, often childish plans. Leaving him in power could do little to counteract the ills of society.

But All Might, in the best case scenario, was dangerously oblivious and deeply naïve. What could he do differently? He would cling to those same values that had elevated him to his current position, and insist the system merely needed to be flushed out. That the framework was valid, and only a few bad apples clogged things up. 

“I don’t know that I should tell you,” Dabi said finally. “I’ll talk to Hawks about it.”

(He was absolutely not going to talk to Hawks about it).

“Of course, of course,” said All Might, holding the door for him and Eraserhead. “I understand.”

The students turned out to be competing against one of the other hero classes, with a third party in the form of one Shinsou Hitoshi, a General Studies student that Dabi vaguely recalled from the Sports Festival.

“Make sure to make a note of any observations you might have,” said All Might, not unkindly. “I find it’s hard to recall everything once the moment has passed.”

“And if Midnight tries to speak to you, ignore her,” said Eraserhead, as he rejoined the group of teachers.

“No problem,” he muttered, edging further away from her. “Anybody got some paper I could use?”

The first match was… enlightening.

Each of the students displayed remarkable growth from the last time Dabi had seen them—and the Class B students were terrifying in their own right.

He didn’t end up sharing any of his observations; that these students were already embroiled in the heroics industry was, frankly, alarming. They were children, still developing their quirks—quirks they could only use legally through government-funded violence.

He made careful notes of each of their quirks, doing his best to memorize what he could. The mind-controller in particular would be important to take out, should they ever meet in battle. Most of the rest he could take on his own, although some—the air cube kid in particular—would be bad matchups. Hopefully they wouldn’t ever go up against Class 1-B.

The second match was even worse than the first, with dozens of buildings obliterated, several students unconscious, one poisoned, and far too much for the teachers to have allowed it to go that far. Dabi found himself growing irritated as they waited for the stage to be repaired, pacing the perimeter of their little waiting area and reading over his notes again.

The bird kid could fly now, apparently. That fucking sucked.

His big concern was the mushroom kid, though. If she was willing to go that far in a training exercise, he wasn’t too confident in even his flames’ ability to drive her off.

And those ponytail girls were way too smart for high schoolers, what the hell—they’d seen straight through each other. It was like watching a game of shouji with actual explosions.

He slowed slightly as he registered a flash of red and white out of the corner of his eye.

Shouto was approaching All Might and Small Might, face as inscrutable as ever.

Curious, Dabi pretended to still be absorbed in his notes, wandering nearer.

“…against Shinsou-shonen,” All Might was saying. “A piece of the puzzle—ah! Shinogu-shonen!”

“You’re being awfully suspicious,” said Shouto, barely lowering his voice. “I don’t think this conversation is something you want to have so close to listening ears.”

“You’re right, of course,” said All Might, with a guilty smile. “Er—remember what we discussed, then, Midoriya-shonen. Take care in your match, Shinogu-shonen!”

“I will,” said Shouto, with a faint smile. He turned back to the crowd, meeting Dabi’s eyes with no hesitation, and inclined his head in greeting.

“You’re up next, huh?” asked Dabi. He wasn’t about to pretend he hadn’t been listening in. They all knew it, if the nervous laugh from Midoriya (and thank god he’d finally learned the brat’s name) was any indication.

“Yes,” said Shouto. “Any advice?”

Dabi paused briefly, surprised at the request. He wasn’t exactly the nurturing type—but then, he did still look like this kid’s older brother.

“Hit ‘em where it hurts,” he said finally, returning to his notes.

“Ah, Dabi-san, are you taking notes?” asked Midoriya, running over as Shouto rejoined the group. He’d produced his own notebook from somewhere, waving it around enthusiastically. “We should compare! I’m interested to hear your insights!”

Well, note to self: The Midoriya kid kept notes on his friends and coworkers.

“Sure,” said Dabi, offering his own readily enough. “I’m sure I’m missing some things.”

Chapter Text

“The first thing you need to remember is to always be aware of your own body temperature,” said Touya, widening his stance. They were gathered in the kitchen; though the training hall would be a better place for this, Touya couldn’t bring himself to suggest it. The linoleum would have to be enough to prevent structural damage.

“I am, I am,” said Natsuo, rolling his eyes. His stance was looser than Touya’s, casual instead of professional, but he did know what he was doing. He and Fuyumi had attended regular martial arts classes, for all that Endeavor didn’t supervise them.

“Alright then, make some ice. Small amounts, remember—we’re the ones who’ve gotta clean this up.”

Natsuo made a face, but obligingly made an ice cube in his palm, holding it up for inspection.

Touya nodded. “Good. Now—You know how it feels when you use your quirk? Like you’re flexing  a muscle?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Do it more.”

“Like, make more ice?” asked Natsuo, raising his hands.

“No, like… hm. ‘Yumi?”

“Don’t ask me, I didn’t know he could do this at all,” said Fuyumi, raising an eyebrow. She was leaning against the counter, watching them talk in circles.

“It’s the same way you make your ice colder, or I make my fire hotter,” said Touya, shaking his head. “I can’t think of how to explain it outside of ‘flex without flexing’.”

“Pretend you’re turning on a shower,” said Fuyumi.

“Oh!” said Natsuo, frowning in concentration. A stream of water trickled through his fingers. “Oh, shit! I’m doing it!”

“We’ve been at this for like ten minutes and a single sentence is all it took?” asked Touya, scowling. “What the hell!”

“I refuse to apologize for being an amazing teacher,” said Fuyumi. “Does he have an upper limit?”

“Steam,” muttered Touya.

“Hope you guys like saunas!” said Natsuo, grinning. He cupped his palms together, whooping as they began to spill over with a delicate mist. “Oh my god, I’m gonna destroy people at intramurals.”

“You play sports with your quirk?” asked Touya. “Is that even allowed?”

“Well not in like, league games, but if it’s just a pickup then yeah, totally. There’s no point in competing if you can’t go all out!”

“It’s a chance for the students whose quirks prohibit them from joining official teams to participate,” said Fuyumi, sighing a little. “I don’t really approve. I think we should just make accommodations within the actual rules.”

“It’s impossible to accommodate everybody’s quirks,” said Natsuo, shrugging. “It’s like, if you have a speed quirk, you’re gonna kick ass at running. We’re different people, you know?”

“Yeah, but banning quirk use is what made the Olympics so boring,” said Fuyumi.

“Is it even legal to use your quirks like that?” asked Touya. “Like, last I heard…”

“Well, you have to sign a waiver,” said Natsuo. He stopped making steam, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s uh… you know, it’s like how there’s contact sports and then little baby versions. You’ve got Touch American Football, Tackle American Football, and Quirk American Football. So as long as you aren’t using your quirk on like, unconsenting civilians, and inside designated areas, it’s not technically illegal.”

“It’s like how some hairdressers or masseuses or whatever use their quirks,” said Fuyumi. “You have to get a license to use it for money, but the important thing is you only use it on people who want it to be used on them.”

“What about mutation types?” asked Touya. “Like—like an office worker with four arms, or something. Are they allowed to pick up boxes and shit with their extra arms?”

“I don’t know,” said Natsuo, “I’m just here to play sports.”

“Obviously quirk law is a constantly changing field,” said Fuyumi, sighing. “I imagine things like that are built into the quirk registry.”

“Hm,” said Touya, picking idly at the backs of his staples.

It wasn’t as if he were unaware of quirk law, and how restrictive it could be for those with ‘unsavory’ quirks. Accommodations for quirks that injured their owners were bought and paid for, as if they weren’t essential to survival. A kid who was born with gills, or one with a slug-body, or any variety of quirk which came with ‘blowback’—they couldn’t help that. And if you couldn’t afford a water-breathing mechanism, or some kind of slug-wagon, then you were either shit out of luck or just plain dead.

So to hear there was stuff like this—stuff he wasn’t even aware of—where only the people who went to fancy ass universities and had a modicum of athletic capability were allowed to engage in something as frivolous as a game of football?

It rankled.

“It’s all just happened too fast, though,” said Natsuo, shaking his head. “There’s no way legislation could have kept up with quirks.”

“We’re not talking about legislation, we’re talking about games,” said Touya.

“But if the only thing legislation can do is ban using your quirk, then—”

“Hey,” said Fuyumi, grimacing. “Can we stop talking about this, maybe? I just—it’s been so long since we were together like this. I don’t want to get bogged down in political issues right now, okay?”

“’Yumi, look at me. My face is a political issue.”

“That’s…”

“He’s got a point,” said Natsuo, shrugging. “We can’t just not talk about the fact that our brother’s a villain now.”

“It might be better to talk about when they’ve switched back,” said Fuyumi. “Although—I would like your opinion on something, Yacchan.”

“Aw geez,” said Touya, making a face. “What is it?”

“Do you think we should tell Shouto?”

Touya and Natsuo exchanged a look.

“I mean—in my world, I’d say sure, but—you guys know your Shouto better than I do.”

“Yeah right,” Natsuo muttered bitterly. “I just learned his favorite food and the kid’s nearly sixteen.”

“The old man kept you apart that much?” asked Touya, heart sinking.

“Yeah.” Natsuo looked up at the ceiling, exhaling hard through his nose in what might have been a laugh or a sigh. “Y’know, when you fought him, I was half-hoping he wouldn’t make it.”

“Natsu!” said Fuyumi, sharply.

“I know, I know. It’s terrible, ain’t it? Wishing even for a second that your old man’d bite the dust. But you know what? That’s how I felt. It’s not like I know the guy. S’far as I can tell all he’s ever done is beat the shit out of villains, our brothers, and our mom. If he were dead, we could… I dunno, be free.”

“If he were dead, he’d never be able to get better,” said Fuyumi. She looked pained, clearly upset but apparently not at Natsuo so much as the idea of Endeavor biting the dust.

“No offense ‘Yumi, but even if he gets better, it won’t fix all the shit he broke,” said Touya, grimacing. “Even—even in my world, I couldn’t forgive him. Maybe for what he did to me, but to Mom? To Shouto?”

“I thought moving out and going to school’d be… better,” said Natsuo. “And it is, kind of? Like, I miss you, Fuyu-nee, and it’s such a weight off my shoulders to not worry he’s around, even if I know he’d just ignore me, but—I thought it’d be more. I thought I could live my whole life without thinking of him, that I could ignore him right back, but everything I do… he’s still there, in the back of my head.”

“He’d still be there if he died, too,” said Touya. He made a face, lighting a small flame in his hand. “He’s always going to be in our heads, and our blood. It’s keeping him out of your heart that matters, cheesy as that sounds.”

“Yeah, but—if he died, we could all be together. Mom could get out of the hospital, I could move back home, Shouto would have somewhere safe to go when the dorms are closed for cleaning—hell, maybe if he’d won, Dabi would have told us who he was.”

“Ah,” said Touya, letting the fire puff out. “Yeah. I guess—”

“There’s no way,” Fuyumi said flatly. “Yacchan’s not the type to give up on something until he’s seen it through all the way.”

“And killing Dad isn’t ‘all the way’?” asked Touya.

“If that were all it was, you would have just picked him off in his sleep or something,” said Fuyumi. “Let’s face it: You’ve got a flair for the dramatic. Becoming a villain might be flashy, but you wouldn’t have done it for nothing.”

“Hm,” he grumbled. “Flair point.”

Natsuo groaned loudly.

“It’s got to be something the League of Villains is helping you accomplish,” said Fuyumi, ignoring him completely. “Probably dismantling the hero system, or something like that?”

“Well, apparently Dabi’s a Stain fanboy, so that tracks,” said Touya, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“What, you aren’t?” asked Natsuo. “I kinda got where he was coming from, even if his methods were shitty. Like, couldn’t exactly condone it, but he had a point, y’know?”

“His methods were beyond shitty,” said Touya. “He had this impossibly high standard for what constitutes true heroism, and if anybody failed to meet it, he’d axe ‘em. It’s not like he was going after the corrupt heroes, or the ones who beat their families, or even the ones using excessive force. He went after Ingenium. Fucking Ingenium, Natsu! It sounds like a great idea, until you think about it for two fucking minutes.”

“He did just kind of do what he wanted,” said Fuyumi. “It always bothered me that he didn’t even explain why he wanted to kill these heroes, just that they were ‘fakes’. If he had produced some kind of evidence, or exposed corruption to the public, it would have been much more effective than simply slaughtering people in back alleys.”

“Whoa, whoa, alright,” said Natsuo, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I said I didn’t condone it, lighten up! I know there’s better ways to go about it, I just… like, are you telling me anybody would believe evidence against Endeavor? Sometimes doing things by the book ain’t an option.”

“Neither is murder, Natsu!” chided Fuyumi.

“Guess it depends,” said Touya, shrugging. “I sure wouldn’t kill anybody as a hero, but if I saw, like—if I saw somebody hurting a little kid or something—I’ve been known to go a little excessive force, is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no hero,” said Natsuo, with a wry smile. “Don’t think I could do it myself, but—if somebody killed him, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Nah, ‘Yumi’s right,” said Touya, shaking his head. “It’s better to expose him, even if it’s hard, or it hurts. It’s important. Him dying would just be the easy way out.”

