Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Absolute darkness envelops him, blocking out the sight of his classmates’ desperate faces. The moment the light goes out seems to go on forever, arresting the breath in his lungs as freezing cold sweat trails down his spine under his t-shirt. He can feel his pulse pounding against the fingers wrapped around his neck and the heat coming off the villain at his back, reminding him why he hasn’t twitched so much as a finger yet. Then the blackness around them gives way to light and air again.

Pressure on his neck makes him shuffle forward, and the flame villain moves forward in step, ushering him into what looks like a dimly lit bar.

There is a cacophony of noise around him - villains congratulating each other, asking where others of their party were, cursing injuries, but the blood pounding in his head is drowning it out. That and the inner monologue of acute fury.

Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.

The blue-haired guy - Shigaraki? - turns to face them from his bar stool and holds up one of his (many) hands for the others to shut up. Which they do, eventually.

“Thanks for joining us this fine evening,” Shigaraki says, probably hoping to sound magnanimous or some shit. All Katsuki can focus on is the fact that the hand somehow doesn’t muffle his words. Fucking unfortunate.

Those hot fingers flex on his neck again, directing his gaze down at the chair a couple steps in front of him. Jaw clenching, he takes the unspoken command and moves forward to sit. The lizard-looking fucker with the absolutely ridiculous knife-sword then comes forward with a set of quirk suppressors, which are clapped over his hands with very little fanfare. Same goes for the leather straps and restraints they pull across his chest, legs, and arms.

It’s the constant presence of the strong hand on his neck that keeps him from utilizing the sweat gathered on his palms. And kidnapping 101.

"If the situation is not immediately hostile, keep it that way to the best of your ability. Remember your ABC’s! Assess, breathe, and cooperate."

So what if Alien Girl said my version would be “attack, berate, and combust”? I can follow instructions.

His (mildly hysteric) thoughts derail slightly when the hand vanishes from his neck. Adrenaline courses through him as relief and terror and pure, undiluted pissed off energy flood his system, almost making him release a freaked out laugh. Instead, he lifts his red eyes up to meet Shigaraki’s as the flame villain - who was that guy? - wanders over to the corner.

“So, let’s get down to business, wannabe hero Bakugou Katsuki,” Shigaraki continues from his seat at the bar. “Won’t you join me?”

What.

There is a beat of silence. Then Katsuki’s tenuous composure snaps.

“You can shove your offer and go to hell!”

He’s too hot and too cold at the same time - was this how half and half bastard felt all the time? what the fuck - and hyper aware of the stiff leather and hard wood digging into his legs, arms and chest; of the sweat making his shirt stick to his back; of the indescribable dryness in his mouth, like he’s been chewing on chalk for an hour. Of course he notices the moment Shigaraki’s expression goes from laid back to lethal.

“Now, don’t be like that,” the villain says amiably, tone not matching his eyes at all. “We’re just here to have a friendly chat.” The other villains in the room shift, almost imperceptibly.

“We’ve got a bet going, you know,” Shigaraki continues. “On how long it will take for the UA teachers to start their groveling to the masses for all of this. You know what the public was like after our encounter at USJ? They blamed the heroes then, too.” The villain takes a moment to gesture around the room at the others gathered there. “Notice they never give us any grief. We’re just doing what’s in our nature. Taking what we want, doing what we want. Winning. And I know how much you love winning.”

Most of Shigaraki’s face is covered, but Katsuki can tell there’s a nasty smile happening from his tone. It makes him snort. And open his big, stupid mouth.

“Is that what you call the shit show at USJ? Because I call that getting your asses handed to you.” He grins, “Heh, ‘handed’.”

He sees the spasm that shoots through the villain’s two normal hands and feels his heart rate pick up in response.

Shit, shit, shut up, Katsuki.

His stomach lurches as Shigaraki casually sets a hand on the bar top - which immediately starts decomposing - and pushes himself off his stool. Each step the villain takes is countered by three hammers of Katsuki’s pulse, and then the villain is crouching down to eye level.

Hyper awareness zeroes down to the man in front of him as he removes the hand from his face.

Chapped lips spread into an ominous grin. “Not our finest hour, probably,” the villain agrees, scratching his neck absently. “We hadn’t counted on the kids being a problem - you guys are probably the only reason the “pro heroes” survived. Sorry for underestimating you, I guess.

“But see, that’s why we wanted to recruit you. You’ve got a destructive quirk. A bunch of us here knows what that feels like. You had people booing you in the stands for going all out against that little gravity girl. What happens the first time you go all out against a villain and someone gets hurt?” He lets that hang for just a second, rocking back on his heels. “You can’t really think you’ll be content with all the suffocating rules, regulations, and squeamishness of hero society, you know?”

Katsuki’s teeth grind at the underlying smugness and certainty in the guy’s voice.

“You watch who ends up taking the worst shit from tonight’s stunt,” the villain says, nodding toward the tv playing in the background, “I guarantee you it won’t be us. And I figure, if you’re going to be treated like a villain anyway, why worry about stepping on toes and fragile egos? Why take the blame when you can do what you want, your way.” He gestures toward the rest of the villains occupying the room. “That’s what we’re all doing here. Going all out for our own goals.”

Katsuki just barely manages to keep from pointing out that a bunch of adults going all out should be able to handle a bunch of kids, and yet. Something in his expression must show though, because Shigaraki sighs and stands up.

“Think on it, Bakugou, and watch the news while you’re at it. I think you’ll find it very… educational.” He throws a glance at the flame quirk guy, “Dabi. Untie him.”

Katsuki’s heart leaps. Holy shit, can it be that easy…?

“He’ll go wild, for sure,” says flame quirk - Dabi? - entirely unimpressed. Katsuki’s eye twitches.

“It’s okay,” Shigaraki says, all smug-sounding again. “We gotta treat him as an equal. We’re scouting him, after all. And before he throws a tantrum, our little U.A. student should be smart enough to know he can’t win. Not alone.”

The absolute asshole.

“Yeah? Bring a few more guys and it might actually be a fair fucking fight.”

Aaaggghhh, fuck.

Shigaraki cocks his head, scratching at his neck, “Oh?”

Fuck, fuck, let them at least get the fucking cuffs off before you run your damned mouth you idiot.

Katsuki swallows despite his dry mouth, and forces a smirk, “Can’t talk big about always winning and then tell me I can’t. Sends mixed messages, you know?”

Shigaraki’s smile is no less fake, “I suppose not. Still wouldn’t push your luck tonight, if I were you.”

Dabi huffs loudly, “Twice, you untie him.”

“Huh, me?” cries the guy in the black body suit. Then in a completely different tone, “No thanks.”

Dabi’s glare is impressive. The body suit guy - Twice - moves to do as he was told.

Katsuki holds his breath as the straps are removed. The guy seems kind of spastic, switching between one strap and another without finishing unbuckling and then going back to release another. Katsuki almost screams at him to hurry the fuck up before the last buckle around his ankles comes undone.

When Twice reaches for the suppressants though, Shigaraki holds out a hand to stop him. The other hand shoots forward and grips Katsuki’s wrists where they disappear into the cuffs.

One finger is barely suspended above his skin.

Pressure under his chin drags his eyes away from that awful inch that stands between him and gruesome amputation. Shigaraki has the index of his other hand hooked under his jaw - another silent threat.

The threat in his eyes, however, is loud and clear.

“You’re not planning on sitting quietly, are you?”

Katsuki’s nostrils flare, trying very hard to pull in air without opening his mouth. Without getting any closer to those blight-ridden fucking hands.

That’s when he sees that the lethal edge in the villain’s eyes has never left.

Fuck, he wants to kill me.

Fear raises the hair on his scalp. Especially as Shigaraki slips the hand holding his chin around his shoulder in a facsimile of companionship.

“Such a shame,” the villain mutters. “You could have been really useful to our cause. I guess we’ll just see if we can make you useful in other ways.” He doesn't look like this bothers him at all. In fact, he looks delighted that Katsuki isn't planning to cooperate.

“The hell are you talking about?” Katsuki hisses, forcing the question past clenched teeth. His thoughts were racing.

Dammit, I thought - they put in so much fucking effort - why the fuck would they - they could have just killed me at the fucking camp!

Shigaraki leans in close, his elbow digging into Katsuki’s deltoid, and his hand settling between Katsuki's shoulder blades, pinning the sweaty t-shirt to the teen’s back. Katsuki swallows, feeling four of the fingers making direct contact. With the hand around his wrists and the hand at his back, he lets the ideas of biting, spitting, head butting fall away. They’d just get him dead faster.

(Because, while he might not know everything about Shigaraki’s quirk, he knows that the villain had only touched Aizawa-sensei for roughly a second.)

“Do you know why I really picked you?” Shigaraki asks, breaking Katsuki’s thoughts. The villain pushes their foreheads together, invading his space further, as if daring him to react.

Katsuki meets red eyes with his jaw clenched. Shigaraki grins.

“My sensei told me there were very few ways we could hurt All Might. He’d already killed All Might’s most precious person, and All Might doesn’t have a family, to our knowledge. Random citizens are common enough casualties that even the number one hero wouldn’t be broken up about them for too long….” The villain trails off, and his eyes seem to harden.

Katsuki’s heart jolts, All Might lost someone..? Then, What "sensei?" Who is he talking about?"

Shigaraki shakes his head, “But then All Might decided to become a teacher, and he already proved at USJ that targeting his students caused him quite a bit of pain."

"So, I knew how I wanted to do this - grab a kid while All Might was napping. Make him watch as we either converted or killed them. Wouldn’t really matter which, at the end of the day - it’d still crush him.”

“What is your fucking deal with All Might?” Katsuki grits out, red at the edges of his vision. To be used against All Might is almost more than his self-control can manage. It gets harder when Shigaraki snorts.

“Did you know it was your friend Midoriya who made me realize I wanted to focus on All Might?” The villain shakes his head, “Ah, but that’s a story for another time.”

Shigaraki’s clammy grip readjusts on Katsuki’s wrists, dipping the hovering finger closer to vulnerable skin.

“I had to pick a student. My sensei’s people did some digging for me, and most of ‘em were pretty boring,” Shigaraki smirks. “But then there was you.”

Katsuki’s eyes snap up from watching the finger to the uncomfortably close gaze of the villain.

“Angry and wanting to be number one at any cost,” Shigaraki continues, “Those were some good traits in your favor. But it took a little more prying for us to get the whole story of the little bully kid. Poor Midoriya, huh?”

How the fuck did they - ? They picked me for that? Katsuki’s teeth hurt with how hard he’s clenching them. Then his stomach drops, remembering Deku's warning transmitted through Mandalay.

“They’re after a student named ‘Kacchan’!”

Shigaraki seems not to mind Katsuki’s world being shaken to its roots. The villain blithely continues his monologue, “Sensei thought it’d be a great starting point. Get you in, remind you of your roots. Show you how much you could do without getting in trouble for it. Hell, someone could be walking too slow and you could off ‘em, just like that.”

The villain makes a great show of looking around at the others in the room before crowding Katsuki’s space again with a frighteningly cold smile, “We could really use that kind of killer instinct around here, you know.”

Katsuki takes that brief moment to glance at the other villains gathered in the room. Other than the flame quirk one glancing over from his new spot at the bar, most of the others seemed to be content watching the little confrontation unfold. A few were even suppressing yawns from the couch. No help from them, then.

Not that he needed help, but he really didn’t like that smile and the murderous look still hadn’t left the villain’s eyes.

“You’re so quiet, Bakugou. No comment?”

Assess, breathe, cooperate. Don’t think it’s going to cut it this time. Still… keep him talking as long as possible.

“If you think I’ve got what it take to make a good scumbag, what makes you think All Might would come after me?”

The villain laughs. “Man, I’m going to enjoy this. You’ve met All Might, right? Even if it wouldn’t ruin his image to leave a kid to villains, he’d do it anyway. It’s the reason I hate him so much. He thinks he can save anyone - even a villain - with a fucking smile on his face.”

Katsuki’s mouth gets away from him, “Hah? That’s what this is about? Did All Might not fucking come running to save your ass? And - what, you’re holding a grudge against him? Get fucking real - he’s just one guy.”

All signs of laughter disappear from the villain’s expression and alarms go off in Katsuki’s brain. He suppresses a grunt as the villain leans in, elbow digging deeper into his shoulder.

“You know what? I’m going to be honest with you, Bakugou Katsuki,” Shigaraki says slowly. “When sensei talked about you joining us, it just didn’t sit right. Here’s this arrogant kid who’s been given everything on a platter, and we’re just there to sweeten the pot for him? Forget that.”

The villain’s smile returns, and it’s even more ugly and unforgiving. Katsuki finds himself unable to speak. Because if it’s not conversion Shigaraki’s going for, then it’s…

“So, yeah, I told everyone we were here to recruit you. But like I said, there are two ways to hurt All Might. It’s just a pity you’re so unlikable.”

And Katsuki feels all five fingers at his back dig in.

Chapter Text

Two minutes earlier

Dabi watches with an air of absolute apathy as Shigaraki slings his arm around the kid’s shoulder, while beside him, Toga digs out her phone and open up the video app, giggling to herself. As if she’s going to get some juicy material out of this. Like Kurogiri will let it get that out of hand.

Hah, out of hand.

An elbow nudges his arm and he glances over at Twice, who’s rejoined them.

“Hey man, Shigaraki is tripping worse than usual,” he mutters, flicking the bird at the villain’s back in an almost nervous gesture. “He’s just kidding around.”

Dabi leans a shoulder further against the paneling of the wall. “What’d you see?”

“He’s pissed,” Twice draws rigid fingers across his throat, then waggles those same fingers in a show of unconcern. “He looked pretty happy. He just talked to his sensei.”

Now, Dabi’s not totally fluent in Twice speak - in which one is the serious one and which one is the cracked fucker. But for Twice to say anything means something’s up - especially if All For One is involved. Briefly, he wonders if anyone had told the shadow leader the outcome of his little test at the camp or if the villain had his fingers in so many pies that he already knew.

Dabi’s guts clench slightly at the thought, but he quells the discomfort with the knowledge that the mission was completed, regardless of the villain's doubts. Even Shigaraki can’t debate that.

With a sigh, Dabi pushes off the wall to wander closer to the quiet conversation going on between maniac and terrified kid.

Because Bakugou is terrified. Angry too, obviously. But what Dabi lacked in Twice-speak, he made up for in being very, very good at body language. The snarled grin is fixed, but the kid’s body is rigid, and his eyes are almost pinpoints on Shigaraki. Being fair, Dabi probably wouldn’t be too happy having the literal black hands of death all over him either. Still…

“…so quiet, Bakugou. No comment?” It’s Shigaraki’s voice, drifting over to where Dabi is now leaning against the bar. Kurogiri is also watching from the other side of the bar, and seems to be relaxed... but it isn't as if distance will be a problem for him if he needs to intervene.

Dabi keeps one eye on the little showdown and directs his question at the shadow bar keeper, “What’s he up to?”

“Talking the child over to our side, I would presume,” Kurogiri answers without confidence. Dabi arches an eyebrow and makes a show of looking back at the tense scene going on behind him.

“Really.”

Kurogiri sighs, and leans his insubstantial elbows on the counter. “He did mention, while the Vanguard was out, that it wouldn’t really matter if Bakugou decided to convert or not. I assume that means he has another purpose for him in mind.”

Dabi frowns. “What kind of purpose?”

“I am not entirely sure. Shigaraki mentioned something about getting information about All Might,” Kurogiri admits, picking out a dark beer from his collection.

Dabi hums, wondering if that was all Shigaraki wanted. Kid seemed more the type to get angry than afraid, so the terror was weird. “Kid can’t know that much that we don’t already,” he comments, accepting the bottle Kurogiri offers.

