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Dabi ducked low as the lowlife that had been attempting to mug him threw a left hook, gritting his teeth as he felt his skin pull taut over his shoulder. At least he was used to that type of pain by now, it came and went as easy as breathing – which given the damage to his lungs from the smoke he had inhaled, also fucked with him.
He took a few steps back as his opponent recovered from his stumbling attempt at a punch. The guy looked weak, emaciated even and it showed in how crap he was at fighting. He almost felt bad for him, if he hadn’t just been trying to steal the little money he had. But since he had, he was more than happy to laugh at his pathetic attempts at a fight.
The alley they were brawling in wasn’t big, he’d only stepped around there to catch a smoke break – Kurogiri flipped his lid if he caught any of them smoking in the bar which Dabi always thought was an overreaction but couldn’t be bothered to fight with the man every time he wanted to de-stress.
Anyway, it was usually nice to have a much-needed break from the ear-splitting chaos that the bar contained 50% of the time. The other half of the time there was so much tension and conflict bubbling just beneath the surface that it felt like wading through honey with how thick it was. Either way, an environment which could only be bearable for a few hours at a time before driving him insane (or more insane some people would argue.) And on this occasion, it had been the ear-splitting chaos of Twice and Toga making the insufferable choice of agreeing to place some game with Shigaraki.
Then this guy showed up out of the blue and ruined his pleasant experience of poisoning his lungs, and ground his half-smoked cigarette into the ground as he threatened Dabi for money. So, sympathy was hard to muster, and he didn’t particularly care about trying to. He’d have to buy a whole new carton or bum some off someone else – that was his last one. He’d been saving that smoke all day.
Yeah, this guy deserved to be crisped after that slight.
Dabi cracked his neck and flared his fingers out. Letting that feeling of gasoline in his veins settle into his fingertips as cerulean flames begun to crawl up his hands. He let the feeling of searing heat begin to settle into his mind like an old friend. Or a squatter he couldn’t get rid of as his skin began to scream its objections back at him in those places that he still had nerve endings to scream at him.
His opponents' eyes widened, seeing cremations power come to life. He always liked that look in his victims' eyes, the fear and realisation of his power. The recognition that he wasn’t just some inferior or second thought – not a spare heir like Endeavor liked to consider him. That look told him all he needed to about how powerful he was, more than he ever needed from Endeavor. He felt his lips tug into a tight grimace at the thought of the man, but his expression must have been effective as intimidation on accident because the guy looked like he was about to shit himself even more.
Good. Cremation flared around his wrists as he raised his hands into the air. The man’s face contorted – for a moment he thought it was into a scream, but no sound came out. His jaw unhinged oddly and something came flying out of the back of his throat, nailing him in the face.
Disgusted, he glared back at the guy.
“Spitting far huh? Good for you’ve just pissed me off more – I was gonna be nice and kill you quickly but now I think I might let you burn awhile.”
He took a step forward – but suddenly he did not feel the hard concrete beneath his feet, no gravel, dirt and trash. He realised at the same time, he did not feel his shoes, the texture of the ground crowded up against the sole of his feet with all too much clarity. He glanced down and saw not the alley as he expected, but small bare feet on the firm woven ground of tatami mats. His feet.
His vision swam, tears – or from fear he wasn’t sure. He raised his head, forcing himself to ignore those wisps of white hair which hung in front of his eyes, and the heat radiating from in front of him. And that orange burning light which cast itself across the room towards him, engulfing him in the light of his father's fire. The burn on his skin felt worse than anything his own flames did to him.
His father. He hadn’t seen the man in years on anything more than a TV screen. All too far away and yet ever present and inescapable.
He saw the man every day, he corrected himself, working him to the bone in that room in that house which he had left all those years ago. How could he forget that awful intensity.
No – he still lived there. And now he looked up to see what stood before him fully in that house which was not a home.
Enji Todoroki stood, arms crossed and blue eyes staring unmoving at him.
He was scared – so scared, his arms hurt and his legs hurt from overusing his quirk and he could feel his skin searing. He knew that feeling and feared to look down at that delicate flesh on his wrists, knowing he would see it charring under his own power.
Touya needed to prove himself – he was going to be a better hero than anyone had ever seen. He would surpass his father, and All Might. He was the perfect successor, he knew that – why did it still feel like father didn’t see him for how much potential he had?