“Y’know,” said Natsuo, “nobody ever complains about taking the easy way out if you’re in a burning building or some shit.”

“Really? You wanna talk about burning buildings when I look like I got my entire face stuck in a curling iron?”

“Yeah, and do you hear me complaining that you faked your death about it? I told you, sometimes you gotta go off-book.”

“I’m complaining about that!” said Touya, scowling. “He fucking abandoned you. He just ducked out and turned into a villain.”

“He escaped,” said Fuyumi, frowning at him. “It hurts that he didn’t tell us about it, but—if he could get out, of course he should. He was in so much more danger than Natsu and I.”

“Yeah, but what about Shouto? He couldn’t take Shouto?”

“For all we know, he tried,” said Natsuo. His face twisted unpleasantly. “After all, he wouldn’t have gone in at all if he hadn’t been helping Shouto. It’s hard to hold it against him when I should’ve gone too.”

“Like I would have let you,” said Fuyumi. “You were twelve, Natsu.”

“Yeah, and apparently I’m a human fire extinguisher,” he said bitterly, allowing a slow trickle of water to drip from his finger. “Either of us would have been better than Touya-nii. We’re all kindling, but at least you or me could’ve put it out.”

“Guess it goes to show you shouldn’t fight fire with fire,” said Touya. “It wasn’t your fault. Either of you. He told you to wait, right? You had no way of knowing it would turn out like that. Like this.”

“You’re so quick to absolve us, but Dabi ‘chose’ to be a villain, and ‘chose’ to abandon us, hm?” asked Fuyumi, moving nearer to him, eyes tracing his scars. “You can’t have it both ways. Either we abandoned him first, or nobody abandoned anybody.”

Touya grimaced. “There’s a difference between doing what somebody tells you when you’re a kid, and faking your own death.”

“Maybe in terms of magnitude, but morally? I’d say it’s even ground,” said Natsuo, shrugging. “We can’t really say what he did or didn’t choose about the villain stuff, but I don’t think he ditched us or anything.”

“We have different definitions of—ah,” said Touya, glancing down at his pocket when his burner phone buzzed unexpectedly.

dabi-kun!!!!!!! The lock screen flashed up at him. its time 2 come home!!!! (･ω<)☆ 〰〰〰

“Aw, fuck.”

Chapter Text

Dabi found himself somewhat nearer the screen than he preferred, wedged between Midoriya, who was still chattering excitedly at him, and the frog girl. The wanton destruction had been cleaned up as much was deemed necessary, and the two teams were involved in some deep strategizing.

As a “guest” “teacher”, Dabi was allotted an earpiece, which up until now he’d been ignoring, because the omnidirectional mics scattered throughout the arena were only so good at filtering out background noise, but… he hadn’t really seen Shouto in action outside of the Sports Festival, and logic dictated he gain a better understanding of someone who’d been trained by the Number One—Four?—Hero. 

He wedged the earpiece in, fingers brushing against Shinogu’s eerie, intact earlobe, and watched the video of Shouto and his team.

“… would be Ingenium,” said Shouto. “I could hold him off, but without proper armor I won’t be able to capture him unless he’s knocked out.”

“And why not knock him out?” asked the kid with the tail.

“I believe this is more efficient!” said the Iida brat, chopping dramatically with his hands. “The rest of us are ill-suited to take on Mudman, after all!”

“I don’t know, I bet Tailman could get a good shot in,” said the one with six arms.

“As long as it’s not Spiral,” said the tail kid, who was almost definitely ‘Tailman’, grimacing.

“What are they talking about?” asked Midoriya, nearly making Dabi jump out of his skin.

“Jeez, kid,” he huffed. “They’re just strategizing, what’d you think?”

“I bet Shoucchan will go after Honenuki-kun,” said Midoriya, pinching his bottom lip and devolving into muttering as if Dabi’s question hadn’t been rhetorical. “Let’s see—Iida-kun is best suited for relaying captured opponents to the jail, so he’ll be flanking Shouchhan—”

There were a series of crashes, both playing over Dabi’s earpiece and in real time, reverberating throughout Ground Gamma. Dabi jerked his head around to see more of the training grounds being demolished, then looked to the screen to see what bonehead had been so careless as to…

The metal  kid was actively knocking shit over.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” said Dabi.

“Well, that’s… unorthodox,” said Midoriya, staring.

“Aw, dude! That’s so manly!” yelled the kid called Red Riot, grinning with a mouthful of fangs. “Leveling the playing field—literally! He’s trying to make it an all-out brawl!”

“Are you serious?” asked one of the girls, staring at him incredulously.

“It’s a challenge!” said Red Riot, thumping his chest insistently. “An invitation to meet mano a mano!”

“A challenge is only effective if your opponents are willing to accept,” said Eraserhead. Red Riot fell silent with a wince. “Given the guidelines of the exercise, Real Steel just exposed his team’s position to the ‘villains’ without consulting them.”

“That won’t be enough! Honenuki’s specialty is thinking flexibly!” said one of the 1-B kids, smiling confidently like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“It could be a decoy, for all they know,” the remaining ponytail-genius pointed out. “Although given what Tetsutetsu-kun is like, that’s fairly unlikely.”

Dabi raised his eyebrows, writing that down. ‘Metal kid is an idiot’. Nice and succinct.

“Shoucchan is their only ranged attacker,” Midoriya was muttering beside him, as if to himself, “although Iida-kun’s speed means he could easily outstrip—ah!”

A chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd as the entire 1-B team disappeared under a wave of fire.

Dabi stood frozen, staring at the screen in blank shock. The range and power rivaled his own, even if the flames were a cooler flash of gold and red. Did he just roast four of his classmates in a fucking training exercise?

But as the flames cleared, he heard the clanging of metal on metal in his earpiece.

A thin layer of ice coated the ground, slick with meltwater and trapping one of the 1-B students up to his neck, which he was craning awkwardly in every direction as he struggled to break free.

“Simultaneous use of his quirks, drawing Honenuki-kun’s eye to the plasma attack so he’d be too distracted to use his quirk to soften the ice in time!” said Midoriya, eyes shining. Dabi looked down at him like he was crazy, because who the fuck talked about that like it was the greatest thing ever? That was terrifying!

“Trust your instincts, not your eyes,” said Shouto, as he stepped up to the wriggling student. “In an ambush, watch your feet first and your face second.”

“Mudman!” bellowed the metal kid, charging across the ice with no hesitation. The other two members of their team had immediately engaged the 1-A students, either expecting metal kid to do something like this or giving up ‘Mudman’ for a lost cause.

“Tch,” said Shouto, grabbing at one of the pouches at his waist and casting a fistful of something into the puddles at his feet.

“Hyou!” roared metal kid, banging his fists together with an enormous clang. He was still running forward, slipping and sliding on the uneven ground until he started slamming his feet down hard enough to crack the ice. “I challenge you! Your temperature attacks won’t work on me!”

“You don’t strike me as even-tempered,” said Shouto, and what the fuck, was his hero name Hyou? What happened to using his own name like the idiot he was? “Sure you won’t break?”

“Haah?” said metal kid, clearly offended. “Are you joking, you bastard? Real Steel doesn’t break, or surrender!”

“I mean I was, a little,” said Shouto, neatly dodging the first punch and reinforcing the ice around Mudman. “It was more of a pun, I guess. You see, steel goes through a process known as ‘tempering’—”

“Don’t explain the joke!” yelled Midoriya and the gravity-quirk girl in unison, as if he could hear them.

“—and, well… I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t,” said Real Steel, grinning sharp and metallic and looming over Shouto as he drew nearer, “My quirk was tempered by the fire of my passionate heart! There’s nothing tougher than me!”

“Real Steel, the ground!” said Mudman sharply, but Real Steel shrugged him off.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s ice or fire—I can take it!”

“How about saltwater?” asked Shouto.

Real Steel froze like a mouse who’d just noticed the cat behind him.

“He threw something in the puddles!” Mudman said urgently. “Just get me out!”

Shaking his head, Real Steel charged forward with a determined roar, glancing off a wedge-shaped wall of ice that Shouto threw up at the last second.

“He’s like a rhino,” Dabi observed, squinting at the screen. “All momentum and no brain to speak of; can’t change direction fast enough.”

“He can be… single-minded,” said ponytail-genius, with a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, the other two members of the 1-B team were faring poorly. One of the kids, probably the one who’d been called ‘Spiral’ earlier, had a truly horrifying piece of support equipment that turned him into a human drill, and had immediately gone for six-arms, while the foreigner was trying to pin the Iida kid and fend off Tailman at the same time.

Unfortunately for them, it seemed Iida had upgraded his turbo mode, and was much, much faster than they had anticipated.

He practically flew across the ground as he snatched Spiral off of six-arms, barreling away towards their team jail. Despite the numerous gashes on his numerous arms, he immediately joined Tailman in fending off the swarm of horns.

Realizing she was outnumbered, the foreigner turned tail and leapt onto a pair of her own horns, zooming across the open space Real Steel had cleared and cannoning into the ice imprisoning Mudman.

“Was that a good move?” asked Red Riot, elbowing Bakugou in the ribs.

“Fuck off,” said Bakugou. “Use your brain, shitty hair. If she gets him out they’ve got better than even odds.”

“That’s a pretty big ‘if’,” said Dabi flatly, as Shouto simply encased her in ice as well. She was covered more than Mudman, her neck supported by ice so it didn’t tip over with the weight of the block he’d put around her horns.

Real Steel roared in fury, barreling into Shouto faster than he could dodge, throwing him across the field so that he skidded on his own ice. If it were anyone else, Dabi would have winced in sympathy at the scrapes he was sure to have, but given the circumstances, it was kind of karmically hilarious.

Real Steel turned immediately to his trapped companions, hammering at the girl’s prison, presumably because she was closer.

“Me first!” said Mudman, squirming again, “I can get us both out if you just free my hands—!”

“Hey!” said Shouto, getting up from where he’d landed. It was the loudest Dabi had ever heard him speak outside of screaming matches with Endeavor. Real Steel ignored him, moving determinedly to Mudman’s side and winding up.

“Real Steel! Can your quirk handle this?” called Shouto, and his left side lit up blue.

Dabi’s mouth dropped open.

Real Steel hesitated, looking between the trapped companions who would surely intervene, and this open challenge to his strength. Privately, Dabi felt that if he fell for that shit, he deserved it.

“Let’s find out!” he roared, taking off towards his opponent. There was a collective groan from the 1-B students. He folded himself up as he ran, arms held in front of him like a battering ram, and—

Shouto sidestepped neatly, letting him overbalance and slip on the icy ground.

“Ingenium,” he said calmly, at his usual speaking level, “I believe your quirk is better-suited for this situation.”

Iida, who was still all but spinning out of control and had just returned to the battlefield, yelled his assent and cannoned into Real Steel’s side as the latter struggled to his feet.

They didn’t have much time to brawl; Iida kept his arms pinned for long enough that Real Steel was scarcely able to pound on his back by the  time they reached 1-A’s jail.

“Aww, damn it!” he yelled as he joined the sulking Spiral, clutching at the bars like he wanted to break them.

Back on the battlefield, Shouto had returned to his prisoners. Tailman and six-arms were chipping away at their feet, but stepped back at his approach to let him melt it more efficiently.

“Thank you,” said Shouto.

“For what?” asked Tailman, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kinda feel like I didn’t do anything… at least Tentacole was able to scout.”

“It was because I knew you would take care of the others that I was able to focus my attention on Real Steel until Ingenium returned,” he said simply. “Your technique is invaluable.”

“But she got away,” said Dabi, squinting at Shouto’s face for a trace of the derision he knew so well from their father. “Is he rubbing it in?”

“No!” said Midoriya. “He’s saying that without their help, he would have lost!”

“Bold of him,” said Dabi, eyes tracing the ice that still coated the open space, the tops of icicles sheared away by a perfectly-controlled blast of fire. “And since when has he been able to make my flames?”

“Since never,” said Midoriya, smiling reassuringly. “They’re nobody’s but his!”

“Since our training camp,” said gravity-quirk girl beside him. “You taught him the technique but forbade him from implementing it because of, um…”

“It burns him?” asked Dabi, looking back at the screen sharply. Well, well, well. So even Endeavor’s golden boy couldn’t handle the heat.

“After a fashion,” Midoriya said reluctantly. “He’s considering modifying his costume to have coolants like yours, since it’ll be years before he can go that long without getting hurt.”

“Class 1-A wins!” declared Vlad King, though from his tone he might have been announcing the impending heat death of the universe.

Both classes were eager to pick apart the performances, digging into minutia Dabi hadn’t even considered, like how Shouto had determined the height of his initial fire blast when they were standing on different levels, or why Real Steel was now frantically scrubbing his feet with a rust removal kit from his homeroom teacher, or the particulars of Spiral’s assault on Tentacole.

Through it, he drifted.

Blue flames.

It had always felt so natural to him, that his flames should burn so hot in spite of his weak, ice-resistant skin. He wasn’t a hot-blooded kind of guy by any means, but part of him—a part he’d refer to as his heart if that wasn’t he corniest shit imaginable—burned with something.