“I doubt your hard work this evening will go to waste,” Kurogiri says dryly. “Though I will say that Shigaraki Tomura was not pleased to learn we’d lost three of our number. You know how he hates recruiting.”

Snorting, Dabi takes a drink. “Duly noted.” He glances at the kid again, gauging the tension between the two. Then he flicks a glance over at the clock on the back wall.

“How much longer do you think -" he begins, before his question is cut off by an agonized scream.

Jerking around, Dabi’s pulse jumps as Bakugou jolts forward in his seat, struggling to get away from the hand at his back. The kid’s breath hitches for half a second before a desperate sob is torn from his throat followed by another horrific scream. Shigaraki bears down on his back brutally, with all five fingers. Dabi sees the moment when Bakugou’s shirt sags forward slightly, like there’s nothing in the back holding it together anymore. It’s that motion that finally gets his brain to unfreeze. But it’s Shigaraki’s other hand going to cup Bakugou’s face that gets him moving.

The fingers have only been on the kid’s cheeks for a second before Dabi grabs Shigaraki’s wrist in warning.

Shigaraki slowly releases one finger each on Bakugou’s back and face, as if he's reluctant to do so. But he does let go… looking up to meet Dabi's eyes with baleful intent. Dabi keeps his expression cool, even as he fights down the fire snarling just beneath his skin.

“What are you doing?” Shigaraki asks icily.

Dabi’s pulse is pounding in his ears, but even he notices the unnatural stillness in the room, aside from Toga’s giggles and the kid’s pants for breath. The moment drags on as he works to keep his voice even.

“Thought we were converting the kid,” Dabi observes finally. “Not murdering him.”

“I changed my mind,” Shigaraki sneers. There’s a hateful emotion coloring his voice. Dangerous and unbalanced, and seemingly worse for Dabi’s interference. Dabi immediately switches tact, treading carefully.

“A little preemptive, don’t you think?” he asks, nodding to the kid. Work with his hate - take the targets out of the equation. “He’s way more valuable to us alive. All Might will hardly come to us for a corpse - the heroes have regulations for that shit.”

Shigaraki leans back on his heels, pulling away from Bakugou - who barely suppresses a whimper - looking thoughtful. “Ah? Regulations?”

Dabi risks a quick glance at the kid and wishes he hadn’t. There are five deep black grooves across his cheeks and jaw where Shigaraki’s fingers shoved in their rot. The smell of decayed tissue hits his nose, and his meager dinner churns in his stomach as he turns his attention back to Shigaraki.

“All Might would do anything for his students.” Dabi shrugs. “We know that. But we’ve always taken the fight to him. Think this is the perfect time to bring him to us, don’t you? Now that we have live bait.” He doesn’t look at Bakugou again, not wanting to draw Shigaraki’s attention back to the kid. Still, Shigaraki doesn’t look convinced.

Such a shame - using All Might as an argument against further damage had worked so well for him in the past.

Dabi forces his usual smirk. “All else fails, why waste his death? You only get to do it once.” Shigaraki’s eyebrow twitches.

“He’s got a point,” Twice pipes up, and for once no contradiction follows.

“Hmm, indeed, it would be an excellent trick,” Mr. Compress agrees. “If the boy is not willing to join us, we could easily lead the heroes into a trap instead.”

“Stain didn’t usually kill kids,” Spinner tosses out, watching the situation with darting eyes. The knot in Dabi's stomach loosens with each agreement until Toga pitches in.

“Ohh, I wanna see him actually bleed!” She croons, prancing into the tense scene with her camera still locked on the panting teenager. “Your decay powers are no fun, Shiggy.”

She’s circling the kid like a vulture, Dabi realizes. And Shigaraki’s already on edge. His hand shoots out, catching Toga by her sailor collar.

“You can get pictures later,” he orders, directing her back to the others like a wayward child. “Adults are talking.”

Only Dabi notes the crease of irritation that appears at the corners of Shigaraki’s eyes. Still, the villain shoots a glance past Dabi to Kurogiri, and must get some kind of affirmative, because he rises to his feet.

“I’ll have to think on this,” he announces to the room in general, before snatching up his detached hand and stalking to the door.

You mean you’ll need to ask your sensei about it, Dabi thinks caustically. Bakugou shakes next to him.

“Hey!” He calls to the villain’s retreating back, still not looking at the kid when Shigaraki glances his way, “If you want him alive for whatever choice you make, he’s going to need some kind of medical care.” Shigaraki glares at him and says exactly what he’s hoping for.

“Do what you want. Have him back here by tomorrow.” The door slams with finality behind the villain.

Dabi makes a show of rolling his eyes, and glances around the rest of the room. “Unless you want to help, I suggest you get moving. This won’t be pretty.” Toga bounces a bit and opens her mouth again, but thankfully, thankfully, Twice snags her on his way out the door with the others.

Apparently even villains lost interest when the action was over.

Kurogiri lingers, but Dabi ignores him in favor of the kid, who was slumped forward in his seat, evidently working through some breathing exercises with minimal success.

Fucking shit, Dabi thinks, finally seeing Bakugou’s back.

It’s… it’s ruined - shirt hanging raggedly open, scapulas poking through degenerated skin, muscles eaten through like the crows had gotten at him. The damage spreads from the base of his neck, across his shoulders, and down to his middle back. But it looked like the area between his shoulder blades had gotten the worst of it. Amongst the remaining pitted muscles, he can see the ridges of three white vertebrae.

Dabi swallows, stomach rolling and blood roaring.

Fuck.

——

“…didn’t you step in?”

“….only my place to protect… boy was no threat…”

“That’s kind of my point, here, Mistface. What did he…”

Voices fade in and out as Katsuki tries to breathe. Hot tears force their way past his clenched lids and slide down his cheeks, sinking into the rotted finger holes like water to a drain. It fucking burns.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling at his t-shirt. It’s only the barest scrape of fabric, but the world grays out even in the blackness behind his eyelids. He thinks he hears a muffled gasp, and he thinks it might be his own, but he’s too busy trying not to lose his beef stew to dwell on it.

It hurts it hurts it hurtsithurtsitfuckinghurts.

Katsuki had never had a problem with pain. It was a pretty constant factor in using his quirk, and he’d lost count of the number of stress fractures, dislocations and burns he’d dealt with in the past to get where he was today. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried over an injury - if anything, the setbacks usually frustrated him more than anything else.

Oh fuck.

It’s just an inkling, but… but whatever that hand bastard did was bad. Really fucking bad. And besides his arms, his inner back muscles played the biggest part in shock absorption when he used his quirk.

Katsuki’s stomach drops so quickly it leaves his head spinning. Or maybe that’s the blood loss? He’s definitely going to be sick. Why is his neck so cold?

Sweat rolls down outside his eyebrow, hitting his cheekbone along the same path as the tear tracks. Katsuki can’t even move to wipe it away.

No no no no no please no.

There’s a warm hand on his knee and someone’s telling him to keep breathing. The reminder makes Katsuki gasp because he’d stopped fucking breathing.

The agony of rapidly expanding his rib cage against whatever the fuck happened to his back forces a low keening noise past his tight throat and clenched teeth.

Motherfuck.

Someone prods his knee again, and Katsuki finally opens his bleary eyes. He tries to snarl, only for the goddamn rot pockets in his face to make themselves known again. His breath catches and it’s all he can do not to let his expression fold in pain.

He can’t show vulnerability any more than he already has - not in front of villains.

“What,” Katsuki croaks, barely moving his lips. Sweat drips from his hair, and his vision is still blurry. The brutal, aching, throb that is his back keeps him from so much as twitching. Adrenaline is probably the only thing between him and a total crash.

The flame quirk guy - Dabi, his overworked brain supplies - is studying him. No better word for the blank look on his face. He’s watching Katsuki’s expression, and it’s then that Katsuki realizes Dabi is kneeling in front of him.

“You can’t walk,” he says abruptly. Katsuki’s teeth grind.

Dabi glances down at the clunky quirk suppressors still locked around Katsuki’s hands, dragging his arms down. Katsuki refuses to think why he can no longer resist gravity. How there’s nothing left to resist with.

“Pretty sure blasting me would do you more harm than good right now.” And it sounds like the villain is talking to himself at this point. Katsuki watches as Dabi gestures at the warp gate guy - since when had he been here? - and the guy hands him a magnetized key.

Dabi doesn’t give him any kind of warning, though he does grip Katsuki’s wrists just above the suppressors. Whether as a threat or as a brace, Katsuki doesn’t really care as fifteen pounds of metal releases from his arms.

He bites down hard against the noise trying to claw its way out of his throat, not caring how it sends spasms of pain through his face. He hadn’t realized how much the cuff’s weight had been tensing his arm muscles. Having them suddenly loosen sends bolts of agony shooting through every sinew tied into the ruin of his back.

His vision fades out again. His scalp and neck are freezing. Pressure like a heavy blanket folds over his senses.

“… think he’s about to pass….”

“for…best… suppose we will…”

“My apartment… tomorrow.”

And it goes black.

Chapter Text

Fortunately for Dabi, Kurogiri has a first aid kit that has just enough gauze wrap to cover up the kid’s mangled back. With a little bit of antibiotic cream spread across the lengths of soft cloth, they could avoid the inevitable sticking that came with massive open wounds. Since Dabi personally knows how much detaching cloth from seeping injuries fucking hurts, he takes the extra fifteen minutes to get Bakugou properly bandaged before stuffing him in a spare hoodie he found under the couch pillow and hauling the (surprisingly heavy) kid onto his back.

“You could treat him here just as easily,” Kurogiri finally says, having done jack shit other than offering up the meager medical supplies. Maybe he can tell Dabi is pissed. Maybe it’s a byproduct of it being two-fucking-o’clock in the morning. Dabi really can’t bring himself to care.

“Easier to monitor at my place,” he grunts, trying to adjust the kid’s arms over his shoulders without pulling on the kid’s back. Bakugou’s bandaged cheek is leaden against his ear, pushing his piercings uncomfortably into his scalp. Dabi has to remind himself it’s a good thing the kid is unconscious.

“You could assign shifts,” Kurogiri offers, watching Dabi walk toward the door. “I’m sure Miss Toga would be happy to help.”

Dabi shudders, “She’d probably take ‘licking wounds’ a little too literally. No thanks.”

Kurogiri narrows his eyes, “Are you confident you will be able to keep an eye on him all by yourself?”

Dabi huffs out an incredulous laugh as Kurogiri opens the back door for him. “Take it from someone who knows, Mistface,” he says with a nasty, staple-stretching smile, “this kid ain’t moving on his own power any time soon.”

Kurogiri makes a noise like he’s still doubtful, but Dabi only cares that the warp villain closes the door firmly behind them. He lets the intense quiet of the dark alleyway settle around him, grimacing at the humidity of the night pulsing against his exposed skin. He can feel the weight of the unconscious kid like increased gravity driving his heels into the ground.

I am too damned tired for this, Dabi thinks as he hitches the boy slightly higher and begins the long, arduous trot to his apartment. His heart rate picks up after barely a block, and sweat prickles his hairline, reminding him that he’d been slacking on his weight training. Still, Dabi pushes on, head on a swivel, with the uncomfortable awareness that his night is far from over.

It was difficult to concentrate. Not just because it was two in the goddamn morning and he’d barely slept the night before the attack as it was. No, it wasn't just that.

Dabi forces his grainy eyes to watch for motion as he makes his way through a maze of back alleys and narrow side streets, pausing in the shadows when people did happen by. His is mind racing with the implications of the kid on his back and his place in the League and the long-term plans he can see turning to dust in front of him. Vainly, he tries to focus on the most immediate issue - making sure the kid survives.

He’ll need to have the area debrided, cleaned, bandaged…. fuck, probably twice a day for the first few days? Dabi thinks distractedly, trying to remember his own treatment. That’ll piss Shigaraki off - no way will the brat be okay to bring back by tomorrow.

The colder, more practical part of him points out that he could have treated Bakugou at the bar. Enough not to die immediately, at least. Could have let the kid die, in fact, and saved himself a lot of trouble.

The side of him that instinctively stepped forward and stopped the murder of a dumb kid remained steely, knowing how hard this was going to be and not giving a damn.

Sure, the League probably thinks I’ve got a goddamn twig for a backbone, and All For One is probably smug as a fucking cat, but at least my morals are intact, he thinks snidely, irritation at himself and the situation making his body overheat for a second before he shoves those thoughts away. He was used to hating his instinctive, morally bullheaded side by now.

Focus on the immediate problems - he’s gotten the kid away from danger. Now he just needs to keep the brat alive to make it actually worth the hassle.

Dabi makes a careful circle around the light of a vending machine at the end of the street before taking a left in front of the little flower shop toward the first of two train tracks he’ll need to cross.

He can feel the kid’s weight pull on the staples in his lower back as he ducks under a fence. He grimaces and adjusts the kid higher again, knowing it’s a fruitless task with the uneven gravel around the tracks. Cicadas and trains passing make up the only real noise in the deep summer night, but he still itches with discomfort as he passes through the open areas.

The tension remains until buildings fold around him again, welcoming him into their shadowed embrace. He takes a moment’s breather next to a tall dumpster, cautiously watching the path behind him - though no one appeared to have followed him. Sweat rolls down his sides under his shirt and jacket, but he was getting close to his temporary home.

Really fucking glad I never sold my antibiotics or pain pills, even if they would have covered rent for a couple months. Glancing up at the corner of the Lawson’s, he sees that the red light of the security camera is dark. Mr. Onda still hadn’t fixed it after Dabi fried the wiring over a month ago.

I probably have enough supplies to see him through the next few days. Dabi crosses under the light of the convenience store into another alley. But somehow I don’t think bandaids and painkillers are gonna cut it.

And that’s the crux of the matter Dabi truly doesn’t want to think about. So he tables it mentally (locks it in a really heavy duty box of nope and throws it in the corner labeled ‘to-be-dealt-with-in-daylight-hours) and makes his final check of the area. Then he pulls out a cord hidden behind a drainpipe and uses it to pull down the fire escape ladder.

Which, fuck, navigating that with a dead-weight, muscled up teenager on his I-skipped-weight-day back is a fucking bitch.

So, three floors later, Dabi leans against the warm glass of his window, ignoring how his labored breath fogs it all up, and picks his lock. With a significant amount of struggling and swearing, he finally manages to maneuver Bakugou inside and onto his old couch.

Observing the kid, Dabi makes the critical deduction that the kid’s face wounds wouldn't appreciate the pilled surface of the cushions and, aside from that, the kid needed to breathe. So he drags over a chair, angles the kid’s body as best as he can, and drops Bakugou’s forehead on the chair seat, with his nose and mouth hanging off the couch. Would the kid wake up with a crick in his spine? Probably. But Dabi’s also fairly certain the kid has other back problems to worry about.

My problems too, apparently. Fuck, why couldn’t I just leave it alone? Dabi thinks again in frustration. Wiping sweat from his forehead before any more can trail down to his staples, Dabi goes to lock the window, then makes his way to his bathroom where he kept his myriad of first aid supplies.

Gathering everything he needed onto a tray - gauze, tweezers, wipes, meds, saline solution, gloves, needle and thread, etc - Dabi kicks the bathroom door closed and just about jumps out of his patchwork skin when red eyes meet his upon re-entering the living room.

The kid is struggling to pull his knees under him before his face goes white and still once again. At least he’d realized moving is a no-go for the moment.

Just, fucking great. Dabi takes a subtle breath to calm his raging heartbeat and drags another chair over to the couch. The rickety side-table sees itself reborn as a medical prep station and Bakugou watches the whole process with eyes way too alert for a kid that recently lost several pounds of muscle mass in an extremely grisly fashion.

At least he’s quiet - maybe he’s learned his lesson? He almost fucking laughs at himself for that thought (kids like Bakugou never learned their lessons, Dabi would know) and shakes his head instead. It’s that motion that allows him to see the kid subtly pointing his palm at Dabi’s knee.