“Again.” Endeavor’s voice boomed, a tidal wave over the room washing away any other train of thought he had aside from the man. He felt his breathing quicken and tried to control himself, it would only get him punished if father noticed.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Just like mother showed him. He tried to take in air through his nose but it felt like the air was too thin, or his airways too small to take enough in.
His father took a step towards him, his flames brightening with sickening power.
“AGAIN TOUYA.”
Touya felt his lip tremble. His arms hurt so much – but he could not tell father that his skin was sloughing off with every inch of fire he produced or he would be weak. Too weak to be Endeavour’s successor.
Touya bit back a scream as he forced the flames to erupt from his skin, squeezing his eyes shut. The heat felt sluggish, not the warm rush he usually felt when he created his fire, like there was thick liquid running through his body, forced through the pinhole openings of his capillaries and cascading through his arteries.
He pushed nevertheless, feeling the flames erupt from his hands, fingers, up his arms and along his back. His face even lighting up in the onslaught of heat. He felt like his whole body was creaking like a pipe under pressure, ready to burst.
When he opened his eyes, watering and streaming from the thick black smoke; he saw vivid blue fire. Eating at the tatami mats, crawling up the walls of the training room. Attacking his father like a ravenous animal, each lick of the tongues of blaze charring his flesh.
Had he done that? Was this his fire which ate and destroyed. He couldn’t make blue flames, even father could only use blue flames sometimes. But no – he could see it, still rolling off his skin in waves and leaving his flesh boiling under the heat.
He screamed, screamed and yelled and cried until he choked on the black smoke in his lungs.
He watched his father begin to crumble. His hands falling into ash. As he cried he wasn’t sure if it was joy or pain.
“-abi? DABI?”
A voice cut through that heavy blanket which had settled on his mind. He tried to ignore it, tried to tame the fire and bring it back under his command. He crawled over the wreckage of the ground and grabbed at the flames trying to catch them as if he was digging in the dirt, his hands coming back with nothing but ash and burns.
“-Dead Dabi. He's dead-”
Touya looked around at last. The only thing before him was a hulking shadow, like a creature made of ash, nightmares and death. The thing bent down towards him as he could do nothing but freeze as it grabbed his wrist and raised its other hand towards his face.
Maybe it would be better like this, maybe he deserved to die. It would be easier than telling his family – mother, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shoto wouldn’t even be old enough to comprehend what he’d done. He would grow up hating him for what he’d done.
The beast rubbed its hand across his face, soft, gentle even. The smoke around him began to clear, the choking blackness lightening into a greyish smog and finally only wisps of smoke drifting off into the air.
Touya blinked slowly and felt a trickle of something red and thick slide down his cheek. Dabi blinked slowly and looked up at the darkness.
Kurogiri crouched in front of him. Emotion was always hard to portray with eyes that drifted away with the rest of his smoke before they had time to crease in joy or narrow in fear, but he could feel palpable concern written in the purple mists.
He looked around, slowly, reorienting himself with his surroundings. He’d charred the walls of this alley black, and the man who he had been fighting – not Endeavor- lay on the ground. Little more than a blackened skeleton.
It took his brain only a few seconds to figure what had happened. Some sort of hallucinogen in the man’s quirk had warped his surroundings into something he feared. He hadn’t been fighting Endeavour, just some thief.
“Thanks.” He rasped, his voice more strained than ever. Kurogiri’s hand gently reached towards him again, touching against his cheek with cotton softness.
He tried not to lean into the touch, as the memories of Endeavour’s face turning to ash and melting before him played back in his mind. Fake memories, which still lodged themselves comfortably in those recesses of his mind where he would never be able to remove it. He hated the man; with his entire heart and soul he despised him.
Yet something about the way he had seen it through the eyes of a child, felt his innocence burning away from him all over again – it gripped him like a vice. He still felt himself trembling.
“You are safe now, Dabi.”
Dabi jerked his head away, maybe only to prove something that he didn’t even know what. Leaning on Kurogiri’s shoulder to right himself as he got to his feet. Thanking for once, that his tear ducts were melted shut even as Kurogiri said nothing more. Only laying a hand on his shoulder with a weight which felt more comforting than it should have.
He did not move, and neither did Dabi. Just for a moment, as he let his breathing steady out into a calmer pace.
“Stupid fear quirks.” He muttered, pressing his head into the formless mist. Cooling the heat still brimming from his face. Comforting his still racing thoughts.