Sometimes anger (usually anger), but often enough it was ambition, or determination—sheer, thickheaded stubbornness that Fuyumi would call him an idiot for. Sometimes the fire burned cold, and loss and sadness radiated through every inch of him as he curled up and tried to warm himself with a quirk that wouldn’t come.

He considered himself laid back, generally speaking, but that fire, that spark of Something—it belonged to him. His flesh burned like a candle, sure, but his fire? That burned hotter than anybody’s. It was bad enough knowing Endeavor could use blue flames when he put his mind to it, but at least there Dabi had the comfort of knowing it raised his body temperature to almost unbearable amounts. He couldn’t stand the heat any longer than Dabi could, even if his skin didn’t char—even if he just cooked whatever soup he called a brain, it was awful for him. Dabi knew that.

But Shouto could regulate his body temperature.

Shouto, whose skin wouldn’t crisp up like bacon.

Shouto, whose only burn didn’t even exist in this world.

Shouto, who was walking up to him.

“Dabi,” he said evenly.

“Hyou,” said Dabi, smirking and burying his agitation as deep as it would go.

“What did you think?”

Dabi dropped the smirk, staring at him in open surprise. “What?”

“What did you think?” Shouto repeated, breaking eye contact and looking away as if trying to hide a blush, though Dabi couldn’t see one.

“I… I was impressed,” he admitted. Interacting with this kid was so god damned hard. Was he a genius, or an idiot? What was he looking for? Dabi had to be on his guard and remember he was supposed to be a ‘vigilante’. “That first attack was… something.”

“It was the right approach for the situation,” said Shouto, no trace of smugness. Just that irritating calm, and a self-assuredness Dabi envied deeply. “I regret letting Real Steel get the better of me. He took advantage of my distraction.”

“You did the right thing, Shoucchan!” said Midoriya, and this time Dabi did jump, swearing. How did this kid sneak up on him in a bright green suit? “If you’d let Tsunotori-san escape, she would have freed Honenuki-kun, and she’s much harder to distract!”

“’Distract’? I’d say ‘goad’,” said Dabi, raising an eyebrow. “Why’s she hard to distract? Her Japanese bad?”

“It’s less that she’s hard to distract, and more that Tetsutetsu-kun is easy to distract,” said Midoriya, a little sheepishly.

Dabi jotted that down next to ‘is an idiot’. “Noted.”

“You didn’t share any of your observations with the class,” said Shouto. “Any constructive criticism for me?”

“Yeah, don’t play with fire,” he said without quite thinking. “The blue shit’s too tough for you, kid. And much too tough for Steel-for-Brains; you wanna melt the guy? It’s a training exercise, chill out.”

Shouto wrinkled his nose a little, which in proportion to his other, muted expressions was the equivalent of making a face at him. “You sound like Touya-nii. Training is—”

“If you don’t hold back in training, you won’t hold back in real life,” said Dabi firmly. “I thought you wanted to be a hero?”

Never mind the fact that he’d never held back in training; he didn’t hold back in real life, either, and he had the body trail to prove it.

“Yes,” huffed Shouto. “I didn’t actually attack him with it, if you recall. It was just to draw his attention until my teammates could arrive.”

“Hm,” said Dabi, searching his mismatched eyes for a lie. “Sure.”

“There’s an overreliance on Recovery Girl during training,” said Shouto, shaking his head. “I don’t know that she could even fix something like—like melting.”

“If he could keep his quirk activated we might be able to reforge it into an arm-shape?” said Midoriya, frowning as he devolved into that rapid-fire muttering Dabi was coming to loathe. “Between your fire and Natsu-sensei’s precision with his quirk, we—”

“What.”

Midoriya and Shouto both looked at him, apparently oblivious to his dawning horror.

“Please tell me you didn’t just say Natsu-sensei,” he managed through gritted teeth. All of them? They were all here?

“He’s externing with Recovery Girl,” said Shouto, clearly amused despite no discernible change in expression. “Would you like to go see him? There are only two matches left. Although depending on how much damage Bakugou does, he may come to us instead.”

 “I’m—you know—sure,” said Dabi, jaw locked around the words. “Let’s… go see Natsu-sensei.”

Chapter Text

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I am not a taxi.”

“Well that’s not a very tip-worthy attitude,” said Touya, limbering up in preparation for the flight. The staples pulled awkwardly at him, and he sort of worried the simple act of stretching was going to like, tear something.

“You’ve literally never tipped me,” said Hawks, frowning sideways at him.

“Oh, man. Good thing you’re in a union or you wouldn’t even be making a living wage schlepping me around.”

“I’m not—this isn’t my fucking job!”

“Somebody’s gotta do it,” said Touya, shrugging. “And like, I know I’ve mentioned, but I will take a train and it will cause a scene.”

“Yeah, yeah,” huffed Hawks, scooping him up. “Can you get my goggles?”

Touya flipped them down over his eyes, nestling in for the long haul. It really was a shame he didn’t know how to use the League’s teleporter. Guess he’d just have to spend an hour or so cuddling his alternate-universe boyfriend.

“Do you remember what I told you to ask about?” Hawks asked as he took off, flying slower than usual in the warm evening, letting the thermals carry them for once.

“Uh, find out who Ujiko is, get a better read on Toga, investigate connections to other crime syndicates,” he rattled off, counting on his fingers. “Although I gotta tell you, my read on Toga is pretty firmly in the ‘stay far away’ camp. That girl is bloodthirsty. Literally, bloodthirsty.”

“I’m not suggesting you become any better acquainted with her, or her many, many knives,” said Hawks, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying, like, if you happen to find out her motives, or her weaknesses, that would be, you know, swell.”

“Oh, swell, is it?” asked Touya. “Here I am doing all the legwork, and I’m not even an actual spy. What do they even pay you for?”

“Apparently, schlepping you around.”

“Careful,” said Touya, grinning up at him, “that was perilously close to admitting the Hero Commission is bankrolling our dates.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now it’s a date? I thought I was just playing chauffeur for the evening. You know I have a job, right?”

“Do you? I could have sworn you were the Number Two Thumb-Twiddler,” he said airily.

“I live in Fukuoka, you asshole,” huffed Hawks. “Do you have any idea how much time I waste flying you in the opposite fucking direction twice a day, every day?”

“Not nearly as much as you’re gonna save when I ferret out all the intel before you can even wriggle your way into the League’s good graces,” said Touya. He offered a smug smile in condolence. “Why are you even living out there still? Your commute must be brutal.”

“My agency is also in Fukuoka.”

“Oh. Huh. I wonder why that’s different? We barely knew each other when you were setting it up,” said Touya, frowning a little. “D’you think there’s other stuff that’s different in this world? It can’t just be me, can it?”

“So far it seems like you and things related to you,” said Hawks, shaking his head. “Including but not limited to Shirotei Kenji’s choice of profession. I can’t imagine you have much influence over his life, all things considered.”

“He could be an independent variable,” said Touya. “Like, it’d be weird if he wasn’t, right? Most people aren’t affected by their own quirks.”

Hawks pointedly looked down at his scars.

“I said most.”

“That’s not even true,” said Hawks, rolling his eyes. “Even if we limit it to emitter types, there are loads of people whose quirks affect them. That’s what support equipment is for.”

“You know what I mean,” said Touya, waving a hand vaguely. “It’d be… counterintuitive, for him to have a quirk that swaps universes and not be immune to it. He’d just wake up every morning desperately confused.”

“Like how it’s counterintuitive for a fire-user to be ice-proof?”

“It’d be stupid, otherwise,” said Touya, ignoring him. “It’d be like if you couldn’t fly, you just had the feather control.”

“That would be pretty stupid,” Hawks admitted. “Although half the time I just use the feathers to carry me anyway. These aren’t exactly built for hovering.”

“More for soaring,” said Touya, reaching for one appreciatively, stopping before he reached it. “Can you imagine if you had little hummingbird wings? That would be so cute.”

Hawks burst out laughing, quieting abruptly when he seemed to realize he’d done it. “Do you think I’d have to drink a ton of sugar water?”

“Hey, anything to get you to stop eating all that chicken, you cannibal.”

“Lots of raptors eat smaller birds. It’s the circle of life.”

“Ah yeah, how’s the saying go? When we die, our bodies become the KFC?”

“If anybody’s Kentucky Fried it’s you, asshole,” said Hawks, turning his nose up primly. “You gonna tell me where we’re going exactly?”

“Ah, yeah. It’s called the Korisei Romance Retreat.”

Hawks’s wings stuttered, and they dropped a few feet before he snapped them back open.

“That’s—just because in your world—”

“No no no no,” said Touya, laughing and crossing his forearms in an ‘X’. “That’s where the League is staying, cool your jets. It hasn’t been a love hotel in a long ass time.”

“Good,” said Hawks, face as red as his wings. “I’m—I’m not a slut.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not!”

“On your list of contingency plans for getting into the League, what number was  ‘seduce Dabi’?”

“I don’t number my contingency plans.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“… it was Plan F.”

“Ha! Is that alphabetical, or does it stand for—”

“Shut up shut up shut up,” hissed Hawks. “I swear to god I will drop you.”

“Now would that be Plan D, or does the D stand for di—whoa!” Touya squawked as Hawks tossed him up in the air, and suddenly, he was falling to his death.

He laughed, going spread eagle to catch the air against his limbs, grinning so wide in exhilaration that his staples tugged uncomfortably. His stomach swooped, not with motion sickness but the beginnings of an adrenaline rush, like a rollercoaster. Hawks was a blur of red high, high above him.

There was scarcely a second between him folding his wings and swooping Touya up into his arms again.

“There,” he said smugly. “Told you.”

“You sure showed me,” Touya answered breathlessly, laughing into his shoulder and settling his jittering nerves in the familiar smell of Takahiro and the sky.

They made good time, considering the lazy beginning of the flight. Scarcely an hour after he’d called, Touya was being dumped unceremoniously onto the roof of the love hotel.

“Won’t you come in?” he asked Hawks, grinning up from where he sprawled in a heap. “I’m sure they’d love to have you for dinner.”

“Fuck no,” said Hawks. “Listen, this whole bit is getting old real quick. Can you go back to threatening to kill me?”

“I mean, whatever you’re into I guess, but—”

“Not in a sexy way,” said Hawks, pointing at him. “I’m just, like—I knew what the fuck was going on before. Dabi and I both knew which side my bread is buttered on, but he was working with me anyway to get what he could outta me, we occasionally planned or attempted to kill each other—nice and simple. This is all… this is way too much, man.”

“Me being forthright with the information you were trying to get through subterfuge is more complicated?” asked Touya, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah! Because what the fuck!”

“I’ve told you what the fuck,” said Touya, rolling his eyes.

“Your explanations just make everything more fucking complicated,” he muttered. “It’s like, are you flirting with me because I’m your boyfriend? Because I’m not. I barely know you. I don’t… I’ve learned all of this shit about you in like, a day, and it’s pretty fuckin’ hard to reconcile with Dabi’s face, alright?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t so bad,” said Touya, rubbing his scars and smirking up at him.

“I don’t mean what it looks like, I mean who it belongs to, asshole.”

“Well—I’m not,” said Touya.

“Not what?”

“I’m not flirting with you because you look like Takahiro. It’s just fun,” he explained, shrugging and getting to his feet. “You’re fun. I’ll stop if you want, but I’m not gonna play whatever mind games or threaten to kill you or anything. If you’d really rather keep it professional, I can do that until we get my shit sorted out, but…”

“But your boyfriend would never want that, so I must not either?” huffed Hawks.

“No,” he said shortly. “You seem lonely. I don’t think you need another colleague—I think you need a friend.”

Hawks made a face that Takahiro usually reserved for being called out on something heinous, like finishing the ice cream without buying more.

“I’ll decide that for myself,” he said stiffly after a moment’s silence.

“Well, feel free to tell me to un-back off in the future,” said Touya. “I’m heading in.”

He crossed the roof slowly, shoulders weighed down with this. It was going to be a lot harder to keep things light without flirting, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle ‘not light’ with Hawks, on top of everything else.

But he’d handled worse. He could grit his teeth and be cold and distant if it came down to it, even if it wasn’t what either of them wanted—what either of them needed.

“Wait,” said Hawks, hesitating as Touya opened the rusted door.

“Yeah?”

“You… you never gave me a tip,” he said awkwardly.

Touya’s smile spread slower this time, warming him from within like a sunrise in his heart. It wasn’t an apology, or a concession, but it was an olive branch; and with Hawks, those were the same thing.

“Here’s a tip,” he said fondly, “A bicycle can’t stand on its own because it’s two-tired.”

“God damn it,” said Hawks, as Touya ducked inside the building with a poorly-stifled cackle.

The stairwell was as derelict as the rest of the building, all peeling paint and chipped flooring, and Touya allowed himself to slide back into his usual calm, bolstered by the knowledge that he was doing something. Even here, he could help.

“Dabi-kun!” trilled Toga Himiko as he slouched into the main lobby. She was perched on an upturned couch, lounging with her legs draped over Twice and Spinner, who looked just as glad to see him.