“I mean, go ahead, if you never want to use your quirk again,” he drawls, staring at Bakugou’s hand. He notices that the kid is only moving his wrist. Probably still hurts like a bitch though.

“… the fuck’re you doing?” The brat grates out, head turned enough to glare up at Dabi, not moving his hand one iota. Dabi resists the urge to retaliate with an uncomfortably warm hand in the kid’s face.

Bracing his elbows on his knees and hoping morbidly that the kid is more hurt than he is angry, Dabi answers, “I’m going to make sure you survive to see the fucking morning light. Good enough?”

Bakugou starts to frown then closes his eyes briefly against the pain. Dabi makes a note to get the kid started on his good pain meds before they get to anything else. Then the kid asks through gritted teeth, “Why?”

Dabi ignores the cold inner voice goading him with a “why indeed, you pretend hero - you failure villain?” and doesn’t answer.

The kid opens his mouth, but Dabi stalls him with a raised hand, “Kid, shut up. Anything else can wait.”

“The hell it can,” Bakugou hisses. Sparks shoot out of his hand and, while Dabi doesn’t blame the kid, he’s also not taking that shit. He pins the hand, palm down, to the couch cushion.

“You’ve already popped off at one villain tonight. Care to make it two?”

Bakugou snarls - curses - then grinds his forehead into the thin cushion on the chair. His almost-threatening hand drops as he works through the pain. Dabi is too tired to sympathize, but he reaches over to his tray and plucks up two bottles. When Bakugou opens his dull red eyes again, Dabi is waving two massive pills in front of his face.

“You allergic to any meds?” Dabi asks when he sees he has the kid’s attention.

“No,” Bakugou says hoarsely.

“Peachy,” Dabi comments, breaking the two pills in half for easier swallowing. “Open up and I’ll get you water.”

The kid’s lips thin. Dabi sighs, and shows him the bottles.

Bakugou squints at the labels, “Hero grade?”

Dabi grunts his agreement and shakes the pills in his outstretched hand. The kid is still glaring at him with suspicion, and honestly, Dabi’s about at capacity for shit happening that he’d rather not.

“If I wanted you dead, I’d have let Shigaraki finish his one-man decomposition trick,” he reminds the kid, frustrations seeping through his calm front. “Open. Up. Or I force them down your throat.”

Wonders never cease, because the kid opens his mouth.

It’s awkward to dump pills into a half turned mouth, but this whole thing is going to get so much more awkward anyway and Dabi doesn’t have the processing power to worry about it. So he goes to get water instead. While he’s at it, he grabs a couple of convenience store onigiri from his fridge. Heaven help him if Bakugou’s stomach reacts to the high-power drugs like his own does.

Helping the kid drink is a chore, between the glaring and the spilling onto the now-soaked cushion, but Dabi is nothing if not persistent. The pills get swallowed, the onigiri get eaten bite by grudging bite, and the kid only sniffles three or four times from the pain. It’d do.

“It’ll take maybe twenty minutes for that shit to start kicking in,” Dabi comments, nodding to the pill bottles. “They’re strong enough to either knock you out completely or at least keep you from feeling much.” He’s not sure why he’s explaining this, other than habit, possibly. It’s what Yuko always did for him. It’s what he always did for…

Anyway, habits are hard to break at - a glance at the clock - half past three in the morning.

Damn it took longer to walk back than I thought. No wonder my legs are shaky… not that I have much room to complain.

Bakugou mutters something that Dabi misses.

“Hmm?”

“..said I know how strong they are,” Bakugou repeats. “Used to take the pain ones when I was a kid.”

Dabi instantly zeroes in without even meaning to, asking sharply, “What for?” The kid glares at him, unimpressed.

“Learning my quirk, asshole.”

Oh. Huh. Go figure. Dabi’s tired brain puts forward the probability of similar heat-related quirks needing similar pain/inflammation reducing type meds. Then he reminds himself that most people had normal childhoods that didn’t involve terror and blood and fire.

Doesn’t really matter anyway - he’s mostly concerned about the antibiotics going to town on the kid’s guts. Those things were the worst, and Dabi is eternally grateful he doesn’t need them much anymore.

They sit in silence for a bit, Bakugou blinking rapidly against the exhaustion and medication depressing his system. Dabi is staring into the void, trying to keep the box of to-be-dealt-with-in-daylight-hours in its goddamn corner where it should be.

It isn’t until the kid gasps for no reason that Dabi is pulled from his thoughts.

“Shit, what - ?”

Bakugou is pressing his forehead hard into the wooden edge of the seat, eyes clenched. Dabi gives him a second.

“The fuck, kid?” He groans, rubbing a hand over his patchwork face.

“Stopped breathing,” Bakugou manages, pulling in slow, steady gulps of air - probably trying not expand his ribs too much. His eyes are wide now.

It takes Dabi’s sluggish mind half a second to catch up. “Drugs are suppressing your breathing,” he says aloud, the hand still on his face going to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That fucking blows for you.”

Bakugou is still pulling in steady breaths, “Hah?”

“You’ll have to stay awake. And I gotta clean out your back, if you want to skip the whole ‘infection, then death’ part of this,” Dabi says, shrugging. Bakugou’s eyes get impossibly wider.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Yeah.” Dabi’s got nothing to add.

Chapter Text

Coherent thought is a struggle for Katsuki, at the moment. His head is pounding, his eyes are dry and the skin around them feels thin. His face is throbbing in time with his heart, and his every breath reminds him that his back might be beyond all recovery. The meds are taking the edge off the worst of it, but he knows that feeling won’t last long.

Still there are several burning questions that he probably should have asked before accepting drugs from a villain. Never mind the villain’s threats.

Though, okay, he’s a little wary at this point. Who the fuck wouldn’t be?

“You’ve already popped off at one villain tonight. Care to make it two?”

Katsuki shudders. Dabi doesn’t seem like the sort of psycho Shigaraki is, but villains were villains for a reason. Something in them was twisted at the core. And Katsuki has no idea what would make the flame villain snap like Shigaraki did.

But, but, he can’t just let this opportunity pass. He needs to get a read on his situation. Maybe figure out what the villains have planned, if he can. If absolutely nothing else, it’ll take his mind off how numb he’s going, and why that is.

“Fucking hand bastard tried to kill me,” Katsuki grits out, trying very hard not to move his damaged face. “Why are you helping me?”

“Pure fucking altruism, kid.” Dabi’s eyes narrow. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“I don’t give a shit,” Katsuki growls back. “If I’m just bait for the heroes, you can seriously just go fucking die. Or off me instead.”

The villain’s face goes blank. “How noble, putting your life on the line for them. Wonder if the heroes would do the same for you.”

Katsuki almost frowns before he catches himself. “Isn’t - that’s what you assholes are planning though? You said All Might wouldn’t come after a corpse-“ It’s getting harder to keep his thoughts straight, but he’d definitely heard that part. It’s how Dabi got Shigaraki to back off.

Which is another goddamn mystery, Katsuki thinks bitterly, forcing his heavy eyes to stay open.

“They do have regulations that prevent heroes from negotiating with villains,” Dabi deflects. “And All Might would probably abide by them if you were dead. Which you will be, if your back doesn’t get treatment.”

Don’t think about that, don’t think about that.

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you just drop my ass off at a hospital?”

Dabi makes a derisive noise, “Sure thing, kid. And when Shigaraki gets wind and warps a couple dozen Nomu into the ER? Got a plan for that?”

No, Katsuki doesn’t. And he really doesn’t need the image of the monster who nearly creamed All Might tearing through a hospital. Wait, a couple dozen?

“Yeah. ’S also one of the reasons I’m not just dropping you off with the heroes,” the flame villain mutters.

Did Katsuki say that last bit out loud?

Hold on. “You’d drop me off with the heroes?”

Dabi grimaces slightly, “I’m not taking you back to the League.”

Katsuki’s heart skips a sluggish beat.

What.

Then reality sets in.

“You expect me to believe that bullshit?” Katsuki croaks out, because really? Does he look that naive?

“Not really.” The villain sounds totally indifferent.

Katsuki feels a dull pressure on his shoulder and realizes Dabi’s been distracting him.

Which reminds him. “Why would you give a shit? ‘Bout heroes and hospitals?” God, he’s exhausted.

Dabi’s poking him with a capped pen. He can see it if he strains. “Stop that.”

“You feel that?” Dabi makes a face. He’s ignoring the question, apparently.

Katsuki growls low in his throat, “Yes, jackass.”

Dabi retracts the pen, rubbing his face again as he grumbles, “We’ll give it a little longer. How’s it feel, overall?”

Katsuki can’t help but feel wrong-footed. This guy kidnapped him just a few hours ago. Where the hell does he get off acting even remotely concerned? It’s seriously not helping his muddled thoughts become any clearer.

Still, Katsuki has a vested interest in his own continued well being. Which doesn’t really involve villains with what looked like surgical instruments near him while he’s unable to fight back. Meds are bad enough.

“Hurts. But I'll fucking wait to see a real doctor, thanks.”

The villain grimaces, “Making a lot of assumptions there, kid. I haven’t decided what the fuck to do with you yet. I’ll ask your input if you survive.”

“The hell…?” Katsuki doesn’t get much further than that, because the villain is holding his phone out for him to look at. At first he’s not sure what he’s seeing - the picture honestly looks like a bad prop from one the shitty horror movies Kirishima loves so much. Then he sees his own spiky blond hair.

A chill wracks Katsuki’s body, starting at his scalp and sweeping down. It bypasses the heat of his back and settles in his stomach, where the onigiri begin to churn uncomfortably.

“Took those while you were out of it.” Dabi’s voice brings him back to himself. “It can’t wait.”

Katsuki closes his eyes, forcing down the nausea and lightheadedness. “Aizawa-sensei didn’t look like - like that.”

Dabi hums, “I’m not an expert on Shigaraki’s quirk, but I think he can control how fast he decays something. He can either turn you into mummy dust or take you through each fucking stage of breakdown.”

Warmth in the form of a hand seeps into his neck and Katsuki turns tired eyes to glare at the flame villain.

“You barely reacted to that,” Dabi says thoughtfully, “Think this is as good a time as any.” He pulls on a set of surgical gloves and picks the scissors off the tray. With little ceremony, he tugs the hem of the hoodie up and starts cutting right down the middle.

“Wait,” Katsuki gets out, “Wait, fuck, just a second.” The scissors pause.

When Katsuki takes too long in continuing, the villain growls, “Brat, the sooner we get this done -“

“I know,” he interrupts. “I know, just… shit.” Katsuki presses his forehead hard against the edge of the chair, trying to get his thoughts to clarify. As it is, it feels like his brain is sitting in a vat of cloudy oil. Which is probably why the next words slip out of his mouth.

“Am I…” Fuck, he can’t finish the question. The flame villain’s face makes a complicated expression.

“Are you gonna die?” Dabi supplies. Katsuki shakes his head as best he can and sudden understanding lights Dabi’s eyes.

“Are you gonna be crippled? Unfit for hero work?”

Katsuki can’t bring himself to nod and the villain doesn’t answer, but his expression is grim. Hot pressure builds up behind Katsuki’s eyes, but he refuses to let it get further than that.

Shitty damn medication, Katsuki thinks, breaking eye contact with the villain.

“Just, fucking, get it over with,” Katsuki grinds out.

The scissors resume their motion, bisecting the hoodie from bottom to top. Katsuki can barely feel the pressure pulling away from his back. Which is when he realizes there’s something else wrapped around his torso.

He almost opens his mouth to ask and realizes for the first time that he has bandages across his cheeks. Which probably explains the stuff across his back.

He took the time to bandage my back even though he was just gonna take it all off later? Katsuki thinks in confusion. The scissors start on the wraps and, okay, that he feels.

Katsuki hisses as the gauze parts. It’s wrapped loosely enough that the scissors have room to cut, but even the barest brush of metal against flesh is painful.

The last snip sounds without ceremony and the loose gauze resettles on his back, brushing exposed muscles with feathery touches. Katsuki suppresses a shudder.

“What were you doing with that big barrel of hot water?”

The question comes out of nowhere. It takes a minute for it to register.

“What? At the camp?”

Dabi shrugs, “Color me curious. I have no idea how your quirk works.”

“And you think I’d tell you?” Katsuki retorts incredulously. “Wait, you creeps were… you were watching us?” He feels something pull away from his back and starts counting breaths before either the pain or his temper makes him do something he regrets.

“I was, at least,” Dabi says nonchalantly. He tosses aside a wad of cloth that’s covered with what looks, and smells, like pus. Katsuki briefly loses his indignation as nausea roars back through him.

“Most of the other kids were pretty easy to figure out,” the flame villain continues. “The little gravity girl was was working on controlling her weak stomach. The bone breaking kid was working on physical stamina. And… the Todoroki brat was working on his quirk’s reaction time and simultaneously release. But you and your little atomic sauna were kinda bizarre.”

Dabi reaches for something on his tray that looks like a scalpel, and Katsuki takes the distraction for what it is. God knows why the villain is bothering, but fuck if Katsuki isn’t just the barest bit grateful. Especially as the scraping goes from dull pressure to acute gouging.

But yeah, fuck this topic in particular.

“Not telling you about my quirk, asshole,” Katsuki reiterates, flicking his eyes up at the villain’s scarred face. Time for a gamble.

“Unless you wanna tell me why it took you so long to get yours under control?”

——

Dabi feels himself freeze, the grimace of distaste twisting into a full on scowl. Serves him right for feeling enough sympathy to try his hand at distracting the kid.

“Fair enough,” he says in irritation, before the silence can become too implicating. “No quirk questions. Though I’d love to know how you came up with your little theory.” He’s careful not to apply more pressure than necessary in removing the dead tissue from the healthy - though the temptation is there.

And really, he would love to know how the fuck Bakugou guessed. That was something even the League hadn’t figured out, though most of them had asked him at some point about his scars. Most never asked twice.

Except Twice, but that was expected.

The kid winces as Dabi rubs a clean piece of gauze gently across some fresh bleeding. At least he’s found healthy muscle underneath all the rotted stuff. And, god, Bakugou's injury is so disgusting. Dabi’s had infections before, burns (obviously), even some necrosis, but nothing like this. It’s like someone cracked a coffin back open after a week.

Dabi’s stomach turns when he thinks about it, so he shuts it away in the corner with his other worries and picks up the scalpel again.

Bright side is that if I hit any major blood vessels I don’t need a cauterizer, he thinks blackly.

A particularly slick piece of greyed muscle sends the knife skidding into the kid’s exposed scapula. Bakugou groans through his teeth and Dabi winces guiltily.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mutters, meaning it. Then he scowls again.

Really getting soft there, moron, he thinks scathingly. Just because he reminded you of another kid asking if he can still be a hero with only one eye.

Dabi clears his throat and shuts his thoughts down completely. Giving the kid a tiny break after the night he’s had doesn’t make Dabi soft. And when he gets back to the League, if he gets back to the League, he’ll be more than happy to blow off steam at the heroes to make up for this lapse.

Just, fucking wish it hadn’t been a kid.

It was bad enough when All For One thought he might go easy on the little hero wannabes - to prove him right by saving Bakugou is dangerous. For everyone involved.

May have to crisp a few heroes to get back in their good graces, Dabi muses, ignoring the twinge of discomfort thoughts of the League bring him. Would also work to discredit any stories the kid might tell. Assuming the brat makes it through this without going into shock or croaking from infection. He cuts his thoughts off again, this time more viciously.

He’s just fishing around for another distracting topic the kid might actually respond to, when the kid speaks up.

“It was your pill bottles,” Bakugou says hoarsely, apparently apropos of nothing.

“Huh?”

Dabi’s not eloquent at four in the morning, okay?

