Chapter Text
Dabi: Age 15
Dabi scratched his nose as he stared up at the rapidly darkening sky. People gave him dirty looks as they edged around him, aiming to hurry home before night came in proper. Perks of living in Kamino's seedier part of town. The area was basically hero-free; no one bothered patrolling where their sponsors couldn’t sell, especially at night, when their “good” deeds would go unseen and unpraised. He tapped his unlit cigarette idly against the wall, bored as he waited for Mieu to call him back.
A thread of nausea reminded him why, exactly, he had been desperate enough to call a different broker’s number: he was starving. Giran hadn’t needed him again after the last arson job, leaving Dabi high and dry and without any income. That had been over two weeks ago, and Dabi was now desperate, as he’d stretched his already meagre backup cash as far as possible. Desperate enough, apparently, to consider the services of someone like Mieu.
A high-pitched laugh drew his attention across the street, where a scantily clad group leaned towards a car idling alongside them. A pink-eared girl who couldn’t be older than seventeen climbed into the car with a careless wave to the others before the car sped off. Dabi chewed his lip nervously. This time, the twist of nausea in his stomach wasn’t due to hunger.
Seeing them crowded there, dressed in aesthetically ripped shirts and tight skirts, brought back unpleasant memories of his first few attempts, back when he didn’t understand quite what would be taken from him. Rough touches and bruising grips, touching always touching—he shook himself to clear his head. At least he had his fire to protect himself—a lot of workers weren’t so lucky, either saddled with useless quirks or quirkless entirely. People, he thought, didn’t exactly join sex work if society treated them kindly. Unfortunately, his scars and piercings gave men the wrong idea, that Dabi’d be willing to bend to the psychos and perverts and fulfil their dirty fantasies.
It had been after one particularly bad encounter, one that had ended with a burnt-out husk at his feet and a choking cough in his throat, that he’d been advised to reach out to someone like Mieu. The boy, who’d winked and told Dabi to “call me Jade,” had apparently hurried to follow him into the alley after hearing from the others that Dabi had brought the man—a true pervert who’d been blacklisted by all the working “girls” in the area—alone back with him.
Jade had encouraged him to burn the corpse to ashes and rubbed his back when he’d turned to hurl what little he’d eaten yesterday, not from the sight but from the bitter taste in his mouth. Dabi hadn’t been treated that kindly since he’d left Fuyumi’s gentle warmth behind, and as he chewed the offered minty gum, he reflected on how fucked his life had become—that a stranger’s kindness affected him more than digging his hands into another person’s face and burning, burning, burning.
Jade, who’d moved to sit on the dumpster and chattered away happily from his seat, provided a nice backing track for Dabi’s mini breakdown. He figured Jade had also been a little confused about how he’d ended up here, in this dank alley, offering a supporting shoulder to a kid who was more burnt skin than healthy skin.
When Dabi had made a self-deprecating joke to this effect, Jade had shot him a stern look.
“Listen, kid,” he’d said, ignoring Dabi’s resultant cry of “Not a kid!” to continue in a serious tone whose effect was only slightly ruined by how his freckles softened his face.
“You need to get your shit sorted. The girls on seventh won’t let you mooch off their clients much longer, and that baby face won’t save you. Hell, some of them are younger than you!” Jade exclaimed, kicking his ratty sneakers against the bin to emphasise his points.
“It’s ruthless out there, and the supposed camaraderie you see on soapies and cop shows between people like us is only true for those under the same pimps or who’ve been working longer than a few nights.” Jade stared at him again, making sure he was listening.
“This area, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is run by petty gangs, and although you’ve got your little fire trick going for you, you’re putting yourself in more danger by working without a proper backer. This clearly isn’t a one-off for you, so you need to find someone to support—” Here he’d made bunny quotes around the word, like a freak—“you or someone else is going to take offence and make your life real hard, real quick.”
Dabi had idly wondered if he should have been more alarmed than he was that Jade apparently knew enough about him that he’d recognised Dabi’s quirk. Had Dabi really been that careless?
“Look, you seem like a good kid,” Jade had continued, ignoring the irony of his choice of words considering the ashy marks on the floor. “So make some good choices, yeah?”
Dabi had only been able to nod, overwhelmed. Taking pity on him, Jade had jumped off the bin and shuffled closer to pull him into a tight hug. Dabi had frozen, taking a startled breath of Jade’s scent—menthol cigarettes and cheap perfume—before hugging him back, clutching tightly at the other boy’s cropped tank. Seeming to realise that Dabi was easily overwhelmed, Jade had pulled back before Dabi could overthink the affection.