“Yo!” said Spinner, brightening. “Is it true, man? You got hit by a weird quirk?”

“Don’t act so glad about it,” said Touya, scowling. “I’m still me.”

“You took forever to get back!” whined Twice. “Were you just around the corner or something?”

“I was out recruiting, sue me,” said Touya, pulling up a threadbare armchair that looked like it had been partially eaten by something trying to nest in it. “And yeah, it’s some kind of memory quirk. Everything from the last like, decade—it’s like I’m on the outside, and somebody’s telling me about it.”

“Except sometimes there’s nobody to tell you, right?” hummed Toga.

“Uh,” said Touya. “Right. Or the people who could tell me, I don’t trust to not make up a bullshit nickname I obviously don’t call them, Himiko-chan.”

“You’re no fun,” she said, pouting. “And here I came up with an idea to help you!”

“No thanks,” he drawled, stretching out as much as he could. “Whatever shit you’d concoct isn’t something I plan on falling for.”

“Sorry man,” said Spinner, with an apologetic grimace. “It’s not really a suggestion.”

Touya frowned. Only years of experience kept him from tensing instinctively—don’t telegraph your moves, idiot—but he raised an eyebrow and a single hand, casually, as if he were gesturing for Spinner to go on and not putting him in his line of fire.

“The big man won’t sign off on looping you in unless we can get you cleared,” explained Spinner, opening his hands as if it were out of his control. “Toga might be good at reading people, and Twice has good instincts, but you know Shigaraki won’t go for their word over his paranoia. So we gotta get some proof that you’re really you!”

“What more proof do you need?” asked Touya, setting his hand on fire. “This isn’t exactly a common quirk—or a common face.”

“We need a secret!” said Toga. “Something only Dabi-kun knows, something nobody could get out of him, not even with a quirk.”

Shit.

“Like fucking what?” asked Touya, through gritted teeth. “I don’t remember shit, you want me to recount my life’s fuckin’ story to you?”

“Not to us!” said Twice, waving his arms in front of him. “To you!”

“You lost me,” said Touya, raising his other eyebrow.

“When we say secrets only Dabi knows, we mean only Dabi,” said Spinner, apparently still sympathetic enough to actually fucking explain himself. “You don’t have to tell the whole League everything—we get it, man. Some things are just too personal. But… we do need confirmation.”

Touya’s stomach was beginning to sink. If this was going the way he thought it was, then—

“Dabi, meet Dabi!” crowed Twice, holding his hands in front of him as a strange, wax-like substance began to solidify into…

Yeah. That was a copy of the real Dabi.

Motherfucker.

Chapter Text

Bakugou Katsuki was a force to be reckoned with in any world.

His team’s victory was even neater than Shouto’s, the only stumbling block being the boy’s own reluctance to accept help. His classmates followed him willingly—blindly—and they worked as a well-oiled machine to take down the formidable delegation from 1-B.

Every time Bakugou used his quirk, Dabi flinched.

“You okay?” asked Midoriya, all wide eyes and genuine concern.

“Katsuki is loud,” said Shouto, briefly meeting Dabi’s eyes.

And fuck if he wasn’t right, though that wasn’t why Dabi had been flinching. Like hell was he gonna tell these kids it was because he’d snatched King Explosion Murder out from under their noses and he was picturing every errant piece of shrapnel as a piece of his own hide.

For all that he had never kidnapped this Bakugou, for all that the kid would never know the hovering threat of blue flames against his throat, Dabi couldn’t help but feel exceedingly nervous.

“Are you ready for your match?” Shouto asked mildly, as they waited for the teams to return for their critique.

“Yeah!” said Midoriya, brightening. “We have a really well-balanced team, even if we’re outnumbered. But I’m excited to fight Shinsou-kun again! I wanna see how far he’s come!”

“If his first match was any indication, pretty far,” said Shouto.

“Not far enough,” said Dabi, mentally running over his performance. Toga could talk at someone without actually responding for hours, and neither Shigaraki nor Dabi himself would let the kid say a single word before taking him out.

 Twice was probably fucked, though.

“It’ll be hard to hear over the wind, anyway,” Midoriya allowed, looking a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to get the one-on-one fight he apparently wanted.

“The w—”

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t my favorite heroes!” crowed a familiar voice. Dabi’s mouth closed with a loud and violent click, and his stomach couldn’t decide if it wanted to jump or curdle.

“Natsu-sensei!” chorused several of the students, swaming him immediately.

“Natsu-sensei, did you see the footage from the earlier battles?” the electric kid asked excitedly. “Wasn’t I cool? Up until that part at the end, I mean—”

“Just wait until my match!” the pink one hollered, waving her arms over her head. “I’m gonna try that sluicing trick I’ve been working on, and—”

“And it still won’t work!” sneered the punk ass blond from 1B, shouldering past her. “Natsu-sensei, can I copy your quirk? I’ve been getting better with the ice—”

“Whoa, whoa!” laughed Natsuo, holding up his arms as if to fend them off. “I’m not here for a medic lesson, I’m here to ice some scrapes and bruises! That last match was pretty rough!”

“I’ll say,” said the welding kid, holding up his arms plaintively. Natsuo soothed them with a puff of frost, producing small bags from a pouch at his waist to fill with ice.

“Pop quiz, why the bags?” he asked as he began handing them out to anyone who reached for one.

“Applying ice directly to the skin can damage tissue, especially in areas with high blood flow!” said Red Riot, eagerly, like a puppy showing off its newfound ability to pee outside the house.

“Low blood flow,” corrected the 1-B blond, sneering.

“Wasn’t it like your fingers and toes and stuff?” asked Red Riot, frowing at him (though not as if he were offended, which Dabi believed; this kid was basically a golden retriever). “They’re uh, vascularized, heavily vascularized. S’why you get frostbite in ‘em first, right?”

“Well, yes and no,” said Natsuo, “frostbite is the result of ice crystals forming in your blood—and you’re right, there are a lot of veins in fingers and toes—but the reason they’re so susceptible is because of what isn’t there. Izukun, if you would?”

“There’s fewer protective layers of muscle or fat!” chirped Midoriya. Dabi’s eye twitched.

Izukun. His entire family was wrapped around Small Might’s crooked little fingers.

“Right!” said Natsuo. “See, when you’re cold your blood vessels get narrower, and since the ones in your extremities are smaller to begin with… well, once you hit about four degrees, your blood’s fucked.”

“Shinogu-sensei,” said Eraserhead. He sounded as tired as Dabi felt.

“Sorry, your blood’s… uh… going to have a bad time.”

“So is there more or less blood flow in your fingers?” asked Red Riot, squinting down at his own like they had the answer.

“We’re getting away from the point,” said Natsuo, obliging steaming a sore joint on the vine girl. “Is anybody burned?”

“No,” said Shouto. Dabi squinted at him. There was no discernible change to either his tone or expression, but something about it was almost mulish.

Natsuo clearly picked up on it too, because he stuck out his tongue.

“And our Beloved Big Brother here hasn’t been causing too much trouble?” he asked, gesturing broadly to Dabi.

“He’s been taking notes,” said Shouto, losing the affect of a surly teen.

“Notes?” asked Natsuo, blinking in apparent surprise. “Really?”

“They’re very good!” said Midoriya. “More detailed than I thought they would be. He’s even written down everybody’s names.”

“It’s hard to give good critiques otherwise,” he said dryly.

“Tell that to Katsuki-kun sometimes,” said Natsuo, grinning impishly at Bakugou.

“The fuck did you just say, you soggy little bitch?” Bakugou roared, stopped only by the buff yellow one—Sugar Rush?—snagging the back of his collar as if scruffing a kitten.

“Years, I’ve known this kid,” Natsuo sighed to the other children, “and not once has he called me by name.”

“I seem to recall a ‘Shitnogu’ or two,” said Shouto.

“More often Natskuso,” said Midoriya, shaking his head.

“Those don’t count any more than ‘Deku’,” said Natsuo.

“Maybe not, but I’m sure stealing ‘em,” said Dabi.

“Excuse me,” said Eraserhead. “We have a class to get back to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Natsuo, waving the students towards the screens. “You got it, Aizawa-sensei.”

“Is Gust cleared to rejoin class yet?”

“Nearly. He was awake when I headed over, so he’s probably getting changed,” said Natsuo. “Assuming Shuuzenji-sensei’s done chewing him out for irresponsible quirk usage. Like, love the kid, obviously, but there’s using your quirk to get to class on time, and then there’s using your quirk to canon into the side of a building.”

“The windows are usually open,” said Midoriya, though even he didn’t sound convinced that this was a reasonable defense. “It’s—well, it’s been getting colder recently, so—”

“You’re telling me one of you smacked into a window like a bird in a Windex commercial?” asked Dabi.

“He was running late,” said Shouto. “It’s not the first time he’s done it, either; just the first time he crashed.”

“Well, it’s certainly the last time,” said Eraserhead. “I’m putting up a net. I encourage you all to be creative with your quirks, but not at the expense of punctuality or your safety.”

“Aw, man,” said the tape kid, wilting slightly as if his uniform didn’t restrict his quirk usage anyway. “There goes my backup plan.”

“If you fuckers can’t get past a net, you sure as fuck don’t deserve to use a shortcut,” snarled Bakugou.

“Kacchan, if it wasn’t for Iida-kun you’d be first through the door every day.”

“Yeah, because I’m fucking smart, Deku, not ‘cause I take the easy way out.”

“Blasting your way up three stories is the easy way out?” the electric kid stage-whispered.

“HEY!” came a very, very loud voice. Dabi looked around for its source, half-expecting Present Mic to be fooling around with Mind Control’s voice-changer.

The students were somewhat less confused than he was, looking around more purposefully; the 1-A kids were almost exclusively looking… up?

Dabi followed their collective gaze hesitantly, a little wary that this was some sort of trick or prank, but—

There was a kid rocketing towards them, flying through the air with no wings in sight.

“I fucking hate quirks,” said Dabi to no one in particular, as the kid made a surprisingly graceful landing.

He was absolutely positive he’d never seen this kid in his life.

First off, that quirk was nothing to sneeze at, and second off—the kid was massive. He was taller than Dabi, taller even than Natsuo—hell, the kid was probably taller than Endeavor—and nearly as ripped. There was no way this bastard was a first year.

“I’m here!” bellowed the newcomer, so loud that Dabi almost winced. “I’m here, I made it, is there still room?”

“We assumed you would be,” said Eraserhead dryly. “Frankly, I’m surprised it took so long for you to heal up. Just how badly did you injure yourself?”

“Cracked skull!” said the student brightly, turning his head to show the winding, visibly fresh scar on his temple. “Good thing we’ve got Recovery Girl, or I might’ve bled out!”

“What the actual fuck are you teaching these kids,” Dabi asked Natsuo, who happened to be the nearest ‘teacher’. Natsuo grimaced.

“I’m trying to teach them not to do shit like that.”

“Don’t rely on Recovery Girl to save your hide,” Eraserhead told the newcomer. “You’re on Team Five, but I expect you to follow her instructions regarding aftercare. Also, you have detention.”

The boy’s smile fell, but his volume didn’t. “Yes, Sensei!” he said, with an aborted bow that nearly introduced his barely-healed skull to the concrete. “Thank you for allowing me to participate!”

“If I hear you’ve injured yourself with off-duty quirk usage again, it’ll be more than just detention.”

Several students swarmed the newcomer at the apparent dismissal, mostly the students who had been so excited to see Natsuo. Dabi was beginning to think this group just had a short attention span. Carefully, he jotted that down.

“So that’s ‘Gust’?” he asked Midoriya, indicating him with a nod.

“Ah, yeah!” said Midoriya, smiling up at him. “Yoarashi Inasa. He’s one of our recommended students!”

“Who’re the others?”

“Honenuki-kun and Tokage-san from 1-B, and Yaoyorozu,”

 “Which one is Yaoyorozu?” asked Dabi, running over the previous battles. That was Mudman and Lizard Girl, so…

“Creati! She’s the girl with the really long hair.”

“Ah. Ponytail genius number one.”

“What?” asked Shouto.

“You heard me.”

The critique for the fourth battle was all very predictable; ‘don’t underestimate your enemies’ this and ‘accept help from your allies’ that. It was all very dull compared to the last round, at least in Dabi’s opinion. Maybe he was a bit biased, but so what? He wanted to know what Shouto was capable of, sue him.

“Wish me luck!” said Midoriya, beaming at them as he bounced off down the stairs.

“Good luck,” said Shouto, at the same time that Natsuo said, “I legally cannot do that.”

“I don’t give a shit either way,” Dabi told him. “Do something noteworthy.”

The planning period was shorter for this team, which made sense from what Dabi knew of their quirks. The pink one had acid, so probably longer range stuff, though she was almost certainly versed in some sort of hand-to-hand from the way she moved. Gravity girl needed physical contact, but she was smarter than seemed at first, and Toga had singled her out before so she must be remarkable at something. Gust was a wild card, yeah, but he did seem more long-range based on his quirk, and Midoriya, well. He was exclusively melee, but devastating enough to take out Muscular. They had a decent mix, but each member of their team had to know what role they’d be playing based on their quirks alone.