“The prescription date’s nearly a year ago, but the bottles are almost full,” Bakugou expands. “They don’t prescribe those things unless you’re having quirk trouble - regulations are too tight. But if you’re not using them, you’ve probably got your quirk under control.”

Dabi feels his eyebrows rise, Kid’s smart.

“No prescription needed if I stole them. You know, given the whole ‘villain’ thing.”

Bakugou snorts delicately, and Dabi notes the kid is working very hard not to move his face much. That’s something Dabi can relate to.

“You saying you are using them? And what - don’t have control? Bullshit - I saw you at the camp," Bakugou blinks and drags his tired red eyes back open. "Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re new to this shitty 'villain thing'.”

And, okay, that takes Dabi aback. Partially the fact that the kid’s, dammit, correct. But also the certainty. Like, if Dabi protests, Bakugou won’t believe him.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Dabi relents, clipping off some dangling, blackened skin. This is truly a nasty job, but Dabi has the dubious pleasure of being used to it. And, while Bakugou probably can’t feel the dead skin being trimmed, the kid still shudders at the sight of it falling into the wastebasket Dabi has placed on the ground.

“You’ve never shown up on any villain boards,” Bakugou says vaguely, exhaustion coloring his tone. “Probably because you’ve got a shitty quirk with shitty kickback. But you finally figured out how to control it. Which means you're free to join the League of Assholes or - or whatever.”

Sorry we can't all be prodigies. There's bitterness and amusement surging through him, but the kid is close enough to the mark for amusement to win out. Brat's working that Info Gathering 101 handbook even doped up and in pain. The little shit.

“Alright, Sherlock. What I’m getting out of this is that you think I’m a lazy fucker,” Dabi deadpans, carefully containing his smirk.

“Fuck off and die,” the kid mutters. Dabi shrugs and picks up a pair of tweezers. There’s something gristly and black hanging out near the kid’s shiny white vertebrae. He’s pretty sure it’s the end of a destroyed ligament. If he can get it down to the stringy white part, he can clip it there.

Truthfully, the League is his first attempt at straight out villainy. And the kid is right, he’d only just learned to control his quirk within the past year. The two aren’t necessarily as related as the kid seems to think. It isn’t as if he’d gained mastery and then decided that crime was the life for him.

The idea of using the villain route to accomplish his goals had been there since he was fifteen. It had solidified into an honest pursuit when he was twenty. Seeing Stain’s video, well - that’d just been the first opportunity that presented itself. And with an ideology so similar to his own, of course he’d gone for it.

But he’ll eat his own boot before telling the kid that.

And frankly, he’s too tired to get into a deep discussion about assumptions on the villain psyche right now. Maybe he’ll shoot an anonymous text to Eraserhead to address it in his place.

He can imagine it: “Hey Eraser - your kid thinks villains are strictly motivated by the ability to use their quirks. Fix that.”

He snorts and Bakugou turns his head questioningly.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“Nothing. I’m just about done here.”

Bakugou grunts and resumes resting his forehead against the chair cushion. Apparently keeping an eye on the villain is too much effort. Still, Dabi nudges his shoulder with his knee.

“No sleeping, kid. Not for another three hours or so.”

“Fuck off.”

“I did not clean a literal shit ton of dead skin off your back for you to die from a pain killer.”

The kid makes a derisive noise, “One fucking pain pill can’t kill you.”

Dabi almost rubs a hand over his face before seeing the disgusting human bits streaking his gloves. “It can cause respiratory problems that can lead to death. Didn’t they teach you this shit when you got your meds?”

“I took them when I was a kid - “ the underlying ‘unlike you’ was unsaid but completely understood “ - I don’t remember shit from back then. And they would’ve been smaller dosage, anyway.”

“Whatever.” Dabi’s done with this conversation. “I need to rinse and pack your back then do your face. Then you can occupy your own damn self until the meds wear off.”

“You are not touching my face.”

“What, afraid I’ll fuck up your chances with the ladies?”

“Have you looked in a fucking mirror lately? Or do they all break before you can get a good look?”

“Listen, it’s no skin off my back - “ Dabi breaks off. Bakugou turns his head slowly to glare up at him.

Dabi really tries not to, but the kid’s entirely unimpressed look tips him over the edge. He laughs until he feels his staples start to give.

“Holy shit, I’m not even sorry for that,” he says when he regains himself. The kid raises an eyebrow.

“That is the worst shit I’ve heard since Deku said deku didn’t mean useless.” Dabi doesn’t bother asking what a deku is and continues.

“It’s no skin off my back if you don’t care about infection, but if too much of that dead stuff gets into your blood stream, you’re fucked,” he tries to pitch his statement seriously, but he’s probably still too amused to pull it off entirely.

“And you think you got enough of it to avoid that?” Bakugou aims for nonchalance, but again, Dabi’s good with body language. His answer matters to the kid.

“I think I’ve got enough of it to get you to tomorrow,” he hedges, not wanting to get the kid’s hopes up. Stuff like shock, sepsis, organ failure, and a shit ton of other options he’s not been thinking about are still not completely out of the question.

“And what happens tomorrow?” The kid’s voice is somehow small, when brought back to the reality of his situation. Too small for his loud ass personality.

(Why the fuck did it have to be a kid?)

Dabi sighs, all denial of the answer completely falling away. “We get you to the heroes.”

Chapter Text

It’s rather early in the morning to be expecting social calls, but given how little stimulation he gets throughout the day, All For One keeps a light sleep schedule anyway. Besides, he’s been looking forward to this visit.

“Ah, Tomura,” he greets, turning to face his protege as he steps through a portal of black mist. “And Kurogiri, welcome. I trust tonight’s mission was a success?”

All For One can’t truly see anymore - not after his encounter with All Might some six years ago. But turning shows that attention is being paid, and Tomura has always sought his attention above anything else. Briefly, All For One muses that if he asked the young man to give up his video games tomorrow, Tomura would turn them all to dust himself.

Not that he would ask something so trivial of his successor - the boy has much larger decisions and tasks yet ahead of him. Tonight had only been a small step in the direction Tomura would need to go in order to make his sensei proud.

All For One allows a broad grin to stretch his face and effortlessly uses it to beckon the grandson of Shimura Nana to his bedside.

“It… was a success, sensei,” Tomura murmurs. “The Vanguard Action Squad was able to retrieve Bakugou Katsuki.” All For One doesn’t need eyes to note the hesitation.

“But?” he prompts, leaning his chin on his folded fist. Beside Tomura, Kurogiri is shifting slightly in unrest. A mix of echolocation, emotional reading and infrared vision gives All For One a clear picture that something went awry at some point this evening.

“The brat chose all the wrong dialogue options,” Tomura spits out, reverting to his use of video game vernacular in his agitation. A brief flicker of heat confirms that the boy has begun scratching his neck again. That wouldn’t do.

“My boy, I am merely curious as to what happened - if the child was too stubborn to make himself of use, I certainly wouldn’t judge you for it,” All For One says placatingly. No indeed, if Bakugou reacted poorly to being kidnapped, then his plans were going as smoothly as he’d intended.

Tomura bows his head for a moment, fiddling with the hand attached to his face before he removes it, exposing his scarred face. “He - he laughed when he found out All Might hadn’t saved me,” he seethes. “I know you said he’d be a good choice and that we could use his power, but I just don’t see the added stats making up for the party imbalance he’d make in the League, sensei.”

All For One hums his acknowledgement, noting how proud the boy was of his argument and in hiding his own jealousy. The villain suppresses a satisfied smile.

“So Bakugou Katsuki is still alive?”

Tomura’s expression goes dark and Kurogiri stills.

“Yes, sensei. Dabi took him away before I could kill him.” Tomura swallows and All For One waits patiently.

“I think... you were right about Dabi,” Tomura shoots a glance at Kurogiri for confirmation and the warp villain dips his head, taking the nonverbal pass off.

“It was apparent that Dabi was reacting on instinct when he stepped between the child and Shigaraki Tomura,” Kurogiri admits. “That being said, it is unclear if his intentions are purely altruistic toward Bakugou Katsuki or if he truly does aim to give the League more options in provoking the heroes. He did mention that Bakugou could be used more effectively against All Might if he were alive rather than dead.”

It goes unsaid that Kurogiri agrees with the logic of Dabi’s argument, but All For One is rather well versed in reading between the lines.

“Hmm, so our little test came back unclear, for now,” he muses to himself. “You said Dabi took the child?”

Kurogiri nods, “He took Bakugou Katsuki to his apartment, which we still don’t know the location of.” All For One smiles.

“Don’t we?”

Tomura’s head perks up. “Sensei?”

Waving a negligent hand, All For One continues, “We will wait to see what our friend Dabi’s next move is before we jump to conclusions.”

Shifting causes the needles under his skin to pinch and the sheets beneath him to wrinkle uncomfortably, but it is worth it to place his hand upon Tomura’s shaggy head and see the young man relax into his touch.

“Don’t forget my boy, if he betrays us, you are more than enough to destroy him.”

——

With the students off at camp, Toshinori allowed himself a relatively strenuous Tuesday. By measuring out his minutes sparingly, he was able to get an aspirating child to the hospital ahead of the morning gridlock, to pull a sinking boat out of Tokyo Bay, and to stop a shoot out in one of Shibuya’s late-night underground clubs. Then he’d completed the paperwork from each incident with zero wait time, which used to be completely unheard of at Might Tower. All in all, it’d been one of his most productive days since the fight all those years ago.

Feeling somewhat proud of himself, he’d treated himself to a hot bath with the medicinal oils and salts that Chiyo was always forcing on him. It was as close to relaxation as a hero of his status got, even if it was nearing midnight.

An hour later and all feelings of calm left his body in an awful rush of dread.

“Students under attack at camp. Villain numbers unknown. Permission to fight back granted.”

It’s from Vlad King, on the teacher group chat. He’s also received a general SOS call from the Hero Boards app, alerting all heroes in the area with the appropriate quirks and the speed to get to the camp. And if Toshinori hadn’t used up his time, he could have been there. He could have made it in time to help.

He hasn’t seen anything from Aizawa.

God, I hope he’s not injured or… Toshinori shakes the thoughts away. Shakes away the sight of young Aizawa nearly dead at USJ - beaten horribly while defending the students with no backup. Toshinori doesn’t want to see his colleague in that state again.

He paces, gripping his phone hard, waiting for further news. He’d already sent messages to three of his sidekicks that he felt could be of use in the situation and were certified to work with the police. Sensoree, who could track scents over long distances. Kinai, who’s deductions of the most minute clues could shed light on any crime scene. And Buddy “Buddha” Oshima, who could calm even the most stressed victim.

Toshinori told all three of them to see Naomasa as soon as it was confirmed that the League was involved. And honestly, who else would it be?

Gritting his teeth, Toshinori watches as his clock strikes two o’clock. At that moment his phone buzzes with an incoming call.

He hits the answer button with restrained strength, “Hello? Aizawa? Are you okay - are the students -?”

“All Might,” comes Eraserhead’s strained voice. Toshinori’s heart hurts for the young teacher. “The children are at the hospital. Midoriya is injured the most, but expected to fully recover. Yaoyorozu is concussed, moderate to severe, waiting for scans. Shoji had one of his extra hands cut off. Most are down for gas inhalation - not sure what kind. Other than that, mostly superficial.”

Toshinori begins to feel the crushing anxiety lift, but Aizawa isn’t finished.

“They took Bakugou.” Aizawa’s tone could shatter boulders. Toshinori has never heard him so angry.

“Young Bakugou?” He places a shaking hand to his forehead, trying to bring himself under control. He needs to be professional, for Aizawa’s sake. He’s the pillar for more than just the citizens, after all. “Do we know why?”

“No.”

“Have there been any demands? Any communication from the villains so far?” Information, information, information - he’s done this so many times, but it’s never felt like this. Like the floor dropped out from under him, and there’s nothing to catch onto.

“We know it was the League, now,” Aizawa’s voice goes away for a moment, talking to someone on site about the investigation. If Toshinori listens closely, he can hear the distinct siren of fire trucks in the background.

Aizawa returns, “They’ve got several new members, but Kurogiri is the one who extracted them. I’ll send you a full report once we’ve gotten the information compiled.”

“I will read it over before we meet. I assume there will be a conference called with Naomasa and his team?” Toshinori’s already shooting a text to his three sidekicks on standby.

The young teacher sighs over the phone, “Tsukauchi is getting the information from the team on site here. We should be able to meet by mid afternoon. We’ll have to deliver a brief statement to the media before noon, though.” There’s a long moment of silence on Aizawa’s end and somehow Toshinori knows what’s coming next.

“I have to call Bakugou’s parents.”

And that, Toshinori knows, is the real reason Aizawa has called. Even as a veteran underground hero of ten years. Even as a teacher for four. Talking to the loved ones of someone missing, injured, or dead - it never gets easier. Toshinori knows that, better than perhaps anyone still active in the field. It’s worse still, when you’re close to the situation.

Aizawa is very close with his students, for all that he tried not to be.

Toshinori squares his shoulders, taking on the voice of authority that has seen so many through states of crisis.

“They will be frightened and angry,” he says, pulling no punches. Aizawa wouldn’t appreciate platitudes or condescension anyway. “But I have heard his mother in particular is much like young Bakugou himself. And you know how to handle him better than anyone I have seen so far.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to offer to make the call himself, but he knows Aizawa would refuse. The young teacher takes pride in his work and his skills. Regardless of the truth, he probably sees Bakugou’s kidnapping as a personal failure.

That, if nothing else, Toshinori can address.

“I don’t think I need to tell you this is not your fault, Aizawa,” Toshinori isn’t fully sure he isn’t overstepping. He’s banking on the knowledge that Aizawa called him, of all people. Not Nedzu. Not Present Mic. Not even his closest friend. Aizawa called All Might. And Toshinori knows what most people need, when they look to him for answers.

“We will find Bakugou,” he says with absolute conviction. “Now, make your call and then see to the children - they will need you. And remind them that Bakugou is one of the strongest students we have, both mentally and physically. If anyone can come out of this alive, it’s him.” The reassurance is as much for the young teacher as it is for the students, but Toshinori knows better than to say it.

There’s a moment’s pause from the other end, then Aizawa huffs.

“If I remind them of that, they’ll start worrying about the villains instead,” he says blandly. Neither of them smile at the weak joke, but some of the choking tension fades. Even if for a moment.

“I will see you soon,” Toshinori says. “Until then, I will be in contact with Naomasa and coordinating with UA for a public statement while you watch over the students. Stay safe, Aizawa.”

“See you soon,” Aizawa says, ending the call.

Toshinori doesn’t allow himself a moment of uncertainty. Fear and doubt are shown to a mental bench where they can wait until all of his students are safe. Anger may hasten his steps toward the door, but it does not cloud his vision. He doesn’t have time for that.

All Might has work to do.

——

It’s just after two-thirty in the morning when Bakugou Masaru ends the call with Katsuki’s teacher. Sitting on the bed next to him, hand held tight in his own, Mitsuki’s wide red eyes meet his in the dim light.

Neither of them have cried yet, upon hearing that their son is missing. That he’s been kidnapped by the League of Villains. It’s almost too much to believe.

“Masaru?” Mitsuki’s voice is shaking. The anger and the worry are finally kicking in. Masaru holds her hand tighter, keeping her grounded when he knows she wants nothing more than to fight and break and scream at anything and everything around her. When she wants nothing more than to tear the League of Villains down to their atoms and then incinerate the rest. When she just wants to hold her baby boy in her arms and never let him go, no matter how much he stubbornly tries to pull away.

He knows this about Mitsuki, because they’re on the same page. It’s only his status as the level head of the family that keeps him from breaking down himself.