He’d then bullied Dabi into adding Jade’s number to his ancient burner phone, saving it under a simple :). Dabi was sure Jade had known he was lying when he’d promised to call if he ever ran into trouble, but he took mercy on him and didn’t call him out for it. Instead, Jade had rattled off another number for Dabi, Mieu’s, and told him to call them if Dabi intended to continue “working the streets,” as Jade had put it with another corny wink, promising that Mieu was “good people” and “one of us.”
Looking Dabi over, Jade had suddenly become nervous, fidgeting as he opened and closed his mouth uselessly while stuttering, “Do you want to—I mean, stay—yeah, probably not—I’ll just—" before losing confidence and offering a lopsided shrug. If Dabi had been less tired, he might have bothered to press Jade to reveal what he’d meant to ask, but instead he just watched as, just as quickly as he’d arrived, Jade disappeared back into the night with one last jaunty wave. He ruthlessly squashed the regret that thinking back on that moment caused.
Dabi pushed the memory of the encounter from his mind, knowing that focusing on the what-ifs of Jade’s stuttered words would only fill him with bitterness. Instead, he continued tapping his unlit cigarette to a half-remembered tune.
Dabi had never intended to call Mieu, since soon after, Giran had phoned him back with enough work to keep him going for the next few months. But again, jobs had dried up, leaving Dabi desperate and waiting for Mieu, “not a pimp, I swear,” to call him back. Fuck, if only Endeavour could see his perfect son now: a petty criminal turned whore. Dabi promised himself it would only be until Giran called him back with more work. He sounded uncertain even to himself.
Fuck, Jade had been right. He really didn’t have his shit sorted. His mouth twisted bitterly as he scuffed his boots on the floor in restless agitation.
A round of cooing cheers drew his attention back across the street as a young boy approached the group of workers lingering on the corner. The boy’s floppy brown hair hid his face as he bent down and pulled what looked like a lunchbox from his ratty backpack. He unzipped it and stood back up, handing out the contents to the workers, who pinched his cheeks and ruffled his hair in thanks. Even from here, Dabi could see the look of intense concentration on the kid’s face as he ensured each worker got their fair share.
Dabi realised the kid looked the same age as Shouto would be now. He didn’t examine too closely the strange feeling that swelled in him at the thought, nor the relief he felt when he saw the boy linger only a moment before hurrying on.
Dabi chewed his cheek in jealous hunger as he watched one of the girls unwrap a sandwich and scoff it down in two huge bites. He finally lit his cigarette with his pinkie—his last one—to “fill” his stomach, another tip Jade had given him. The sound of his phone finally ringing pulled his attention away from the corner. He took it out, and with a shaky breath, answered without looking, opening with a rough, “It’s Dabi,” before coughing to clear his suddenly dry throat. A great first impression, he was sure.
The caller quickly identified themselves as Mieu before bulldozing over Dabi’s stuttered greeting to lay out the terms of becoming one of their “working girls.” Stick to your designated “corner,” pay a “meagre” ¥4700 a month with a month’s notice before leaving, get regular check-ups at a free clinic and send the results to them (at your own expense, of course), uphold a standard befitting Mieu’s workers, and answer anytime Mieu calls.
In return, Mieu promised a degree of safety unheard of on the streets, as they ruled over lower Kamino’s sex trade with an iron fist. Dabi drew a steadying breath from his cig. Before he agreed, he was quick to tell them he only intended to work temporarily in the trade, just until his main broker came back to him with better-paying jobs. The sudden, surprising pity in Mieu’s voice told Dabi they didn’t believe him. Well, fuck them, then. Despite the steadily growing pit in his stomach, Dabi agreed to their terms, Mieu hanging up with a sickly-sweet promise to text him the details of where he’d work once the call ended.
Dabi swore when he realised he’d let his cigarette burn down, his ruined fingers too numb to feel the pain of the embers burning him. He dropped it and ground it beneath his boot with irritation. He stared blankly at the many neon signs which had come on as night fully settled, shining brightly in place of the stars. A buzz let him know Mieu had texted him.
Corner of 8th and 9th
See u at month’s end with cash fee
<3
Fuck it. Dabi pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, and with one last look at the group across from him, Jade’s group, he hurried off, again lacking the courage to approach the boy who’d been kind enough to care about him.