Midoriya seemed to be the ringleader, which surprised him. It matched his quirk more than his personality—that the meek, nerdy little scrap could lead anything, much less some of the more domineering members of his class, was unexpected.

“Why Deku?” he asked Shouto, when Natsuo wandered off to tend to Lizard Girl.

“He’s good at strategizing,” said Shouto, parsing his meaning immediately. “He’s much less timid when he’s in action, you know.”

“I’m sure,” said Dabi.

It didn’t go as smoothly as the last two battles.

They were off to a fairly decent start, Gust securing two of their members within minutes (and good god, Dabi was glad this kid had apparently gone to a different school in his world) before succumbing to the copycat using some borrowed mind control.

“Fucking loudmouth,” said Bakugou, loudly.

“What d’you think he said?” asked Red Riot.

“Knowing Monoma-kun?” said the tape kid, “Something rude as hell.”

Dabi, whose earpiece was still working just fine, decided not to tell them that all it had taken was a ‘hey, Gust’.

With the size quirk girl and the Gemini twerp out of the running, it was three on four—or it would be, if Gust wasn’t currently blanked out and walking placidly to their jail.

“Gust!” yelled the acid kid, skating towards him with surprising speed.

Monoma promptly blasted her with a gust of wind.

“Oh, shit,” said Dabi. “When did he even copy that?”

“Just now, presumably,” said Shouto. “He can be quite sneaky with it.”

Meanwhile, Gravity Girl and Midoriya were tangling with the other two members of the team—mostly the mind control kid, since the girl with telekinesis was keeping her distance. He was doing pretty well, considering he had so much less training than the others, using the openings provided by the items ricocheting around them to strike the opposition with his weird scarf.

He was talking the entire time, a steady stream of increasingly offensive invectives that the 1-A kids were bearing remarkably well, although their faces had gone through every expression and color known to man as they fought.

Midoriya was focusing on Telekinesister, since apparently he now had long range attacks, which was just fucking perfect, exactly what Dabi needed on top of fucking everything, while Gravity Girl tried to get in a solid hit on Mind Control. They were far from evenly matched in martial arts—even Dabi could see that—but between Mind Control’s capture weapon and the environmental hazards, she kept swiping air.

Monoma had managed to corral Gust into their jail and was currently duking it out with Acid Kid in the space around it, wielding at least Gust and Telekinesister’s quirk. Some acid had apparently splashed Gust at one point, as he was now fully conscious and shouting so loud Dabi’s earpiece couldn’t pick up whatever monologue Monoma seemed to be delivering, which was probably a good thing for Acid Kid, since he almost definitely still had Mind Control’s quirk going.

God, Dabi wished Mind Control wasn’t in this match. Nobody else was talking, so he had no idea what these children’s actual fucking names were.

Eventually, Midoriya was able to secure Telekinesister, and with the flying debris removed from the equation, Gravity Girl was able to use her quirk on Mind Control. Midoriya, apparently leaving it to her, raced back to their jail with Telekinesister wrapped firmly in his arms.

So of course, Mind Control pulled some wild shit.

“Are you fucking kidding?” he spat, his capture weapon snapping around a length of pipe, allowing him to reel himself back to the ground. “You think that’s enough?”

Gravity Girl gritted her teeth, rushing him again.

Mind Control kicked her in the face.

“You hero students are all the same,” he spat. “You were born with everything. Whatever you fucking want, whichever destiny you want, you’ve got the pick of the litter. You spoiled fucking brat.”

Gravity Girl moved in again, blocking another kick and twisting his leg savagely, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. Weightless, the motion sent him spinning like a crocodile, and only his extended arm saved him from being choked by his own weapon.

“And even then you aren’t enough. Always relying on Midoriya to come save you, waiting for Midoriya to take out the obstacles or lead the attack—you make me sick. You think he’s ever going to notice you? Some round-faced little brat who can’t even take out a Gen Ed student?”

“Fucking hell, this kid’s got a mouth,” said Dabi, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, Shinsou-kun?” asked Natsuo, looking up from where he was assessing a scrape on Bakugou’s back without his cooperation. “Yeah, he sure does. He’ll say whatever he has to to catch somebody—it’s impressive, really. The kid’s got your buttons hotwired from the first time he sees you.”

Gravity Girl, for her sake, seemed no more affected by this than she had been by his earlier attempts. Which was to say, she made a very hilarious face and turned an interesting shade of pink, but she kept attacking. 

Whenever she got in close enough to grab him, she kept twisting, and twisting, until finally he was wrapped from chest to fingers in his own scarf, scowling ferociously and still talking smack.

“Good work, Uravity!” called Midoriya, as he returned to the scene, “I’ll take Shinsou-kun back to jail. You should go help Pinky—if the number of melting buildings is anything to go off of, she might be in trouble.”

Uravity, as she was apparently called, didn’t respond verbally, only sparing a nod before taking off in the direction of the dissolving metal and concrete.

“I don’t know why you toy with her like that,” said Shinsou, as Midoriya prized the end of his scarf loose from the pipe and used it to secure his left hand. Shinsou was still struggling, kicking him whenever he was near enough, but without gravity he was largely ineffective. “What kind of friend are you? Do you just keep her close to boss her around?”

Midoriya gritted his teeth, and delivered Shinsou to jail twice as fast as Telekinesister.

In the end, Monoma remained unsubdued—Uravity had just reached the scene of the battle when they were declared the winners, though neither she nor Midoriya seemed especially relieved.

“See, this is the problem,” said Dabi, as the students made their way back for critique. “You’re all way too caught up in your teenage angst and interpersonal drama. You need to keep an eye on the bigger picture.”

“Oh, yeah?” asked Natsuo, already preparing fresh bags of ice. “Remind me who got sent home early because his interpersonal drama used excessive force this morning?”

“It wasn’t excessive,” said Dabi. “He’s barely singed. Might need some therapy, but don’t we all?”

“I’m talking about the guy whose arm you shredded, but you know what? Him too.”

“Well, that guy had it coming.”

“You cut an artery, dude,” said Natsuo disapprovingly.

“Not on purpose,” said Dabi. “Also, he tried to drown me. We’re totally even.”

“There’s no ‘even’ in heroics,” said Shouto from beside them. “You’re always going to be in a position of power above villains and civilians alike, and it’s your responsibility not to abuse that power.”

“I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say in one go,” said Dabi.

“You shouldn’t seek retribution, even if it’s to settle a score,” said Shouto, ignoring him completely. “The one and only reason you should subdue a villain is a threat to public safety. You’re an instrument, not a weapon.”

“Aren’t I?” asked Dabi, grinning sharp and fierce as he stared down those mismatched eyes.

“We don’t decide who’s worth what,” said Shouto, turning to the stairs as the other students returned. “A hero should never decide another person’s fate.”

Dabi’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. He’d phrased it like that on purpose, reminding him of what Endeavor had done to them, what Endeavor had decided for them—but there was more to it than that. Everything about heroes necessitated deciding fates. Who upheld the unjust laws? Who neutralized the desperate and oppressed when they turned to petty crime? Who used their quirks with abandon while the layman could only watch and hope for brighter days?

He was right, in a way; a hero should never decide another person’s fate.

That was why heroes had to go.

Chapter Text

Touya stared at Dabi. Dabi stared at Touya. The League stared at them both.

“So,” said Dabi, looking to Twice, “is one of us a clone, or does one of you wanna explain how I got here?”

“You’re a clone!” said Twice. “That guy is a copy!”

“Him or me?” Dabi asked Spinner and Toga, not batting an eye.

“You,” said Spinner, pointing. “This guy says he’s you but he’s got partial amnesia or something, so we were hoping you could verify.”

“How partial?” asked Dabi, lightning blue eyes turning back to Touya.

“I remember up until I was… thirteen or so,” said Touya carefully. That was when they had gotten out, so it was a safe bet that they’d have the same memories up to that point. “After that, it’s like I’ve read about stuff in a book. A really shitty book. More of a file, really.”

“Then this should be real easy,” said Dabi, a lazy smirk curling across his ruined face. And damn, he was making fewer expressions than Touya. No wonder the League had caught on so quick. “You lot clear out. We’ll just have a little chat—if he’s me, no problem.”

“And if he isn’t?” asked Toga eagerly.

“Then you’d better pray the fire alarm still works in this shit hole, ‘cause I’m not going looking for you if things go to hell.”

“Text us when you’re done!” said Twice, ushering the other two out the door. “Don’t fucking bother telling us. Roast him or don’t!”

The door shut with an audible click behind them, and Touya was alone with—well—himself.

“So,” said Dabi. “We’ll start with the obvious, shall we?”

Touya raised his hand, letting the flames lick up the sides of his fingers like candles. “The quirk, or the name?”

“The name,” said Dabi, with a smile that bared half his teeth.

“Todoroki Touya,” said Touya, letting his instinctive disgust at his father’s surname twist his features. Perhaps Dabi would be willing to believe it extended to his personal name, as well.

“And you think you’re thirteen?” asked Dabi, beginning to circle him.

Touya stiffened a little, not wanting to let the villain behind him but not wanting to betray that—until he realized that Dabi probably had those same instincts, and just turned to keep him in his peripherals.

“I’m twenty-three,” he gritted out. “I told you, I remember shit, but it’s warped. Like I’m hearing about it from somebody else.”

“Hm,” said Dabi. “Sister’s name?”

“’Yumi,” said Touya, reluctantly. It didn’t feel right, somehow, saying it to this… fake. “Do you ever miss her?”

It was Dabi’s turn to make a face. “I’m the one asking the questions, hotshot. How long did it take the goon squad to have me validate your villain card?”

“I got hit yesterday morning,” said Touya. Fucking hell. It hadn’t even been two full days yet. “By the way—why do I keep getting calls from the Number Two Hero?”

Dabi grinned, slow and wry. “He’s trying to join the League. We both know it’s bullshit, but he’s willing to do a lot of shit to ‘prove’ himself, and I’ll take what I can get.”

“Sure,” muttered Touya.

He couldn’t help but think of Takahiro, stuck with this asshole trying to pull one over on him. Surely he knew Touya well enough that he wouldn’t fall for whatever sardonic bullshit Dabi tried… right?

But there was also Hawks—this world’s Hawks, and that emptiness he buried with as much work as he could. The acceptance of the life the Commission had planned out for him, down to his costume. The comfort he took in the life-or-death routine of the game of wits Dabi seemed intent on playing.

Did Dabi take that same comfort in keeping him at arms’ length?

“What has he been telling you?” Dabi went on. “Anything interesting?”

“The usual villain stuff, I guess,” said Touya. “Society needs to be torn down, he’s an irredeemable bastard who resents the system, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Have you gotten him to do anything for you?” asked Dabi.

“Uh,” said Touya.  “Like, anything anything, or anything villainous? Because I’m really working with a limited frame of reference here—”

“Anything anything,” said Dabi. “Whatever you can do to make him jump is fine by me.”

“Oh. Well, I uh, I’ve been having him give me rides,” said Touya. “I don’t really know how to use the teleporter, so…”

“Oh, Ujiko-san?” asked Dabi, raising an eyebrow. “There’s an earpiece. You shouldn’t talk to him until you get your memories back, though.”

Mentally, Touya made a note of that. Objective one, finding out who Ujiko is: Nailed it.

“Why not?” he asked, trying to mirror Dabi’s bored expression. 

“He knows things about me—or, uh, about us—that you don’t,” said Dabi, lip curling. “And he’ll take advantage of your not knowing to get more out of you than he should. He’s done it before.”

“He has?” asked Touya, growing alarmed.

“He’s the one who put me back together,” said Dabi, not even bothering to mask the disgust in his tone as he gestured to his patchwork body. “As if I fucking asked him to. Thing about getting your ass roasted, though—you get a little feverish.”

“Did he—is he blackmailing you?” asked Touya.

“Not really,” said Dabi. “Just into keeping my mouth shut. He doesn’t tell who I am, I don’t tell who he is. The rest of it… I was gonna do anyway.”

“Who is he?” Touya’s heart rate was beginning to pick up. This was more information than he ever could have hoped for, but the circumstances—the thought of anyone, even Dabi, being in that position, was a hard thing to wrap his head around.

Fuyumi said Dabi ‘died’ when they were teens. When he was still a child, flesh falling off his bones like ribs that’d been left on the barbeque too long, staples pinching into his skin like the claws of an animal fighting to keep him together—in the haze of pain and, doubtless, delirium, the one in charge of saving his life had been playing games, manipulating him—a child—into something.

He almost shook his head, fiercely reminding himself that this was Dabi they were talking about. He’d run out on their family. He’d killed people. He’d kidnapped a child to do to it what had been done to him.

“Our old pediatrician,” drawled Dabi, dropping down onto one of the dilapidated armchairs. “Tsubasa-sensei. Really puts the malice in malpractice.”

“That’s—there is no malice in malpractice,” said Touya.

“Sure there is, you just take out the ‘pract’.”

Touya stared at him.

“Mal- is evil, right? I think they’re from the same root,” Dabi went on, scratching idly at the staples on his face. “I dunno. It’s not like I finished English class.”