Masaru has to be strong for his wife. And strong for his son. He can embarrass them both later with his waterworks when his son is safe. For now, he pulls his trembling and swearing wife into his arms and prays to every deity he can think of to bring his child home alive.

Chapter Text

The bastard had finally finished tying the last bandage at half-past five in the morning, and Katsuki has never hurt quite so badly. He feels scraped, almost butchered. Flayed alive, like a squirming, helpless fish.

He hates it.

If he’s feeling generous, he might say that the flaming asshole was trying to be gentle. Dabi hadn’t mocked him when he cried, hadn’t threatened him at all other than to take medication, hadn’t left him hurting and alone. He’d made sure Katsuki ate, drank, and didn’t fall asleep on a too powerful prescription. He’d cleaned up when Katsuki finally lost the fight against his stomach and threw up down the edge of the couch. He’d caused the bare minimum of pain possible when cleaning out his back and face injuries.

But he hadn’t answered any more of Katsuki’s questions. And for that, Katsuki is ready to blast him.

“We get you to the heroes.”

Dabi had said that, sure. He also said he wasn’t taking Katsuki back to the League.

Okay. Sure. Great. Coming from a villain, it means precisely jack shit. Especially when the villain says he needs to set up the meeting with the heroes, but refuses to make the calls in Katsuki’s presence.

Suspicious doesn’t even begin to cover it. Maybe Dabi’s just been acting somewhat decent so they can go for conversion round two. Or just so Katsuki will cooperate. Maybe this is all part of their plan to draw out All Might, which is an infuriating thought.

At this point, he almost wants Dabi to snap - at least then they’d be back in familiar territory.

“Who could you possibly need to call first? There’s probably a hero agency within five minutes of here. They’re fucking everywhere.”

The villain has mostly just ignored him in the last hour since he’d woken up. It’s now a quarter to noon, and Katsuki has barely slept, has a truly heinous crick in his neck, and has been kidnapped from villains by another villain. His parents are probably worried absolutely sick and his classmates were all either injured or missing, last he saw them.

It’s not his best morning.

At least he’s sitting somewhat upright, even if he has to cuddle a pillow to manage it. He just can’t move much.

Not for the lack of trying, honestly. Once he’d woken up and Dabi had given him another round of meds (half dose on the pain pills), the bastard had helped him stand and Katsuki’s knees had immediately folded. Granted, that had been more from the intense vertigo, but still. It was unnerving.

Once the room stopped spinning, they’d tried for round two - with the ultimate goal of getting Katsuki to the bathroom. It wasn’t until they’d made it that Katsuki recognized the obvious problem of not being able to move his arms more than ten degrees in any direction.

“Fuck off and die,” Katsuki had whispered, face blazing. Dabi had huffed at his embarrassment.

“At least your nursemaid isn’t a little old lady with a foul mouth and no shame.”

“What the fuck, bastard.”

Dabi smirked, “Let’s just get this business done with, kid.”

Ugh. And that’s another irritating thing - “kid”. Dabi just cocked an eyebrow when he got disgruntled about it.

I’m a fucking hero in training.

(Though he doesn’t feel like he is. He feels like a goddamn failure.)

Captured, even when he was warned he was the target. Forcing his classmates into more danger by being reckless. Then he’d gone and pissed off his kidnapper to the point of nearly getting killed. He’d had to be saved by a damn villain, at the end. Then he’d been too much of a fucking coward to fight back against said villain, despite knowing absolutely nothing about his motivations.

Which is why he really fucking doesn’t trust Dabi stepping out to make secretive phone calls to who knows what kinds of people.

“What? Got a hero on speed dial?” Katsuki knows he’s not getting an informative answer. He’s going to die trying though.

“No, not a hero,” Dabi says cooly, shooting him an irritated glance. “I’ll be right outside. Try not to run off.”

With that last dig, the villain steps out the door, leaving Katsuki to his bleak thoughts.

It’s quiet and dim in the apartment, with the blinds pulled shut and most of the lights off other than a couple of lamps. Katsuki knows this would be a good time to snoop - see what he can find out about the bastard, though something tells him he won’t find much.

Still, he’s gotta do it. Anything to get moving, even if it’s not escaping like he wishes he could.

He shifts forward, testing his weight on his heels. His back protests with the kind of pain that would usually level him, but Katsuki forces himself to breathe through it.

There would be no ‘running off’ from him for a long time.

Katsuki trains his muscles with more purpose and rigor than the majority of his class. His days are scheduled down to the half-hour, and his gym visits are planned down to the numbers of reps. He has arm days that target deltoids, trapeziums, forearms, biceps, and triceps individually. He has six different types of chest presses and five different types of rows that he completes in sets. He does chin ups, set ups, push ups, you name it. He knows how his muscles work and what he can do to support, strengthen and sustain them.

Without much of a back to speak of anymore, a significant amount of support is gone from his upper body.

Once the initial panic and pain-filled disorientation had passed, he’d had the chance to think about it rationally. And the reality is stark.

He can barely move his arms - mostly just by using what’s left of his traps, his chest, and his lats. He’s got a range of motion that might let him pin a grapefruit between his hand and his thigh, standing upright. Possibly a melon, if he’s feeling masochistic. Assuming he could actually support shit - which he can’t, so no carrying anything.

(No opening locked and heavy windows. And Dabi’s standing outside the only door.)

On top of that, his spine wants to curve, despite the pain it causes. His head, chest muscles, and organs are heavy, and there’s nothing left to resist with.

And walking hurts - period. The pelvis connects to the spine and Dabi had shown him that the damage made it down to mid-back. Just the smallest tweaks that walking causes are almost unbearable.

Almost, being the operative word.

Slowly, Katsuki rocks himself forward, dropping the pillows that had been acting as half support, half sling. His arms fall down to his sides and he curses, but keeps moving. It’s just like a chair squat, at this point.

Using mostly leg muscles, he’s able to stand and gives the room a second to stop spinning before shuffling away from the confines of the couch. Curling his hands in his pockets is a familiar habit and helps take a modicum of pressure off his shoulders, though he’ll probably need slings for a full recovery.

If I make a full recovery, Katsuki thinks darkly before shaking it off. The clock is ticking on Dabi’s return.

He glares at the blind-covered window. It comes up to about waist level, automatically disqualifying it from even a fruitless kicking attempt - he can barely lift his foot to knee height before his balance gives out. And that’s ignoring the fact he can’t put any force behind a kick anyway.

Grunting in pent-up frustration, he turns to the rest of the room, resuming his inspection. Other than the couch and a small bookshelf with an old tv sitting on it, there’s very little to the living room that Katsuki can see. Maybe if he hadn’t had his shit wrecked, he could go full investigation mode and start pulling up carpet corners, taking apart couch cushions and checking air vents for signs of villainy.

Seeing as how none of those are an option, he settles for a thorough scan of his environment before slowly walking to the bathroom.

The small sink countertop is completely covered with the tray Dabi had been using last night. Since Katsuki’d spent the majority of his early morning staring at the implements on it, he barely gives it a cursory glance other than to get a better look at the pill bottles. Though it appears he hadn’t missed much - there’s a date, a dosage, and instructions. No prescribing doctor and no patient name. The most it tells him is that Dabi probably has a dealer able to get ahold of prescription stuff.

Tabling that thought for later, he awkwardly and gingerly uses his teeth to pull open the cabinet over the toilet. Only to see a lot more of the same.

Gauze, burn cream, a box of surgical staples plus an actual stapler, face masks, and a plethora of other medical junk. The guy apparently didn’t have much room left over for stuff like a hairbrush, or a razor.

Though he probably doesn’t need a razor, Katsuki thinks, somewhere between mocking and uncomfortable.

The only thing that catches his eye is a box of black hair dye, stacked underneath the staple box. That garners a raised eyebrow, mostly because it’s the same brand Kirishima uses. Dyeing hair is pretty common in the world of quirks though, so Katsuki just uses his shoulder to close the cabinet again and glances down.

Which turns out to be a mistake, as the wastebasket has not been emptied since its early morning use as a necrotic tissue dump. Katsuki immediately represses the sight and turns on his heel as best he can, making for the small bedroom.

He’s a bit surprised, when he shoulders on the light switch, to see how bare it is. There’s a bed (made up, which is weird), a chair with Dabi’s jacket slung across it, and a set of drawers for the rest of his clothes. On top of the drawers sits a lamp, a phone charger, and a book that’s missing half its cover. Katsuki halfway wonders if Dabi dug it out of a dumpster or really low-standard thrift shop.

Shaking his head, he looks around to see if there’s anything obvious just sitting around - receipts, illegal arms, dead bodies.

But it really is just a boring room. Even using his socked toes to pry open the low drawers, he only finds clothes (some with tags still on them) and an odd assortment of personal grooming things (he does, in fact, find a hairbrush). Wondering if he’ll have any better luck in the kitchen, Katsuki takes one last look at the only personal thing that appears in the room and pauses.

It’s the title that catches his eye, though the last time he saw it, it’d been in English. It’s a sci-fi novel that he’d read back in middle school, while abroad with his mom on one of her modeling trips to France. The set location’s team had been hectic and behind schedule and Katsuki had been jet-lagged. Since they were just down the street from a public library, he’d opted for the quiet instead.

His English was excellent for a twelve-year-old (it had nothing to do with All Might working in America) and he was fortunate enough to find an English section at the library. Most of the books there seemed to be the international bestseller types and there weren’t any kid books. The librarian noted his dilemma and asked in his broken English if Katsuki liked Star Wars. When he nodded, the older man plucked a book off the shelf and said Katsuki would probably enjoy it.

And he had. Curled up in one of the comfy chairs, he’d read about a bunch of smart kids being taken to a battle school to fight off aliens. How the protagonist always found a way to outwit or outfight his opponents in the end, even if it required ruthlessness. How the kid became both a leader and an outcast among his friends.

It’d been sundown by the time his mom found him, still engrossed even halfway through and struggling with the bigger words. She’d had to pry him from his seat and he’d had to leave the book behind, never learning how it ended.

And here was a beat-up Japanese copy of it, sitting beside the bed of a villain.

Life was fucking weird sometimes. Curbing that lingering curiosity, he shuffles out of the room.

The kitchen provides scarcely any new information, other than that Dabi evidently cooks regularly, enjoys pork dumplings, and has a stash of dark chocolate. Since he can only reach the bottom cabinets (though dammit, he could get the top ones even with his toes if not for his back - the splits aren’t that hard), he has to assume that any bomb-making materials and other illicit goodies are stashed up top.

It’s as he leans against the kitchen counter that he thinks about why the apartment feels so off.

It’s only the barest of necessities. And having traveled a lot when he was younger, he’s well aware of what it’s like to just run to the closest store and pick up what’s needed for a few days, a week, a month. That’s what this apartment feels like - a temporary home. Like Dabi is just passing through. Or has just arrived.

Maybe I was wrong last night - maybe he’s been abroad and that’s why I’ve never heard of a guy with his quirk, Katsuki muses. Or maybe he did a clean slate sort of thing when he became a villain? Left it all behind like some kind of fucked up monk. The thought makes him snort, which reminds him that he’s only on a half dose of pain meds. Which sucks, but Dabi had been concerned about his respiratory system and decided to scale it back.

It’s so fucking weird, Katsuki thinks, leaning his aching head against the cabinet behind him, trying to work up the will to get back to the couch before he falls over. What does he get out of this if he’s not taking me back to the League of Jackasses? Is he really going to get me back to the heroes or was he just trying to distract me? He’s a villain, so it’s not like I can trust him, but…

It pisses him off, not knowing. And he’ll admit, in the privacy of his mind, that it scares him too.

What does that guy want with me?

——

Dabi hangs up his cell, rubbing a tired hand down his face, mindful of the staples, and suppressing the emotions from the conversation he’d just ended. He stares at the dingy wall across from him until his heart stops pounding and he feels less like he’s going to cry. Or self-immolate.

He still needs to call Shigaraki - buy some time before he’s supposed to return. Then he needs to shoot off a text to Torrent, who can message one of his minions about some kind of transportation. The guy will probably chew his ass out for ghosting him. Might even break his habit of never making phone calls just so Dabi can really hear how pissed he is.

He sighs, sliding his back down the apartment door so he can sink into an exhausted squat.

I still haven’t come up with a way for the kid to have “escaped” me, he thinks, grinding a palm into his eye socket. He’d only grabbed an hour or so of spotty sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Which makes it the only sleep he’s really gotten in two days.

Maybe Yuko would have an idea. She was wily and terrifying and had been dealing with villains for far longer than he’d been alive. It’s worth a shot.

Something in him feels shamed, though, asking her for even more help. After all, she’d just agreed to take Dabi in for the third time in his life, this time with an injured teen in tow.

Third and final time, he notes grimly. This whole villain thing was really more costly than he’d anticipated. Sure, he’d thought about the costs related to his end goal of taking down corrupt heroes. He even thought about the casualties that might be involved and made peace with the idea of hurting people, even if they didn’t deserve it. He’d pay the price for it once he was done anyway.

But this shit - torturing a kid that can’t fight back. That’s a line he can’t bring himself to cross.

Which is why it’s so fucking irritating that it’d come up so early on. Dabi knows that with a reputation under his belt and a solid standing with the League, nobody would question him sparing kids any pain he could.

This makes him look squeamish. Weak. Like he can’t cut it as a villain.

Like a failure, even at this.

Dabi can’t talk to the kid like this. He’s too mad, too tired, too out of control. He’d taken great pains not to hurt the kid or threaten him with more pain, even when Bakugou pushed his limits. Tried to look at him like he had white hair with red accents and had just slipped and fallen in his own ice. It made it easier and harder, but Dabi thinks he mostly succeeded. The kid’s fear (well hidden, but still there) had faded more toward caution.

And anger - can’t forget that, Dabi thinks with some incredulity. Can’t blame him though. Dangerous situation, injured, alone. Dabi stops himself before he relates much harder. It’s kind of pathetic, really.

Back to the problem at hand - hah, at hand. Shigaraki, and what to tell him.

Eventually, Dabi shoots off a text that keeps it pretty simple.

“Brat can’t be moved. Cops out in force, patrolling streets. Would get caught.”

Hand man might not care if Bakugou is at risk, but he probably doesn’t want the League in the spotlight before he’s ready. Capture is probably a bigger deterrent than the kid’s death at this point.

Dabi hopes he’s pegged Shigaraki’s priorities correctly.

Chewing on his scarred lip, Dabi waits a moment to see if there’s an immediate reply, before opening a fresh text screen and typing in a number he’s had memorized since he was sixteen. The message takes him several tries - typing and deleting again and again - because Tokyo Vigilante Torrent’s number is also a number he’d sworn never to use again.

“So, any chance you’d be willing to do Kasai a solid?”

He hits send before he can think about it anymore. Maybe it’s direct. Maybe there’s no apology when there really really should be. Maybe he’s overestimating Daiki’s capacity for forgiveness. Maybe he ought to turn off his phone and go bury his head under a pillow and scream for a bit.

His phone screen lights up with a response.

“For you, my little soot gremlin, always. Also, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

——

From the couch, Katsuki hears what he thinks is a strangled laugh on the other side of the door and decides then and there that Dabi is a fucking weirdo.

Chapter Text

Earlier that day.

It’s four in the morning and Shouto hasn’t slept a wink. The lights of emergency vehicles are still flashing around him and the smell of smoke remains thick in the air, despite the fire marshals finally getting the blaze under control more than an hour ago.

All of his friends are already at the hospital - having been taken in order from most to least critical over the past couple hours. It’s a long trip back to civilization and the emergency responders had had to triage, to a degree.

Since Shouto was relatively uninjured and hadn’t inhaled much gas, he’d stayed behind to give his statement to the police directly. After all, he’d been the closest to one of the main incidents and had been one of the only ones to see the rest of the villains. Even Tokoyami hadn’t caught everything, being caught in a marble at the time. With Shoji and Midoriya injured and Bakugou missing, Shouto had stepped up. It was the least he could do.

“Don’t come, Deku.”

Shouto closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

He’d often wondered how Midoriya could call Bakugou a friend with the way the blond treated him. Now he knew.

When it came down to it, Bakugou cared. The blond knew Midoriya would try something stupid to save his childhood friend. Like that sludge villain attack all over again. And his last words had been to warn Midoriya away.

Not last words, Shouto thinks stolidly. Nothing short of a nuclear apocalypse could kill Bakugou. Even then, I think he’d give the cockroaches a run for their money.

Shouto shakes his head and glances compulsively at his phone. It’s five past four in the morning. Bakugou has been with the villains for almost three hours.

There’s a muted but unforgiving weight pressing down on his sternum, knowing that Bakugou is facing down the entire League by himself and that he’s there because Shouto was too slow.

The image of Bakugou’s stiff features and the smirking villain at his back flashes behind his eyes again and Shouto swallows hard against the shame choking him. Like fingers around his throat. Like the fingers around Bakugou’s throat.

He takes another cleansing breath. Trying to refocus on why he’s still here, waiting.

“What a tragedy, little Todoroki Shouto.”

He takes a sip of the water that the paramedic had handed him earlier, more for something to do than because he feels thirsty. To his left, his teacher is finally wrapping up his conversation with the police officers and Shouto can feel the tension begin to trickle out of his shoulders. Once he’s able to talk to Aizawa, he’ll catch his ride to the hospital.

“What a tragedy…”

That voice. That quirk.

“…little Todoroki Shouto.”

It’d been dark. A lot had been happening. But Shouto couldn’t shake how familiar the villain had been with him. How strongly he was reminded of Touya.

Shame curls in his stomach for a moment, dishonoring his brother’s memory like that - like spitting on his grave, if there had been one. Not just words and a death certificate.

(After all, there has always been a part of Shouto that doubted his father’s story. That Touya had lost control and had overheated to the point of heart failure.)

He takes another sip of water, bouncing his knee in agitation.

Part of him knows he’s focusing on the villain because it helps him not focus on failing his classmate. Of the fear that had been in Bakugou’s eyes. He’d never seen the guy so still or quiet before and it kind of makes him want to throw up.

Another part of him is really hoping Dabi is Touya in disguise. At least then Bakugou would have a fighting chance.

Another sip, swallowed down past a tight throat. Aizawa is thanking the officers for their service.

Shouto rises, cutting into his teacher’s path. “Sensei?”

Bloodshot eyes meet his and Shouto can say with confidence that a) the villains have made a terrible mistake and b) his teacher has never looked more angry. Odd, how that’s a reassurance when coming from Aizawa.

“Thought you went to the hospital already,” his sensei says sharply, scanning Shouto again for signs of injury.

“There’s something else I needed to tell you,” Shouto says bluntly. Aizawa gestures for him to fall in step.

“Tell me on the way to the hospital,” he grunts, opening up the car door of an older black vehicle. Shouto barely hesitates before slipping into the passenger seat and buckling in.

“Who’s car is this?” he asks, because he knows Aizawa rode the bus with them. His teacher rubs his eyes just this side of too hard and proceeds to shoot off a distracted text.

“The Pussycat’s,” he replies, starting the engine and pulling out onto the dirt road. “Tiger went with Mandalay and Pixie-Bob in the ambulance and asked me to bring it.”

Shouto hums even as his own phone buzzes with another text from one of his siblings. Their group chat has been alight with Natsuo and Fuyumi’s worry since they got the news two hours ago. He’d even talked with them both individually, trying to reassure them, but he must not have done a good enough job for them to still be fussing.

“You said you had something to tell me?” Aizawa prompts, weaving through the forest road a touch faster than was likely recommended. Shouto is briefly glad he hadn’t inherited his father’s carsickness.

“I think the guy with the flame quirk knew me,” he says without preamble. “Personally, I mean. Not just from the Sports Festival.” Because that probably would have been Aizawa’s next suggestion, and Shouto knows - knows it’s not just that.

“What makes you think that?” Aizawa asks after a beat. Not doubting. Just info gathering. Shouto sighs and relays the encounter with Dabi. The intensity of the taunt and the singling out that occurred. It’s on the tip of his tongue to mention Touya, but he holds back, like he’s been trained to.

Still, Aizawa doesn’t miss much. It’s quiet for a few minutes as they turn onto the highway before he asks, “What else is there?”

Shouto sighs, running a hand through his two-toned hair. It feels greasy from sweat.

I can do this. No need to reveal too much. Just, tell him about the blue flames.

“I - there’s only one person I’ve ever known personally who has blue flames like that, other than my dad when he’s putting his mind to it,” Shouto admits slowly. “He supposedly died about seven years ago though, so I’m probably just…” He can’t bring himself to finish the excuse.

“Supposedly?” Aizawa repeats, clearly asking for more. Shouto’s phone buzzes again, and he takes it as an opportunity to briefly gather himself. This was harder than he’d thought it would be.

[Text from: Endeavor]

- Shouto - I have just heard the news. Call me back immediately.

Hmm, maybe talking would be easier.

“Someone told us he’d died from heart failure at fifteen,” Shouto says with thinly veiled skepticism. “And we never saw his body.” His own heart is pounding at revealing that much, especially with Endeavor’s name lighting up his phone with another incoming call.

“Were you close to this person?” Aizawa asks, frown forming between his brows.

Shouto nods reluctantly. “He was my older brother.”

Silence reigns for a beat. Shouto picks at a loose seam in the chair under him, refusing to look at his teacher.

“Your brother,” Aizawa finally says when Shouto doesn’t add anything. Internally, he’s squirming. Sweat trickles down his spine. But he reminds himself why he chose to talk to his teacher.

If this information gets us closer to Bakugou, it’ll be worth it.

His phone lights up again, and he tries not to question himself.

“Todoroki.” It’s a command, this time. More information - now.

Shouto takes another sip of water, idly noting the bottle’s almost empty. Licking his lips, he turns his gaze out the windshield to collect his thoughts. Street lights flash by and, in the early hours of the morning, the highway is empty, adding an air of unreality to the situation. Perhaps it’s that that lets him open his mouth.

“I - um.” Not the greatest of starts. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t remember much of him, honestly.”

Aizawa doesn’t say anything. Shouto fiddles with the bottle cap, rolling it in his fingers. His stress has made the edges melt.

He closes the cap into a fist, forcing his quirk down.

“He and Fuyumi, my older sister, were twins. Split down the middle on the quirks - he got fire, she got ice,” Shouto says, the details coming easier. “I was… maybe seven or eight? When something happened. It’s still not totally clear.”

He trails off, thinking of that day. Touya had been doing his warmups in the training room, waiting for their father to get home. Endeavor was running behind because of a surprise villain attack just before his patrol ended.

Shouto remembered hoping that the villain would keep his father occupied long enough that they got to skip out on training. Especially since he’d been relegated to the sidelines due to a badly broken ankle that he’d gotten when slipping on his own ice.

Natsuo had laughed when it was clear Shouto would be fine after a few quirk-healing sessions, and Fuyumi had just sighed and told him to be more careful. Only Touya had understood the mixed blessing bad injuries were.

Because, on the one hand - no training. On the other - worse training after recovery.

Still, he was planning on enjoying it as best he could. It wasn’t like he was trying to rub it in that Touya had training when he didn’t, but how often could he just… roll around the mats of the training room without the terrifying knowledge that he might be eating them in a short while?

Touya had snagged him on one of his closer rolls, holding Shouto in a casual headlock as he continued his leg stretches. Shouto had been hollering and squirming and trying unsuccessfully to pinch his brother’s arm for freedom when Endeavor walked in.

The speed with which Touya had released him was impressive, but not nearly as impressive as the black scowl on their father’s face. Shouto swallowed when he saw the bandages wrapping his father’s forearms and the stitched-up cuts across his cheek and jaw. It was apparent Endeavor’s last fight of the day had gone poorly.

Ignoring Touya, Todoroki Enji turned his glower on his youngest. “Shouto, you should not be here. Go and do your homework and stay off your leg until it is fully healed.”

Endeavor’s words might have indicated concern if not for the tone. His father was livid and was not pleased to see his “most promising child” goofing off, potentially delaying his return to training.

Unwilling to make the situation worse, Shouto had shot Touya a sympathetic look and awkwardly bowed to his father, grabbing his crutches from the floor. Touya had just given him a resigned smile and risen to meet their father’s repressed anger.

It’d been less than an hour later that Shouto heard the sound of yelling from the training room. He felt his shoulders hunch, wondering if Touya was really dumb enough to get into another screaming match with their father when Enji had returned in such a bad mood. Still, with Fuyumi and Natsuo housed in the West wing of the house, he was the only one who could check on the situation. Maybe diffuse it with his “golden child” status, if he could.

His reluctance shifted to alarm when the yelling switched to screaming. He shot up from his desk, despite the pain it caused, and snagged just one crutch, fitting it under his left arm to leave his ice arm free.

Hobbling out of his room, he barely caught the scene of his father kicking the shoji doors open, splinters and flaming rice paper scattering into the hall.

Gobsmacked, he watched Enji step through the wreckage with Touya hanging limp in his arms, angry red burns marks evident across his neck and darker, almost black burns across both forearms. His older brother was unconscious and even from the end of the hall, Shouto could tell his breathing was labored.

“Dad- ?!” He called, staggering forward. Endeavor shot him one quelling look and strode away, making for the garage.

Shouto stumbled after them, but only made it in time to see his father reversing out of the driveway, red tail lights cutting a blinding streak through the dark of the night.

It was the last time he’d seen his brother.

Two hours and forty-seven minutes later, Endeavor returned alone, telling his children that Touya had pushed his flames too far again and that his weak body had failed him. The overwhelming heat of his quirk had caused his heart to fail.

“The doctor determined it was likely a defect from his mother’s genes,” Enji said, indifferent to the three tear-streaked faces in front of him. “These types of quirk-related accidents happen all the time, and Touya should have known better. Take this as a lesson.”

And he’d left it at that.

A death certificate had been registered the next day, and Enji made a brief statement to the police.

Other than that, nothing.

Looking back on it now, Shouto could guess that Endeavor’s legal team had likely been heavily involved in order to keep the media out of it. It wouldn’t surprise him if it’d been more shady than not. Evidence buried. Questions shut down at the source. Just like what had happened with their mother.

Shouto touched his face, tracing the rough edges of his scar.

He can’t tell Aizawa everything. Why he thinks Dabi might be Touya and why he thinks Touya might be justified in going villain. Or at least, he can’t say it all until it’s confirmed one way or another. Because if it isn’t Touya, then he’s dumping out a bunch of old demons for no reason and shaking public support of heroes.

(And the therapist he’d spoken to after his brother’s death had emphasized the needs of the many over the needs of the few. Why stir up the public over a quirk accident, after all?)

But if it was Touya under all those scars - and it would appear he got more, somewhere down the line - if it’s true - then… then…

He needs to talk to Fuyumi about what could be said. She wasn’t unemotionally involved, but she was the most rational about adult stuff.

And speaking of rational.

“Todoroki?” It doesn’t sound like the first time his teacher has said his name. Shouto clears his throat sheepishly.

“Sorry, sensei,” he mutters. “Not really easy to talk about.” He hopes that’s enough for Aizawa not to pry too deeply. Shouto would probably just spill the whole thing if he did.

“It’s just - he called me ‘little Shouto', when we were kids,” he continues. “He had blue flames too. They used to burn him when he lost control, since he got my mother’s lack of heat resistance.” He pauses, hoping Aizawa takes the hint.

“The clone I fought seemed to have pretty good control,” Aizawa counters, seeming to mull it over. “Would the burns be bad enough to give him those scars?”

Shouto grimaces, “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Were they what caused his ‘death’?” Aizawa asks, turning into the hospital parking lot.

“No,” Shouto says solemnly.

And he’s not thinking about the heart failure either. He’s never let himself think about the shape the burns took on Touya’s throat. Nor about the fact that his brother’s flames never emanated from there naturally. His flames took a similar pattern to those of Endeavor’s - who had flames around the eyes, across the jaw, back, upper chest, lower arms, and legs.

Not the throat.

“So, you think he survived,” Aizawa states wearily as he pulls into a parking spot.

Shouto swallows, “I think it’s weird we never saw his body if he died of heart failure.”

Aizawa is quiet for a moment, letting the car run even after he’d put it in park. Shouto feels bad for dumping all of this on his teacher after what was already a stressful night.

“I’ll look into it,” Aizawa finally sighs, rubbing his eyes in apparent exhaustion. “But we will be discussing this again after I check on the other students. Got it?”

Shouto nods mutely, feeling a weight come off his shoulders.

Aizawa worked with the police all the time - if anyone could find out if Touya was really dead, then it would be him. Then they could rule Touya out and Shouto could finally get some closure after seven years of uncertainty.

Or maybe, just maybe, if Touya wasn’t dead…

If his older brother - who used to sit on him and make terrible puns and cook him dumplings and hold him when training got to be too much - was alive.

Well, maybe there was hope for Bakugou yet.

Chapter Text

Present time

Back in Tokyo, Kameda Daiki, much better known as the vigilante Torrent, stares at his phone in something like disbelief. All this time he thought that punk had gotten himself killed somehow someway and here he was texting out of the blue. Asking for a favor!

Is Daiki going to deny him? No, of course not. And he shoots the little rat a text of exactly that flavor even as he’s processing his disbelief.

After he pulled that whole Dark Knight schtick too! Daiki thinks as he plugs the punk’s phone number into one of his favorite programs. The whole, “I’m not the vigilante they deserve, but the one they need” or something like that. Freaking edgelord.

He shoots off roughly six texts in a row, prying further into the nature of Kasai’s request. He flicks a glance at the computer screen as he types, but the program is still buffering. Pah.

All he gets back is a measly request for some form of discreet transportation from Yokohama to Tokyo.

“What is this punk up to?” Daiki mutters to himself, sending off rapid-fire messages to a couple of contacts in Yokohama. “Last I checked, the trains hadn’t stopped. And his bank’s still got money in it for a cab…”

Daiki trails off and opens another window, quickly logging into the account he’d created almost seven years ago, aaaand yep - still has funds in it. And no transactions since Daiki last saw him over a year ago.

“Hmm.” Daiki opens up yet another window and uses his backdoor into the police records, searching with the keywords “twenties” “red hair” “male”. He almost adds “obnoxious” and “savior complex” but knows that the police don’t account for fun little nuances like that.

As he scans through the most recent incident reports, a ping comes back on his messenger. A contact has hands on a bike that would suit Kasai’s needs. Daiki shoots back the coordinates Kasai had texted him and gets a confirmation that the motorcycle will be in place within the next two to three hours. Daiki grins and looks at his original screen - the program has stopped buffering.

He grabs his phone.

[Text from: Torrent]

-You have a ride
-2-3hrs
-Motorcycle

Did he need three texts to explain it? No. No he didn’t. But he knows what’s happening on the other side and it delights him to no end.

[Text from: Soot Gremlin]

-Helmets?

[Text from: Torrent]

-Since when are you such a safety nut?

[Text from: Soot Gremlin]

-What did you do to my phone?
-And
-probably not a good idea to show my face

That sends alarm bells ringing. Because as tempted as he is to snark back that Kasai should never show his pasty face, the little ginger actually admitting it means he’s in trouble. He runs impossibly fast eyes over the information he has pulled up from the police.

Nothing matches his old friend.

Wait a sec.

He throws in another search just using “flame quirk” and shoots off another text.

[Text from: Torrent]

-Helmets? Plural?

The top hit is for an attack on high schoolers. Daiki dismisses it immediately.