“So malice is ‘evil ice’?” asked Touya.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Tough luck there, idiot,” said Touya, grimacing. “I’m you.”

“Then use your fucking brain,” said Dabi, no real heat behind it. “Go get the other assholes. I’ve got seniority.”

Touya, deciding not to push his luck, crossed the room to let the rest of the League back in.

“Well?” demanded Toga, flouncing in first. She looked giddy, watching Dabi with undisguised glee and anticipation distorting her face.

“He’s me,” grunted Dabi. “Doesn’t know shit about anything, though, so we’re gonna have to run him through some basics before we put him on a mission.”

“We?” asked Touya.

“Well, obviously we’re keeping him,” said Twice. “It’s a huge liability to leave my clones running around!”

“It makes sense anyway,” said Spinner, returning to his previous position on the couch. “No offense, dude, but with amnesia you’re at like, forty percent usefulness.”

“Even the way you use your quirk is different,” said Toga, gesturing broadly to his hands and arms. “If we tell you what or who to burn, you could do it, but Dabi is valuable because of his mind, too!”

“Fuck you,” said Dabi from his chair.

“Anyway, what are we going to call you?” asked Twice, looking between them. “Dabi One? Dabi Two? Take it from me, you don’t want to call everybody by their name—you always know who’s who!”

“I’m Dabi,” said Dabi immediately. “I don’t give a shit what he calls himself, but I’ve got the memories, so I’ve got seniority, entropy or no entropy.”

“Aw, fuck,” said Touya, sighing. He knew what he had to do. “Guess you should call me Ryuutou, then.”

There was a brief silence before Twice erupted into riotous laughter, and Toga practically shrieked with glee, jumping onto the back of Dabi’s chair to jostle him excitedly.

“You’re fun without your memories, man,” said Spinner.

Dabi looked like he very much wanted to kill Touya, but was stymied by the fact that he’d waste the only real body they had.

“Ryuutou and Dabi!” Twice hooted. “This is going to be great.”

Chapter Text

“How was your day at school?” asked Hawks, saccharine and sarcastic.

“I got detention,” said Dabi, sandwiched between his brothers, who had oh-so-charitably decided to wait with him.

“Oh god, did you really.”

“No,” said Shouto. “All Might tried to give him a gold star.”

“Holy shit,” said Hawks. “For what?”

“Apparently, for refraining from whatever bullshit shenanigans Shinogu usually pulls,” said Dabi. “I didn’t do anything but insult teenagers and take notes.”

“You took notes?”

“It’s the best hero school in the country, of course I took notes,” he said snidely, shoving away from Shouto and Natsuo. Hawks moved as if to hug him, but apparently thought better of it. “Can we go now?”

“Of course,” said Hawks, nodding at the Shinogus. “Thank you for watching him. I really couldn’t take today off.”

“I’m surprised you took the rest of yesterday off, to be honest,” said Natsuo. “I’ve seen you try to fight crime with a broken arm.”

Hawks grinned, flapping his oversized wings pointedly. “I don’t need two arms to fight.”

“Hey man, watch where you’re aiming those,” Natsuo squawked, squinting in the resulting gust of wind. “Do you have any idea how long it takes me to get my hair right?”

“What, you don’t like the windswept look?” asked Hawks, half wounded and half imperious. “I’ll have you know I’m on the cutting edge of fashion.”

“You could stand to teach him a thing or two,” said Natsuo, jerking a thumb at Dabi.

Dabi scowled. Natsuo had always cared more about things like style and appearance than he had. He and Fuyumi used to tag team him and insist he couldn’t go out ‘like that’, despite his wearing a perfectly reasonable outfit.

He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed at the teasing, or that Shinogu apparently shared his inclination towards function over form.

“Yeah, cool,” he said finally. “Seriously, can we go home now?”

“Of course,” said Hawks, beaming at him.

“’Home’ already, hm?” asked Natsuo. “You two been having fun?”

“Natsu-nii,” said Shouto, putting a hand on his arm. “We’ve pestered him enough.”

Dabi, who had been about to tear into Natsuo, blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected reinforcements at all, but from Shouto’s quarter? When he’d been treating him with open suspicion all day?

“That’s right,” he said, when he could think of nothing else. “Lay off, or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Good luck, shrimp,” said Natsuo, smirking—but he backed off.

Hawks led the way out to the same car they’d taken to get here, chattering amicably the whole way about anything but villains.

“You might as well say it,” Dabi interrupted, as he slid into the back seat beside him.

Hawks tilted his head, playing dumb.

“Whatever you’re dancing around,” said Dabi, grimacing distastefully. “And don’t give me that coy shit, I know you’re holding something back. I don’t have the energy for whatever bullshit you’re going to spout.”

Hawks frowned, looking away. “I’m just trying to make conversation, Dabi. We can talk about it when we get home.”

“What’s the point in waiting?” he snorted. “Don’t want your pet driver to hear?”

“He’s not a pet, and he’s perfectly trustworthy,” said Hawks tersely. “It’s just not a conversation I think we should have in public.”

“Oh, I see, it’s about your image,” said Dabi, letting a sneer curl his lip. “Don’t want to be seen fighting with your little boyfriend, is that it? Or don’t want to cry in front of cameras?”

“Would you stop!” said Hawks, glowering at him. “Stop doing that. We’re going to talk about it. I’m not avoiding it, or you. I just want to go home first so we’ll be able to fucking relax a little, alright? Don’t get all snippy with me when you’re already getting your way.”

“Snippy?” Dabi repeated indignantly, but Hawks had apparently had enough, turning to the window with a huff.

“If this is how it’s going to be when we take a car, I’m going to insist on flying from now on,” he said darkly, and wouldn’t be incensed into another word until they were in the apartment.

“So?” asked Dabi, kicking off his shoes. “You gonna spit it out?”

Hawks stowed his own shoes in a cubby, picking up Dabi’s as well. He made no move to respond.

“I don’t know why you bother to hold this shit in,” said Dabi, heading into the living room and going immediately for the assorted electronics under the tv. He needed a movie or a video game or something to keep him from throttling this guy in his own home. “It’s not like it’s helping anybody.”

“I’m trying to find a way to say it that isn’t going to get you to close off instantly,” Hawks sighed.

Dabi opened his mouth to reply, but paused halfway through opening the cabinet. “Holy shit, is this a gamecube?”

“Uh, yeah? We have like every console ever made.”

“How do you—ah. Right.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a big deal,” said Hawks, posing melodramatically.

“Ah, but I bet you don’t have the best games for it,” said Dabi, rooting through the pathetic little binder they kept their discs in.

“Oh no,” said Hawks. “You’re one of those weird purists, aren’t you? Touya is the same way, he won’t ever play remakes even when they’re like, objectively better—”

“I don’t give a shit about objectives, subjectively I fucking know which games are good,” he retorted. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck. What did you find.”

“Oh my god.”

“Your non-answers are super reassuring, thanks for that. If it’s a disc that says ‘sex tape’ I can assure you that it’s actually a video of Touya winning some Zelda game in a ludicrously short time—”

“You have Sonic Adventure Two Battle.”

“Oh,” said Hawks, blinking. “It’s your favorite too, huh?”

Dabi almost made a face, but thought better of it. Even bastards like Shinogu had to acknowledge that the classics were the classics. “Obviously. It’s the best game ever made.”

“Uh huh,” said Hawks, rolling his eyes. He fell heavily onto one of the couches, lounging on his stomach in a position to watch the screen. “So, you wanna play?”

“What?” asked Dabi, looking up from the case, which he was now holding with reverence. He couldn’t just—well. He could delete Shinogu’s save file. He had been meaning to fuck with the guy.

But then he’d have to play the whole storyline to get to the hard shit… although maybe…

“Yeah,” he said decisively, setting up the console. “You know what? Fuck yeah.”

As it turned out, Shinogu had in fact beaten the game—but he hadn’t aced or even completed all of the missions.

Dabi was going to smoke this fucking nerd.

“So let me guess,” said Hawks, watching him play, “your favorite character is Shadow.”

“Uh, obviously,” scoffed Dabi. “Just look at him. He’s the only one who gets the stakes here.”

“The stakes?”

“Yeah, I mean like—Eggman wants to rule the world or whatever, but he blew up half the moon. Like what does he think there’s gonna be to run without half the fucking moon?”

“And Shadow gets that.”

“Yeah,” said Dabi. “He just wants to destroy shit. And Eggman is the fastest way to do that.”

“But that’s when he’s got amnesia, though,” said Hawks. “Right? Like he doesn’t remember shit until the eleventh hour, and then suddenly he’s a good guy?”

“Fuck off, he’s not a good guy,” said Dabi. “He remembers Maria, but that doesn’t change the shit he knew. He saw his best friend get gunned down by the military because he was too powerful. Just because he decided to honor her wishes doesn’t mean he changed alignment or whatever.”

“Damn, and here I thought you just liked his color scheme. But what’s the point of saving the world if he still wants to destroy it?”

“The point is he’s doing it for them, not for himself,” said Dabi, rolling his eyes. “Shit, I forgot the shortcut there. Uh, but—he knows the world sucks, he knows G.U.N. is bullshit and they’re willing to murder a terminally ill child to get at him, so to make the world better, he’s gotta take them out, right?”

“Why are they even the bad guys when you’re playing Hero Mode?” asked Hawks, gesturing with a wing so he didn’t have to move his arms from under his chin. “I thought Sonic’s name was cleared in like, two levels.”

“Because they suck,” said Dabi, scowling as he finished with less than a perfect score. “What about you? You like Sonic best, hero boy?”

“No,” said Hawks, sticking out his tongue. “I like Rouge.”

“Fuck. Should’ve seen that coming.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Hawks, with a dramatic gasp.

“S’posed to mean of course you’d go for the one with wings,” said Dabi, restarting the level. And that she was a terrible spy. “She can’t even fly, man. She just glides.”

“It’s not ‘cause she can fly, it’s her characterization!”

“Oh, the bat tits do it for you, huh?”

“Fuck off,” said Hawks, using his feathers to fling a pillow that Dabi ducked with a short laugh. “I like the whole spy thing. You think she’s just this mercenary out for herself, but really she’s helping the good guys the whole time.”

“The good guys?” Dabi repeated incredulously. “Did you miss the part where I said G.U.N. murdered a child?”

“Rouge was only on loan to G.U.N., smart ass. She works for the president.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, the government and the military have fucking nothing to do with each other,” he snorted. “She’s alright in some of the games after this, but I like her better when she’s out for herself. A mercenary is way better than a fucking scab.”

“Why?” asked Hawks, turning towards him. “It’s better for her not to care about anybody or anything than it is for her to support something tangentially related to G.U.N.?”

“It’s not tangential,” said Dabi, gritting his teeth as he took out several enemies in quick succession. “They all run back to the same root. The games where I like Rouge are the ones where she’s willing to go against her orders to do what’s right, even if she’s wrong about it.”

“Jeez, you sound less like a vigilante and more like a villain,” huffed Hawks. “She’s doing her best.”

Dabi didn’t bother responding, mashing buttons with unnecessary precision.

More like a villain, huh? For doing what was right?

Well, it was the truth, after all. Eschewing the system was always a way to be labeled a villain, even before quirks had come onto the scene. He just so happened to have a power useful enough to make him a threat.

“I think you should consider going to therapy,” said Hawks, apropros of nothing.

Dabi barked out a laugh, clearing a jump with an especially vicious jab of a button. “And why should I do that?”

“It could be good for you,” said Hawks. “Everybody should be in therapy. I’m in therapy!”

“Yeah, and you’re doing so great, right?”

“It’s not a magical cure-all, Dabi,” he huffed. “Touya goes to therapy, and it helps him deal with some of his issues. And like it or not—you have those same issues. I don’t think you want to be having flashbacks in the middle of a fight.”

“Maybe I do,” said Dabi airily. “Maybe it reminds me of why I’m fighting.”

“You’re not fighting your dad when you beat the shit out of bank robbers in an alley.” Hawks rolled into a sitting position, watching him on the other couch. Dabi determinedly avoided his gaze, focusing on the screen. “And it doesn’t actually make you stronger.”

“Does too,” he bit out, exiting the level to play one with more enemies. He needed to kill something. “Nothing makes you stronger than anger.”

“Get that one from Endeavor, did you?” said Hawks, rolling his eyes so hard his whole body participated. “You can’t just brute force your way through every battle, alright? It’s not just bad for your body, it’s bad for your brain. You’re fucking smart. Nothing kills a cool head faster than anger.”

“Nothing kills a dipshit faster either.”

“I mean it,” he said sternly. “I know you didn’t go to UA, but one of the most important things they teach you is using your breathing to control your mood. You can’t let it get the better of you, or you get sloppy. You make mistakes.”

“I thought you said Shinogu had the same issues?” asked Dabi, sneering. “You telling me he didn’t pay attention in school?”

“It’s different. Being in a training exercise and being in a life-or-death setting like that,” said Hawks. “The only way to make it stick is practice.”

“So you want me to practice by spilling my guts to someone who already knows the whole sad story?” snorted Dabi.

“You shouldn’t see Touya’s therapist. It wouldn’t be right,” Hawks said immediately. Dabi raised an eyebrow.