[Text from: Soot Gremlin]

-Need two

The next several reports involve villain takedowns by Endeavor and Daiki feels his mouth twist in distaste.

[Text from: Torrent]

-You finally get yourself a girl?

[Text from: Soot Gremlin]

-Got another kid for Yuko

[Text from: Torrent]

-Hah - old habits die hard, right?

None of the recent articles show anything remotely close to Vigilante Kasai’s usual signature. Frustrated, Daiki types in the search “blue fire quirk”. Again, the top hit is for the high schoolers. This time, Daiki clicks on it, not entirely sure what to expect.

Vaguely, he tries to reassure himself. Even if he was serious about possibly maybe becoming a villain, he’d never fuck with kids.

He reads the preliminary reports, eyes moving slower as he gets closer to the attachments labeled “Villain Sketches”. Only one really catches his eye. The fucking characters mean “cremation” after all.

He clicks on the file, knowing whose face he’ll see. Still, his stomach flips at the sight of the new facial scars and black hair. He’d swear it was a different person if not for the familiar blue eyes and piercings.

What the hell happened to you? His dark eyes fix on the photo, a scowl forming on his brows.

He knows Kasai was avoiding him, when he left - the kid had refused to meet up and had only called briefly to ask Daiki to watch over Yuko. Which, duh, of course he would. He’d also watched over the siblings that Kasai - Touya - was too stubborn to talk about.

Honestly, other than that first year, when they’d been compiling their case against Endeavor, Kasai never mentioned his family. The evidence was still on Daiki’s backup drives, ready to be sent out to the media if something happened to Kasai. Ready to be sent out to Kasai if something happened to Daiki. But they didn’t talk about it. Just put their heads down and kept working for a better underworld.

Or at least, that’s what Daiki had thought.

Kasai had been drunk when he talked about it last. But… he’d obviously thought about it a lot.

“People don’t care about anything anymore,” he slurred, leaning heavily against Daiki. “Those chicks I helped yesterday - d’you know there was a whole fucking crowd there? Just standin’ around, thumbs up their asses. Waitin’ for someone to do something.”

Daiki nodded sagely, having heard variations of this story enough times to quote Kasai.

“I fucking wonder if this is even worth it sometimes,” Kasai muttered, taking a turn for the serious. “Like, fuck, if we out all these crooked heroes we been researching… are people just gonna ignore it ‘cause it’s convenient?”

He was tugging on his red hair, head buried between his forearms on the bar top. With elbows pressing into his cheeks, Daiki almost didn’t catch what he said next.

“Almost think we’d have to do something crazy to get their attention. Go villain and start offing the heroes, maybe.”

“Pfft,” Daiki scoffed, draining the last of his beer. “That’d just make ‘em martyrs, wouldn’t it?”

Kasai glared off into the middle distance, blue eyes hard. He hadn’t answered at the time and eventually Daiki had been able to pull him out of his dark mood.

Daiki knew Kasai was being serious about parts of what he said. Kasai was serious about a surprising number of things, despite being a little shit. And one thing that hadn’t changed since Daiki had met the scarred and angry fifteen-year-old was his dedication to ending hero corruption. To helping those that the heroes missed because they were too preoccupied with ranking systems and parades and talk shows.

That dedication had shot Kasai up through the unofficial ranks of vigilantes based in Tokyo. It’d pushed him to track down and document heroes who put others in danger with their pursuit of public opinion. It’d pushed him to enter into more and more dangerous situations, in fighting corruption - both from heroes and villains. But he’d never backed down from the challenge.

Daiki thought he and Kasai had been on the same page. That as long as what they did was still helping people in the end, there were a lot of rules that were flexible.

But looking at the sketch of the villain Dabi, out there running with the League, he’s starting to understand. There were lines Kasai would cross that Daiki couldn’t.

Still, if there’s one thing he can take from this, it’s that Kasai still has the same goals. And the same weaknesses.

He scrolls back over the police report, detailing the kidnapping of a student named Bakugou Katsuki.

Got another kid for Yuko.

Daiki smiles weakly, looking back on the sketch of Kasai, whose vigilante career was largely comprised of helping kids out of tough situations. Of Touya, who had never really left his past behind.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” he mutters, picking up his phone to make a call. “But I’ve got your back, you idiot.”

——

Dabi reenters the apartment not long after his phone calls and proceeds to block the doorway with the bookshelf and the TV from the living room. Katsuki watches in disbelief as the villain then grabs a pillow and his blankets from his bedroom and drags them into the living room, curling up in the newly vacated floor space.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” The teen asks, dumbfounded. Dabi shoots him a bloodshot glare.

“Stay put,” he orders, like Katsuki is some kind of freaking dog. “Chill there for an hour. Then we’ll talk.”

Then he sets an alarm and plants his face in the pillow.

Katsuki sees red, for just a second, at being so thoroughly underestimated. An unholy grin starts on his face, before reminding him exactly why Dabi thinks he’s so little of a threat.

He breathes through his nose, desperately trying to keep his face from flexing and tearing the few stitches Dabi had put in.

It’s… fuck, it’s not like he forgets he’s barely a match for an angry kitten right now. He’s just - he’s never been quite this helpless. Especially not in the presence of someone like Dabi. It was bad enough when Deku saw through his bravado and pitied the creature Katsuki was underneath.

Having a villain lie down for a catnap not three feet from him, completely sure of his safety, is almost more than Katsuki can stomach.

His back takes the opportunity to twinge, reminding him that he can only sit upright for so long before what few muscles are left give out. He’s just trying to grow a pair and shift position when the phone in Dabi’s hand chimes with an obnoxious text tone.

Dabi groans like a man dying as another three texts come in rapid succession - all in different, equally obnoxious text tones that Katsuki recognizes as k-pop songs.

(One could not be friends with Ashido Mina without being exposed to the insanity that is k-pop.)

Katsuki is… understandably confused. Especially as Dabi drags his head out from under the covers to glare at his phone screen.

“I should’ve never given that asshole my number,” he grumbles, turning off the volume. But Katsuki also catches the tiny smile the villain can’t hide. Then the phone chimes again, despite Katsuki having just seen the villain turn the volume off. Dabi obviously notes this too and jabs out a quick-fire text, irritation as clear as the tap of his short nails on the screen.

“What the fuck is going on?” Katsuki asks. He’s fairly certain Dabi will be an asshole and not answer him, so it comes as a surprise when the villain drops his phone on his chest and gives Katsuki a considering look.

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?”

Katsuki is tired. His back is bitching at him to lie down or it will lie him down. There’s nothing more than a cheap plywood bookcase and a tiny television between him and freedom, but that’s evidently more than enough. And this fucker refuses to answer questions straight.

“Why?” Katsuki will have the bastard pry answers from him. See how he likes it.

Dabi rubs his palm into his eye, and Katsuki notices just how careful the villain is of his stapled skin. Not for the first time, he wonders what happened to the guy before he decides again that the asshole probably deserved it.

It’s petty, sure. But so is ignoring questions just to be a dick.

“Because that’s our transportation, apparently,” Dabi admits. Katsuki closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Dabi’s fucked up face.

“And where the hell are we going?” He’s not particularly hopeful, but hey, Dabi had finally answered one question. Maybe he could get another out of him.

He hears Dabi shift and opens one squinty eye to see the villain upright and crossing his legs, blanket draped over his shoulders. It strikes him how tired the villain looks. Hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes hooded, spine curved under the covers.

He looks less dangerous, out of his villain costume, now that Katsuki’s paying attention. He could be any asshole college student in the jeans and black hoodie, if not for the scars. Even the bloodshot eyes would fit right in.

And as angry as Katsuki is to be in a position where he even fucking notices a villain’s state of being, he also knows he probably owes the bastard in front of him his life.

Even if Dabi was the one who ultimately brought him to Shigaraki, Katsuki had heard hand man loud and clear. The words had been on repeat for hours, after all.

“I had to pick a student. My sensei’s people did some digging for me, and most of ‘em were pretty boring. But then there was you.”

Shigaraki would have gotten to him, one way or another, with or without Dabi. Katsuki knows he’s lucky the flame villain had the balls to step up to the leader of the League - especially with the mood Shigaraki had been in.

But this… not knowing. Fucking sucked. What if Dabi saved him only to turn him over to someone else? What if he wanted to use Katsuki for his own agenda against the heroes? He didn’t seem to hold them in very high regard, which made it even less likely that he’d take Katsuki to them like he said he would.

What if he’s just fucking with me and takes me back to Shigaraki?

He’d been ignoring the possibility as much as he could. Because if that’s Dabi’s ultimate plan, there’s very little he can do to stop him.

Which is why he can’t stand seeing the villain even remotely vulnerable. It makes him want to treat the guy like a regular extra - not someone who holds Katsuki’s life and health in his hands.

Dabi sighs, carding his fingers through his already disastrous hair. Then he catches Katsuki’s eyes with his own bloodshot blue ones.

“I told you, Bakugou, we’re getting you back to the heroes,” Dabi says evenly. Katsuki glares.

“And I asked you why. Why not take me back to your fucking League?” Katsuki’s voice cracks on the last word and he hates himself just a little bit more. But he has to know.

The villain appeared to be weighing his options - deciding something. Then he rolls back his sleeve, exposing more of the twisted scarring across his forearm.

“I was your age when this happened,” he says, turning his wrist so Katsuki can see that the scars wrap all the way around. “Younger, when it started.” Dabi’s face is passive, but his eyes are intense as they take in the old damage. Katsuki barely catches his last words.

“Believe what you want, but I think one me is more than enough.”

——

Maybe emotional vulnerability hadn’t been Dabi’s absolute brightest idea (or even his actual intent, when he’d opened his goddamned mouth), but at least it got the kid to stop looking at him like Dabi was going to eat him. In fact, it’s like a switch got flipped.

“Hah? So you got hurt as a kid and feel shitty about it? The fuck - you tried to roast Deku, Spider Arms, and Half n Half.”

Why should I be any different? They’re kids too. Bakugou doesn’t say it, but Dabi understands what he means.

And it’s a… valid point. Which Dabi has zero intention of explaining fully, especially when he’s barely awake.

Also, Half n Half?

“They have Recovery Girl - the worst they’ll feel is discomfort for a couple of hours,” he says dismissively before Bakugou can explode.

And I aimed at Half n Half’s left side, he recalls with groggy petulance.

That seems to mollify the kid, and Dabi takes a second to hunch further into his blankets. The call of sleep is almost overwhelming at this point. But he’d noticed Bakugou trembling.

“You need to lie down,” he points out, rising from his impromptu and as-yet unused pallet.

“I’m not a fucking two-year-old,” Bakugou spits, but there’s little heat behind it. Now that Dabi’s looking, he can see the kid is pale.

“Yeah… yeah,” Dabi yawns shallowly. He hasn’t done a full yawn in a while now. “Turn a bit so I can lift your legs.”

They get Bakugou laid out across the couch with minimal cursing and death threats, so Dabi counts it as a success. The kid opts to rest the cheek that had only taken Shigaraki’s thumb on the couch pillow rather than use the chair again. With Bakugou mostly comfortable, Dabi pulls the throw off the back of the couch and gingerly drapes it over him. He’s only wearing bandages for a shirt, after all.

By then, Bakugou’s eyelids are drooping as badly as his own, and it only takes the kid a few minutes to drop off. Looking at his relaxed face, it hits Dabi again how fucking young he is.

That pang over the League runs through him once more, reminding him that this is the life he’s chosen. That the consequence of his choice is laying facedown on his couch.

He thought he’d made peace. Put his old life behind him.

Even Stain didn’t kill indiscriminately, he thinks uneasily, finally laying his head down on his lumpy pillow. It doesn’t make me less of a villain to have… standards. Personal rules.

Dabi knows that if one of those self-serving heroes showed up at his door, he’d be happy to roast them alive. Thinking about heroes too long is still enough to make his blood boil - almost literally.

The only people in the world who are supposed to put others before themselves, it’s such a fucking joke.

This kid though, this wannabe hero, Dabi groans, a mixture of exhaustion and a too active brain forcing him to face himself. He fucking gave up, when he figured out we were only after him. He let us take him to protect his friends. He warned them against coming after him.

Dabi drapes a heavy forearm over his eyes, letting the weight press against his almost painful eyes.

Bakugou Katsuki. That kid would become the kind of hero Dabi could respect. And he doesn’t know what to do with that information.

Chapter Text

It’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon by the time either of them wakes, and Katsuki can tell Dabi is perturbed by something, if the way he keeps glancing at his phone is any indicator. His motions are quick and decisive as he packs up a duffel bag with necessities, changes Katsuki’s bandages, and cleans the apartment.

And by cleans, Katsuki means wipes bare.

Any surface that could possibly have fingerprints on it. All corners vacuumed for any trace of hair. Shower and sink drains scrubbed and bleached. Trash and sheets and towels, thrown into a bag, taken to the dumpster, and cremated. The guy is scarily thorough.

His villain coat is packed away in the duffel bag, and he’s wearing the same hoodie he’d been wearing since his white, gore-streaked shirt got added to the trash. Katsuki gets a hoodie too, pulled on awkwardly over his swath of bandages.

And while all this happens, Dabi outlines the plan.

It’s rather good, actually. Apart from the bit where Dabi is an idiot.

“So you know someone with a healing quirk,” Katsuki repeats from the couch as Dabi runs a duster over the fan blades. The fan blades. Who the fuck thinks of that.

“Yep,” Dabi’s voice is muffled behind a surgical mask. Once cleaning began, he evidently didn’t want even his spit getting anywhere. Which was a whole new level of paranoid.

“And you’re taking me to this person, in Tokyo,” Katsuki continues, “Who will then have the heroes come pick me up.”

“Like a regular drop site,” Dabi agrees idly, wiping sweat off his brow with his sleeve. Dust cascades down into his hair like ash.

“Meanwhile, you run off to the villains with some bullshit excuse about why you couldn’t hold on to one injured teenager?”

“Pretty much.” The bastard really is an idiot.

Katsuki doubts the villains will believe any story Dabi can come up with, but if the dumbass wants to walk into his own death with his eyes wide open, that’s his choice. Still, he has to wonder why Dabi even wants to go back - it’s clear he doesn’t fully agree with how Shigaraki does things, if his actions with Katsuki are anything to go by.

What is so goddamn important to you that villainy is the only option?

He doesn’t ask. But it bugs him, all the same.

“And it’ll be three days before the heroes can come get me.”

“She meets with a hero every Saturday,” Dabi shrugs. “Makes it easy.”

Katsuki snorts. Easy. Right. “And you can’t just drop me off at UA because…?”

Dabi shoots him a cool look. “I might not be willing to hurt you, kid. But there are other things I need to do that don’t involve UA teachers putting me in the dirt.”

Katsuki huffs, but doesn’t complain any further. Really, he needs Dabi’s help to be able to do anything more than an agonized shuffle. A covert entry into UA, one of the most highly guarded locations in Japan, is mostly just wishful thinking. And he already knows Dabi won’t willingly turn himself in.

Still, waiting chafes. Leaving his parents in limbo chafes. Cooperating with a villain chafes.

But Dabi is willing to do this much - and it’ll have to be enough, for now.

That, and the thought of anyone with a healing quirk is a temptation Katsuki can’t quite ignore. He does want a medical professional’s opinion on his back. Especially since Dabi seems unwilling to confirm or deny whether he’ll ever recover.

“So, who is this “friend” we’re meeting in Tokyo?” Katsuki pries, again. So far, Dabi has been mum on whoever this lady is. The villain sighs in irritation.

“You’ll seriously find out soon enough, you impatient fucker. Now, think you can stand?”

No, Katsuki does not think he can stand. Especially not with the half dose of pain meds he just took less than half an hour ago. He’s feeling an odd mix of numb, dizzy, and just-hit-by-a-truck right now. It’s a bit much. Hence, trying to distract himself.