“And why not? Is it a breach of confidentiality if I’m the same person?”

“No. I don’t know,” said Hawks, getting a little flustered. “I just meant—it wouldn’t be right for you. You can’t build trust with someone who knows all the shit you went through already. Like you don’t trust me, do you?”

“Depends what you mean by trust,” Dabi said carefully, surprised to find he meant it. He trusted Hawks wasn’t going to turn on him or turn him in or anything, but—enough to tell him about his past, if he hadn’t already known it? Fuck no. He didn’t even want to tell the guy he was a villain.

“Exactly,” said Hawks wearily. “So I think we should get you a new therapist, and you can see them instead of bottling everything up like a Molotov cocktail waiting to happen.”

“Vivid analogy,” said Dabi. “If I say I’ll think about it, will you lay off?”

“Sure,” said Hawks. “For a while. I’m not gonna force you, you know. We can even do couples therapy, if you wanna unlock my tragic backstory.”

Dabi paused the game.

“Really?” he asked, turning to stare directly at Hawks. A firsthand account into the Number Two Hero’s psyche would be… incalculably valuable, strategically speaking.

“Really,” said Hawks. “You might not trust me, but I trust you. Even if you don’t trust yourself just yet. Even Shadow needed friends, right?”

“Right,” said Dabi, turning back to the game, thoughts drifting to the League. “Friends.”

Chapter Text

“So you want me to do what?” asked Touya, staring blankly at the gun in his hand.

“Shoot them, dipshit,” said Dabi. “You look fucking ridiculous, by the way.”

“Excuse me for following basic fucking safety protocol,” he hissed, self-consciously adjusting his goggles. “And shoot who, bitch?”

“Everyone that isn’t us,” said Dabi, patting his own gun. “Which might include more clones. Toga isn’t above bullying Twice into cheating.”

“Is it cheating if we’re doing the same thing?”

“Obviously. I play to win, not to follow the rules. First lesson of illegal paintball: It’s fucking illegal, so anything goes.”

“And if the cops show up?”

“Shoot the cops.”

“With fucking paintballs?” Touya demanded, waving the gun to demonstrate how little heft it had. Provided the cops had eye protection, he could at best leave a nasty bruise.

“With fire. God, how did you make it two days without me?” groaned Dabi.

“Blissfully,” said Touya. “Are we sticking together or splitting up?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Great team-building, asshole. Can we use quirks?”

“This isn’t a fucking team-building exercise, it’s a train-you-to-stop-asking-bullshit-questions exercise, up to and including ‘can we use quirks’. What part of ‘illegal’ are you not getting?”

“The part where we might fucking murder each other for a game?”

“If you can’t control your quirk enough to not murder somebody, you’d have roasted yourself before I got here,” snorted Dabi. “Leave it at some light maiming, alright? The mooks on the streets are the cannon fodder, not these idiots.”

“So they’re not gonna kill us either?” asked Touya, moving into a crouch.

“Well, they won’t kill you, but that’s counting on whether they’ll be able to tell us apart.”

“I’d think it would be easy, what with you leaving your eyes exposed to attack like a fucking—”

Dabi tapped on his goggles like he was a fish in a tank, making him recoil. Touya narrowed his eyes, but stopped pressing. “So are we on teams, or what?”

“Pretend everyone else is a hero,” said Dabi. “We’re the blue paint, Toga’s red, I think Twice is yellow? I kind of don’t give a shit who wins if it isn’t me. And today that includes you, so don’t fuck up or I roast you like a ham.”

“And just be a clone for the rest of your significantly shorter life?” asked Touya, sneering in spite of himself. It was difficult not to mirror Dabi’s haughty attitude; nearly as difficult as not rising to his bait.

“If this shit doesn’t wear off of you, someone’s gotta step up,” said Dabi, raising an eyebrow. “Not me, probably, but I’ll train the next guy.”

Touya glanced around cautiously, lowering his voice. “You mean Hawks?”

“Don’t say his name,” hissed Dabi. “You fucking idiot. You want to get us both axed before I even show you the ropes?”

“Just wondering how you’re going to integrate him into the League if you can’t even mention his name without an attempted murder,” said Touya.

“Who says I am?” snorted Dabi. “He’s fine as a source of information. As far as I’m concerned, he can stay that way forever. I don’t need a fucking hero breathing down my neck, even if he’s as slimy as he claims to be. Maybe especially.”

“What, you’d rather bring a ‘real’ hero on board than a fake with the same goals as us?” asked Touya, leaning around one of the crates. Technically this was a laser tag arena, but that just meant the terrain was easier to handle. “I’d think you’d jump at the chance to make an example of him.”

“I’d rather burn the fakes to cinders, actually. But this fake is useful.”

“And easy on the eyes?” Touya quipped, smirking.

Dabi frowned, apparently confused.

“He’s—he’s hot?” Touya tried, frowning back. What, he didn’t think so? It was like an indisputable fact that Takahiro was hot in any universe. There were polls.

“He’s a dude?” said Dabi, in the same tone.

Touya and his sort-of clone stared at one another in mutual confusion for an uncomfortably long time before Touya realized what was going on.

“Fucking hell, do you not know you’re gay?”

“Fuck off,” Dabi said immediately, reflexively. “Obviously I’m not gay.”

“Name one woman you’ve ever actually been attracted to.”

Dabi opened his mouth, raising his gun in a ‘hold on’ gesture.

Touya stared at him expectantly.

Dabi closed his mouth.

“It’s not—I’ve got other shit to think about than girls,” he said after a moment. “Or boys. I don’t have time for this shit. Let’s shoot some fuckasses.”

Touya rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. After all, he was looking forward to shooting some fuckasses. “You know hand signals?”

“You know I do,” Dabi grumbled. “The old bastard drilled them in by the time we were six.”

“Yeah, just checking you didn’t fry the part of our brain that processes memory.”

“Fuck that ‘our’ stuff. Maybe the body stuff, but my brain is mine. Especially when you’re missing half your memory anyway, you dumpster fire.”

Touya gave the hand signal to stop talking, flipping him off for good measure, and turned his attention back to the arena.

It wasn’t exactly quiet—there was obnoxious music blaring over the speakers—but there was no sign of any members of the League besides Dabi.

The arena was mostly cubes, fashioned into little hills and tunnels to provide cover, but there were a few free-standing walls here and there that glowed neon under the blacklights streaming down from the ceiling. A thin, somewhat pathetic wisp of fog was emanating from an overtaxed machine somewhere, probably to make the lasers look more impressive when the building was being used for its intended purpose.

Touya let himself relax a little as he watched the puffing fog curl around incongruous shapes, trying to fill corners its natural curves couldn’t quite reach. It was easily disturbed,  so the slightest movement would tip him off to an approach from that direction—and the stakes were low enough that he actually trusted Dabi to watch his back.

Oh god, was he actually teambuilding?

It was certainly easier to fall into combat scenarios than the fast-paced conversations the League apparently loved to have. He could barely keep up, and Dabi didn’t even seem interested in trying. He’d interject occassionally (usually with an insult) or respond if his name was mentioned, but otherwise he seemed to devote himself entirely to staring moodily into space.

Without warning, Dabi fired his gun straight up.

“What the hell—” Touya started to hiss, cutting himself off when Spinner crashed into the floor between them. “What.”

“Did nobody tell you he can stick to walls?” asked Dabi, nudging a wheezing Spinner with the muzzle of his gun. “Hey, asshole. You operating alone?”

“Fucking hate you,” said Spinner.

Dabi shot him in the gut. Touya stared at his counterpart with equal parts fascination and confusion. This guy really didn’t give a shit about his teammates at all, huh?

“M’on the green team with Mr. Compress, okay? Fuck, lay off, I’m out already.”

“You’re not out. You’re on the blue team, or I shoot you again.”

“What? That’s not how paintball fucking wor—fuck!  Why?” Spinner hissed, curling up when Dabi shot his crotch midsentence.

“Ryutou,” said Dabi. “Show him how we do things here.”

Touya made a face at him, adjusting his goggles. “Watch our perimeter.”

“Do I look as stupid as you?”

“Yeah bitch, we’ve got the same face.”

“It was a joke, bitch.”

“If you call that a joke—”

“Hey,” wheezed Spinner. “Can I fucking go now?”

Touya shot him in the throat. “Depends. You Team Blue yet?”

“God, fine. Gimme some ammo,” he coughed. “I can’t believe there are two of you. This is my hell.”

“Hero society is your hell,” said Touya, hoisting him up by the fake-flak jackets they’d grabbed from the equipment bar. “We’re your purgatory.”

“Does purgatory have fire?” asked Dabi, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t fucking know. I guess it would be more accurate to say we’re Abi, but like, I know how you feel about puns—”

“I want to kil you so badly.”

“You could just shoot him,” said Spinner, gesturing at the blue coating his own body. “It’s color-coded, so it’s not like he’d lose the—”

Touya dived behind him before he had even finished the thought, apparently just in the nick of time, as there were several splats followed by a bone-weary sigh from his impromptu meat shield.

“Now you’re getting it,” said Dabi. “You two stick together. I’m gonna hunt Shigaraki down like the rat he is before he gets the drop on us.”

“What, is he actually good at this shit? I thought he’d be a whiny little pissbaby about it.”

“Lizardbreath here taught himself how to drive by playing video games,” said Dabi (“Rude, “ said Spinner), “do you wanna bet on Shigaraki not learning anything from all those first person shooters?”

“Yeah, actually,” Touya muttered as Dabi slipped into the thin fog, “he’s not exactly the stealthy type.”

The last thing he saw of Dabi was a single finger, flipping him off.

“So hey,” said Spinner, as Touya stopped huddling behind him, “you wanna be on the green team?”

“What? The whole point of—”

“Okay, but hear me out, dude,” said Spinner, holding up his hands, “he clearly bugs the shit out of you as much as he does me, so like, if we join forces—us and Mr. Compress—”

“Tempting, but no,” Touya sighed. “If he gets shot in the wrong place, he’ll melt and we’ll have to do this whole song and dance with a fresh clone.”

Spinner groaned, loud enough that Touya almost missed the faint tapping sound of footsteps.

His gun was up and fired before he had even consciously processed its target, and Toga—or a clone of her—shrieked in dismay as she took a paintball to the sternum.

“That’s what you get for not wearing proper safety gear,” he chastised, tapping his own fake flak vest.

“Are you wearing goggles?” asked Toga, after she caught her breath.

“Yep,” said Touya, leveling the gun at her eyes.

She shrieked again, breaking off into giggles as she hit the deck and kicked his ankles out from under him, neatly dodging his retaliatory kick and slashing his chest with—something.

“Is that a paint brush?” he asked incredulously, rolling back into a crouch as she pulled out of kicking range.

“Tomura said no knives this time,” she pouted, hand flashing as she nailed Spinner in the arm with a second brush. “But guns are boring.”

“Hey, Toga, did you team up with Twice?” asked Spinner, shooting at her ankles like a fucking amateur. Toga danced her way around the pellets, leaving neat little footprints in the paint.

“This is what happens when you learn to fight from video games,” Touya muttered, shooting instead at her torso. “Stay focused, dipshit.”

“I’m gathring intel!” said Spinner indignantly, taking his eyes off Toga just long enough for her to swipe a line of red across his throat, smearing the still-wet blue into an ungainly purple.

“You’re out!” she said gleefully.

“Like you wouldn’t be out already, Da—Ryuutou’s shot you in the chest like three times,” he retorted. “Nobody told me we were allowed to do different weapons! If I had my sword I’d kick your ass.”

“If you had your sword I’d snap it in two,” said Touya. “None of you bastards have the slightest respect for safety, huh?”

“You’re one to talk, coal-for-brains,” rasped a new voice. Touya stiffened, just starting to turn when he was shot in the head point blank, tipping forward onto his side.

“Fuck,” he gasped, ears ringing. “Who the fuck…?”

“Me the fuck,” said Shigaraki Tomura, shooting Toga while she was squealing something about how cool ‘Ryuutou’ looked when he was injured, and Spinner while he was still pinned by Toga. “You’re the amnesiac bitch then, huh?”

“Where’s your dad, Boss Bitch?” Touya groaned, miming a hand clutching his own face. Shigaraki was divested of hands, instead wearing a baldric loaded with pistols. His hair was swept back out of his face for once, and at Touya’s question his chapped lips peeled back around a truly disturbing smile, contorting his expression. “Fuck, how do you look worse than I do?”

“Talent,” said Shigaraki, shooting him twice in the chest. “Where’s the clone bitch?”

“Twice, or Dabi?” asked Spinner, finally pushing Toga off of himself. “Dabi took off to hunt you down, I think. I haven’t seen Twice since I split with Mr. Compress.”

“Dabi,” Shigaraki clarified. “I ganked those morons early on. Got your clone too, Toga. Suck it.”

“Why did we invite him, again?” asked Touya, making a face.

“It was his idea,” said Toga, with a sharp grin. “And it’s so much more fun with Tomura-kun!”

“What, getting your ass kicked?”

Touya groaned, letting his head thunk against the floor at the sound of Dabi’s voice.

“Dabi,” said Shigaraki, drawing a pistol. “Surrender or die.”

“Well damn, I surrender,” said Dabi, raising his hands and emerging from the fog. “I don’t actually give a shit about this, you know.”

“I’m sure,” said Shigaraki. He narrowed his eyes, pistol pointed at Dabi’s heart.

“Aw, c’mon,” said Dabi, grinning lazily. “You don’t believe me? Think this is a trap?”

“Yes.”

“Guess that’s why you’re the boss. Now?”

“Now!” chorused Toga and Spinner, launching themselves at Shigaraki. He yelped as they both tackled him, his shot going wide of Dabi and leaving a white smear on the wall beside him. Touya blinked on the floor, watching as Toga gleefully painted the squirming leader of the League of Villain’s neck red.

“Was—did you plan that?” he asked Dabi, looking up at him.

“No,” said Dabi, hoisting him up by the back of his vest. “It was team building.”

“Did we win?” Spinner asked eagerly, dodging a gnarled swipe of Shigaraki’s hand that scored lines of decay into the cheap carpet instead.

“I’m the last man standing, right? So I won. Fuck you losers,” said Dabi, grinning a little wider.

“So like… now what?”

“Now we go find a bar,” said Dabi, turning on his heel. “I need a drink.”

Chapter Text

Dabi would never describe himself as a ‘morning person’. Part of it was probably an overcompensation from being forced to rise before dawn for a decade or so, but he liked to think the bulk of it was ingrained in his character. He hated mornings like most people hated stepping in dog shit. 

The sun was too bright, the air was too crisp, there were salarymen milling around like ants looking for food, clutching their phones and coffee. Everything was a cacophony of traffic and hurried conversations. The riotous colors of advertisements somehow bled into the dull gray and black of most business attire, reducing even a poster of All Might (which looked like a rainbow had thrown up on it) to background static. 

“It’s a beautiful day, huh?” Hawks asked brightly, taking another swig from his disgusting energy drink as he all but skipped down the sidewalk. 

Dabi grunted, slurping at one of the iced coffees Shinogu had so generously left in the fridge before he started this whole fucking disaster, and didn’t reply. 

“It’s so nice to work here in the city. I guess since I usually fly to the agency I don’t spend enough mornings out and about, you know? It’s fun to see everybody on their way to work, I should try to appreciate it more often. This was a good idea, Dabi!”

“I’m not flying anywhere at the ass crack of dawn,” he muttered. 

“You mentioned,” said Hawks, two of his feathers zipping out to open a pair of huge glass doors. Dabi squinted up at the building, past the reflection of the morning sun, just barely able to make out the sign. 

Hawks’s hero agency was different than his father’s. Endeavor’s offices were huge, opulent--it was like being in a courthouse and a police station simultaneously, except the place was crawling with sidekicks, like insects under a rock. 

The Hawks Agency was huge, yes, but Dabi felt more like he was walking into a gym as they walked down the foyer to a reception desk, Hawks waving to a few tour groups and smiling like an idiot. The ceilings were high, but instead of the open concept bullpen of Endeavor’s agency, Hawks’s had individual rooms for different--teams? Departments? The walls all seemed to be glass, at least in this reception area, so he could see clusters of desks and conference equipment. 

“Isn’t that a security risk?” he asked Hawks, nodding at someone doing a presentation in full view of the tours. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Probably. Those rooms are only for Level Zero clearance stuff, having a place to sit and do your paperwork, you know. We’ve got higher security rooms in the back. I’ll show you.” He waved a hand over his shoulder, turning away and moving around the receptionist with a cheerful greeting. A wall behind her desk stretched from floor to ceiling, blocking the immediate view of the agency’s interior, so that people had to choose either the right or left side. 

The right side had a gate system, which personally Dabi found stupid as shit since Hawks could just fly right over it, but he badged them in anyway. 

“Here,” he said, handing Dabi a card that said ‘Level Three Clearance’. “That’ll get you everywhere you’ll need to be.” 

Dabi snorted as he scanned it, stuffing it and the short lanyard into his pocket. “Not Full Access? I’m disappointed, Hawks.”

“You’re not licensed,” said Hawks. “That’s what we usually give the interns.”

“Fuck off,” said Dabi. “Do you even have interns in this world?” 

“Of course!” he answered brightly. “Only two right now. This was my first year with them, so I decided to start small. They’re almost able to keep up with me!” 

Dabi hummed vaguely as they wandered into a larger room, hallways diverging from either side, with a locker room on the far wall. The glass-and-gold aesthetic was traded in for light plaster and dark trim, the space broken up by bulletin boards full of news clippings and flyers. Hawks steered them to the right again, weaving around a few laughing sidekicks that called out greetings, ignoring the doors on either side. 

The hallway ended in another set of glass doors, beyond which Dabi could see an enormous gym. 

It was bigger than even his father’s bullpen, with towering ceilings and what seemed to be a three-dimensional obstacle course, doubtless for Hawks to practice flying. The entire room was covered in sterile blue safety mats, and there were pits of foam cubes by some vaulting equipment. It would’ve looked like the world’s most elaborate gymnastics facility if there weren’t dummies for target practice and rescue simulations. 

“When you said we’d be sparring, I was picturing like, a dojo,” said Dabi, raising an eyebrow as he climbed onto a vaulting horse. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s through here if you can stop climbing shit like a cat for five minutes,” said Hawks, rolling his eyes. 

“Just taking a better look,” said Dabi. “This stuff flame retardant?”

“As far as anything can be, around you. We have a pretty sophisticated sprinkler system, anyway.”

“So why not spar in here?” he asked, gesturing at one of the wider mats, with a clear circle printed on it to delineate a fighting ring. 

“This dojo is quirk-proof,” said Hawks. 

Dabi hopped off the vaulting horse.

Hawks tipped his head over his shoulder, his face half obscured by his wing. “I mean, no offense, but it’s easier to gauge where you’re at if you don’t have to work to keep your quirk down all the time. For you and me both; my feathers are practically impossible to suppress consciously.” 

“How is it even--a whole room?” 

“Sure,” said Hawks, turning back and opening up a door in the far wall, with more glass walls. Presumably for observation. It made Dabi feel like he was walking into an interrogation cell. “It’s the same stuff they use in quirk-suppressing cuffs, you know? We just lined the room with it. It’s more efficient than fitting everyone with a pair every time they want to practice hand-to-hand.”

“Mmm,” said Dabi, grimacing. Warily, he followed after Hawks, a little alarmed that he couldn’t notice anything different as he stepped into the room. He felt the same as he always did, until he tried to summon his quirk. “Why do you still have your wings?”

“What? Why wouldn’t I?” 

“They’re your quirk, dipshit,” he huffed. 

“Oh. Well, not really. I guess you could say I’m a blend of my parents’ quirks, too. My mom was a mutant type, classic wing quirk, but that kind of stuff isn’t affected by quirk suppressants. Maybe those quirk-erasing bullets would have erased them, but I dunno. They’re just part of my body, same as any mutant type.” 

“And your dad?” asked Dabi, watching him flex and stretch in preparation for their fight. 

Hawks laughed, a little bitterly. 

“Oh, did I touch a nerve?” asked Dabi, not bothering to conceal his smugness. “Whoops.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” said Hawks. He was still smiling, but his eyes seemed far away. “My dad was… I guess you’d call it a transformation type. You saw the 1-B kids at UA yesterday, right? His quirk was kind of like that Lizardy girl’s. He could take himself apart and send pieces of his body where they needed to go.”

“Like that fucking clown in One Piece?”

“No, like the convenient real world example I just gave you,” he huffed. 

“Sure, sure. So are you related to the lizard kid, or what?” 

“No,” said Hawks, pouting at him a little. “Splitter quirks aren’t exactly uncommon. There are plenty of heteromorphic types that gain autotomic abilities associated with the species they resemble.” 

“So, lizards,” said Dabi, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a bird-lizard.”

“Not just lizards! Spiders and bees and like, starfish, too. There’s even a kind of mouse that can do it.” 

“What? No there’s fucking not.”

“There is! There’s a bunch of them actually, the uh, the spiny mice. I don’t think it’s full limbs, but they can regenerate skin and like, ears.”

Dabi’s hand went instinctively to his earlobe, still a little disturbed that Shinogu had them at all. “Newsflash, asshole. All mammals can regrow skin, it’s called a scar,” he said, sneering.

Hawks shook his head. “No, no, there’s a difference--it’s a whole separate process, it’s healing versus regeneration. Like when they regrow their ears it’s not just scarring over, it’s got the cartilage and the hair follicles and everything.” 

“Hm,” said Dabi, letting his hand drop to the eerily smooth skin of his neck instead. Hair follicles. Actual skin instead of the charred remnants of an amateur escharotomy stapled to ‘healthy’ tissue. “Wonder if that’s what Nedzu is.” 

“The principal?” asked Hawks, raising an eyebrow. He stripped out of his sweatshirt, wriggling his wings through the slits, and got into a fighting stance. “No clue. You ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” said Dabi, matching him. “So, your old man. He a sponge, or a starfish?” 

“Neither, neither,” said Hawks, lunging for him. It was an obvious feint, wide of his right side then jabbing in close at his left. “I told you, splitter quirks are common. Even without mutations.” 

Instead of blocking, or dodging, Dabi jabbed Hawks in the soft, meaty part of his inner elbow, displacing the blow and eliciting an indignant squawk. “So you just happened to be born of two common, weak quirks, and they combined perfectly on the first try,” he said dryly. 

“I wouldn’t say perfectly,” said Hawks, shrugging. He paced a slow circle around Dabi, looking for an opening  he wouldn’t find. “I can’t split my limbs after all--just my feathers. Besides, it’s normal, isn’t it? Most people get their quirks from one or both of their parents. You and your siblings did.”  

“Yeah, but only Shouto’s is--” Dabi cut himself off as Hawks came at him with a roundhouse kick, wings flapping in his face. He threw himself backwards just in time, the air whizzing past his nose.

“That’s ‘cause Endeavor’s a fucking idiot,” Hawks said plainly, leveling him with a flat stare. You all got mixed quirks. He decided to play at eugenics with two wildly opposing forces and never once considered that it might have drawbacks. Half Cold Half Hot is only ‘better’ than Cremation because he never gave you support. I’m not exactly thankful for what the Hero Commission did to me, but they at least… like, if we’re plants, they gave me a trellis and pruned me, sometimes to excess, but Endeavor just…”

“Set the bush on fire?” he suggested.

“Yeah,” said Hawks. “Slash-and-burn only works if you’re willing to nurture shit.” 

“I mean, granted I don’t know much about farming, but I don’t think that’s uh… accurate,” said Dabi, launching himself at Hawks’s middle. He was turned deftly aside, as he’d expected, hands latching onto one of his wings. Hawks yelped as he began to twist the feathers under his hand, yanking at the joints to see if he could approximate some kind of judo hold. 

“Let go!” squawked Hawks, curling the wing in tight so he could pivot and grab Dabi in turn. His wings were surprisingly strong--it felt like trying to arm wrestle a crocodile into submission. He wrapped his arms around Dabi, one under his arm and one around his neck, locking his hands together in front of his chest and heaving. 

Dabi’s grip was jarred loose, and he found himself sailing through the air, landing with a heavy thud on the safety mats. 

“Fucker,” he said with no real venom, scowling up at the ceiling. “Thought you were supposed to be a hero?” 

“You’re lucky I didn’t punch you in the throat,” said Hawks, squatting next to his head. “Or stab you in the arm, or scald you with boiling water.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dabi, rolling his eyes. “I get it, alright? I went too far. I still say they had it coming. Bunch of trash pretending they stand for something, playing at being villains because they think it’s easy.” 

“They’re not trash just because they couldn’t beat you,” said Hawks, holding out a hand to help him up. “Even without Touya’s experience, you’re ridiculously strong. Most people wouldn’t stand a chance against a villain like you.”

Dabi ignored the proffered hand, sitting up on his own. “A villain like me?” he echoed, carefully neutral. 

“Oh--a vigilante, sorry,” said Hawks, laughing easily. “Mixed up my words since we were talking about villains. Are you that rough on them back home?” 

Dabi squinted up at him for a moment, but it was just that same unguarded stare as always. “I guess,” he said after a moment, hauling himself to his feet. “I don’t usually have that much trouble. I don’t find myself in a lot of situations where people can get the drop on me.” 

“More a stalk and ambush type, huh? That’s probably smart,” said Hawks, nodding approvingly. “I bet it helps with the kickback from your quirk too, since you don’t have to use it as much. Touya’s always chasing after people, but he’s not built for long, drawn out battles, you know? He mostly uses his quirk to cut off escape routes, block projectiles, that kind of thing.” 

“That’s not how the old man taught us,” said Dabi, making a face. 

“Well sure, it’s better. Endeavor’s quirk is weak sauce, he can use it all day long just to show off. You and Touya use it for shit that actually matters.” 

Dabi looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers as he tried and failed to summon his flames. Shinogu might use their shared quirk for bullshit reasons, but...

“I sure do,” he said smoothly, getting back into sparring stance.