Still, he’ll die trying. Like he always does.

He’s about halfway up before Dabi catches him under the armpits like a toddler and lifts him the rest of the way. “Valiant effort, kid. But we don’t have all day. Come on.” He gestures to the window.

(Katsuki opens his mouth once to ask why the fuck they can’t use the elevator like normal goddamn humans, to which Dabi replies that several tenants are familiar with the League. The teen then finally accepts the boost out the window.)

It takes an embarrassing amount of help from Dabi to get down the fire escape steps. And the less said about the pain, the better.

From there, it’s several dingy streets and ducking away from lowlifes before Dabi seems to spot what he’s looking for - a pile of trash.

Which, when deconstructed, reveals an older Kawasaki motorcycle, with two helmets stashed in a lumpy trash sack nearby.

Both helmets are covered in Korean boyband stickers. Katsuki is not impressed.

“Your friend is a fucking weirdo,” he says decisively. Dabi just grimaces.

“Not a friend,” he mutters, distracted. “Just a guy I now owe a favor.”

Katsuki doesn’t believe that for a second (no one sets out to annoy someone via text tones with so much k-pop and obvious glee unless they’re a friend), but he’s getting a helmet shoved over his sensitive face and refrains from commenting on it.

Getting on the motorcycle is an awful experience in itself, and Dabi warns him very blatantly that the entire trip is probably going to be insanely painful and not to try anything stupid - like throw himself off the back.

Which gets Katsuki a speculative look over Dabi’s shoulder. Then his hands are being pulled around the villain’s waist (despite his heated objections) and the sleeves of the too-big hoodie are getting tied together in a knot.

“For your own safety, kid,” Dabi says with just a touch too much smugness.

Katsuki’s vivid descriptions of what he can do with his “safety” are drowned out when the engine roars to life.

The start of the ride is a nightmare of involuntary swaying, bumps, gear changes, and the constant, agonizing vibration of the motorcycle under him. Even if Katsuki had thought they were cool before, it would be a cold day in hell before he ever thought of riding a bike again.

So he tries to keep himself somewhat occupied with figuring out where they are, which is when it hits him why Dabi was so thorough about cleaning out his place. He had no intention of blindfolding or knocking Katsuki out, so, theoretically, the teen could lead the police back to Dabi’s apartment no problem.

It’s part sad and part annoying, honestly. Knowing that the asshole will need to move.

But it also gives him an idea of where the villain’s pub might be. Dabi had complained enough about his heavy ass to know that the villain had carried him from the creepy hideout. He’d also snagged a look at the time on Dabi’s phone. So the pub was somewhere within an hour’s walk of the apartment that Dabi was abandoning.

He notes street signs and recognizable landmarks for the first few intersections before realizing they’re in Yokohama - which is about the halfway point on his commute to UA. If Dabi keeps up with the speed limit and they don’t hit much traffic, then they should make it to the outskirts of Tokyo in about an hour.

His back aches just at the thought.

There’s a significant portion of him that wants to just, fucking, pass out and not deal with this shit. Another, tiny, minuscule, weak-ass bitch part of him that actually wants to trust Dabi. And an overwhelmingly logical majority of him that says to quit being such a pansy and watch for some kind of opportunity.

What that might be, he’s not entirely sure, until he sees it.

Katsuki had been resting his head against Dabi’s back, forcefully replaying old All Might fights in his mind in an attempt to ignore how his back was screaming at him. He’s just getting to the part where All Might had taken down Toxic Chainsaw when he spots them.

Two cops with motorcycles, parked in front of a coffee shop by the road.

Dabi’s pulling them to a stop at a red light, maybe three vehicles back from the actual crossing. The policemen are maybe six or seven meters away, directly on their left.

Since Dabi’s not generously committing any villainous acts at the moment, and isn’t likely to blast through a red light while conveniently in sight of the authorities, Katsuki has to make a snap decision.

As soon as the light turns green and Dabi turns the handle to hit the gas, Katsuki throws his body to the left.

Shiiiiiiiiiit!!!!

Katsuki feels the hoodie rip at the right shoulder and the ground surges up to break his face, helmet, and all. At the same instant, his arms catch around Dabi and he can feel his back tearing open. Heart in his throat, he closes his eyes at the last second - agony and terror drowning out the feeling of the bike swerving under him.

Then a hand is latching onto his back - fucking ow - and his face is smacking into the saddlebag instead of the asphalt.

Jarred and disoriented, he realizes that he’s got Dabi half pulled off the bike, but the asshole managed to throw the bike hard enough right to put it between Katsuki and the ground. The villain’s leg must be braced on the road on the right side to support the half sideways motorcycle and Katsuki bodyweight hanging off the left.

Spewing curses into his helmet, he feels Dabi’s overly hot grip haul him back into the saddle. Black spots are dancing in his vision and frankly he feels like he’s about to puke, but he throws a desperate glance at the officers, just to see if they had at least noticed the scene they’d made.

Fuck yes. One of them is looking their way, talking into his radio.

In front of him he hears Dabi’s muttered imprecations, “Goddammit, kid.”

The cars that had been swerving around their little debacle suddenly blare their horns as Dabi releases the clutch and hits the gas.

One hand on the handlebars, the other with Katsuki’s wrist in a death grip, Dabi shoots across the intersection, rounds a hairpin turn into a side street, and weaves them through the most complicated mess of back streets and alleyways that Katsuki has ever seen.

Or might have seen, if his vision hadn’t completely greyed out on the first hard turn. He fades in and out, and can’t answer when Dabi finally yells at him. Even when the villain elbows him, he barely feels it.

Eventually, with enough turns, they make it to another section of the city and Dabi pulls over. They’re in an industrial area, surrounded by chain-link fences and building materials. The only people around are a handful of construction workers further down the street.

Dabi powers down the motorcycle and looks over his shoulder. Katsuki doesn’t need to see past the helmet to know the villain is pissed - his shoulders and back have been rigid for the last fifteen minutes.

Booting down the kickstand, Dabi turns as best he can in the saddle, untying the remains of the hoodie sleeves and letting Katsuki’s arms fall to his sides.

He hisses, the shift in body weight causing the recently split wounds to crack again. He can vaguely feel hot blood pooling under the bandages.

Dabi just cocks his head, one hand on Katsuki’s shoulder to keep him upright.

“That was really fucking stupid,” he says, enunciating clearly to be heard through the helmet. Katsuki doesn’t have the energy to challenge him on it. In fact, his back is refusing to support him anymore. His helmeted head thumps against Dabi’s turned shoulder.

Not stupid just… risky, he thinks, using one of Aizawa’s favorite accusations. And it didn’t even pay off. He feels his throat tighten, but doesn’t make a sound. Under his head, he feels Dabi sigh.

Within a few minutes, the villain has him retied in place and is kicking the stand back up with more force than necessary.

When he doesn’t start the engine immediately, Katsuki frowns.

Dabi reaches up to flip his visor, and Katsuki can hear the villain’s low voice much clearer.

“If you’re going to be some great hero someday, you’re going to have to be smarter than this.”

Katsuki growls low in his throat, ready to snap, but the villain shifts in front of him, looking over his shoulder.

“You might not believe this, but there are people in the police and the hero agencies who report to the villains first,” Dabi says. “There’s corruption throughout the system. How do you think we found your training camp?” And the look he gives Katsuki is hard and serious. It’s the same look he gets from Aizawa when he’s being reckless.

Katsuki doesn’t know what to make of it, coming from a villain. He’s also not sure what to do with the information the villain had just revealed.

Dabi looks at him a moment longer, as if waiting to see the point driven home before he continues.

“Now, think you can keep it together for the rest of the ride? Or are you going to give the healer a heart attack when she sees you?”

Katsuki’s not sure whether to feel chastened or pissed, but he manages a brief nod and that seems sufficient for Dabi.

Still, when the engine comes to life and starts vibrating away at the injuries across his back, he keeps his cursing to a relatively tame level. With care, Dabi turns them back toward the route that will take them to Tokyo.

Katsuki doesn’t try to escape again.

Breathing exercises and beautiful thoughts of all the different ways he could blast the hand bastard into space see Katsuki through the next fifty-six minutes of travel. Still, his jaw aches from clenching his teeth and his back feels like Shigaraki’s been playing piano across it.

Eventually Dabi switches into a lower gear as they make their way through an older neighborhood in the Kasai district of East Tokyo, going by the street signs.

Unbelievably, the air is even more humid, so Katsuki makes a wild guess that they’re either near the bay or near one of the rivers, though he’s not familiar enough with the place to guess which.

The only thing he’s pretty positive of is that they’re maybe twenty minutes from UA, by train. Just… hop on the Tozai line, and he’d be there.

The temptation is strong. Maybe, when Dabi leaves, he can get this “healer friend” to help. If they’re on such good terms with a hero, surely they’d be willing to get him to the train station? He could be back at UA in the next hour or two once the villain goes back to the League.

Katsuki’s not sure why that thought pisses him off so much.

But he puts his plans on the back burner as Dabi pulls up to a seemingly unowned shed set between two fences. It’s the work of a few minutes to get Dabi and Katsuki untangled… and to drop Katsuki into a controlled fall to the ground.

His legs absolutely refuse to support him, and his back is in agony at the new motions.

Carefully, he leans his forehead onto his bent knees, watching Dabi guide the motorcycle into the shed and simultaneously watching his dreams of escape circle the proverbial drain.

He can’t even fucking stand, let alone make it to the goddamn train station.

(If he wipes his eyes, it’s only because the shed is dusty as fuck and Dabi’s not being very careful).

When Dabi locks up, he looks down at Katsuki with a neutral expression. He doesn’t ask if Katsuki can walk. Instead, Katsuki just nods at the unspoken question and keeps his curses to a minimum as Dabi awkwardly hauls him onto his back. Thankfully, the villain leans forward enough that Katsuki doesn’t need to put his arms around his neck.

But it’s still humiliating.

Maybe not as humiliating as a failed escape attempt, but so far Dabi doesn’t seem to be holding it against him.

“Do you eat fucking rocks?” Dabi grunts as he stands. “Or are you actually Fatgum’s illegitimate child?”

Case and point.

“Maybe you’re just fucking weak,” Katsuki growls back. “Deku said he had to carry All Might once - do you know how much he weighs?”

“Do you?” Dabi asks, sounding amused. His gait jolts as he steps off a curb and Katsuki hisses, spots dancing again. Talking helps distract him though, so he answers the rhetorical question.

“Over five hundred pounds,” Katsuki says, as if he doesn’t know the exact number. Unlike Deku, he doesn’t flaunt his knowledge.

Dabi lets out a low whistle, then asks, “Is “Deku” the little bone-breaking kid?”

Katsuki winces slightly. He really shouldn’t have said that. Still, the name would be common knowledge to the villains with Izuku choosing it as his hero persona.

“That’s him, yeah,” Katsuki admits. His face heats in shame at revealing more information than he’d planned. Which just compiles on top of the heat of the mid-July air and Dabi’s uncomfortably warm back.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he complains without thinking. Dabi actually chokes.

“Not like that,” Katsuki bursts out before the villain can say anything.

“I’m flattered, I guess. But tragically, it’d never work between us.” Dabi back is shaking with suppressed laughter and Katsuki has never wanted to blast anyone so badly. His face is burning - and not just from the humidity.

He’s so preoccupied with his fuck up that he barely notices when they arrive two streets later. Or maybe it’s just because the place is so nondescript.

It’s an old house in an older neighborhood that seems to relish in the old, retired life. No kids are out playing and there are far too many potted herb gardens and sensible old cars around. A few of the odd residents can be seen at windows or returning from work, but nobody looks their way - as if two hoodie-clad young people were nothing to comment on.

It’s just another weird thing to add to the list.

But then, they are in front of the house of a supposed healer - maybe people are used to strangers showing up looking for help?

Dabi only hesitates for a moment before marching up to the door and kicking the bottom in lieu of knocking. Katsuki curses as the balance shift causes his head to knock into the side of Dabi’s. But then the door opens and Katsuki lays eyes on possibly the most ancient woman he’s ever seen.

Dabi shifts from foot to foot under him.

“Hey, Yuko.”

The lady gives them a very wrinkly grin.

“My, it’s good to see you again, Kasai.”

Chapter Text

Dabi feels his eye twitch.

She did that on purpose.

“I told you, I go by Dabi now,” he stresses. At his shoulder, he hears Bakugou’s low “haaaah?” of interest. He pinches the brat’s leg in retaliation.

“Are we really going to quibble about that out here on the porch?” Yuko scolds merrily, ushering them in. “Time would be better spent taking a look at the boy you’ve brought me.”

That stings, a little. Still, Dabi steps over the familiar threshold, only to be enveloped in a warm hug - kid on his back and all. He doesn’t startle or freeze, getting caught between the two reactions. He just sort of… wobbles. Then Yuko is cupping his cheeks and peering up into his face with her nearly blind eyes.

“Oh my boy, what happened?” She asks, running gentle fingers over the staples holding him together.

“Kid first, Yuko,” Dabi reminds her dryly. Any remaining wariness on Bakugou’s part is probably thoroughly ruined now.

“Right, right,” she says, leading them down the hall to the back rooms turned off-the-grid clinic. He watches her steps become brisk, business taking over. Once a pro, always a pro, he supposes - though he knows she would object.

Walking through the much-trodden hallway into the brightly lit little operation room is an exercise in nostalgia for Dabi. Very little has changed, that he can see. Maybe a few more pictures line the hall, and the hospital-style bed seems to be newer than the one he’d used. Someone had also sent her an enormous bouquet of purple flowers - her favorite. He sees them when they pass the kitchen.

Otherwise, it’s as close to coming home as he’s felt in seven years, even if he’d spent less than a year here, all told.

He’d almost forgotten Bakugou in his musings, but the kid makes himself known again when they enter the clinic.

“Your parents literally named you ‘fire’?” The kid taunts. He doesn’t need to see Bakugou’s expression to know he’s smirking.

“House fire, specifically,” Dabi says without missing a beat. No need to let the little brat know the truth. He turns his back to the exam table and lowers the kid carefully down onto it.

Yuko laughs as she washes her hands, “He caused quite a bit of confusion around here - most people assumed his name referred to the Kasai area.” Dabi turns in time to catch the confusion on the kid’s face - the inevitable kind that comes with being the odd one out in an old relationship.

Eyeing Bakugou critically, Dabi also notes how pale he is again. Back to business then.

“He’s on a half dose of oxi-proxen and a full dose of ampicillin, last taken about an hour and a half ago,” Dabi relates to Yuko. “Bandage change was about three hours ago - I’ve been doing wet to dry bandages. He’s only had one change since I cleaned it out, though.” She hums as she dries her hands.

“Bakugou Katsuki, isn’t it?” She greets, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “It’s nice to meet you, though I do wish the circumstances were better.” Joining them at the table, she gives the kid another disarmingly wide smile. Like the world’s cutest grandma.

Don’t trust it, kid - she’s terrifying, Dabi thinks fondly.

“Kasai, be a dear and get Bakugou a pillow from the cabinet. He really shouldn’t be sitting upright, from what you told me of his injury,” Yuko says and Bakugou looks positively gleeful.

“Shut it, kid,” Dabi mutters without heat, heading to the far cabinet to fetch a pillow. If he grabs one of the lumpier ones, well. He never claimed he wasn’t petty.

Yuko is helping Bakugou unzip his hoodie and Dabi lays the pillow at the end of the exam table. He slips back into assistant mode easier than he’d thought possible, removing the jacket and helping Bakugou lay down without being asked.

“How sterile was the environment you were working in?” Yuko asks Dabi. “And do wash your hands, I’m afraid my vision is worse than usual today - I may need your help.”

“It was as sterile as an apartment can be,” Dabi calls over his shoulder as he makes for the sink. “I did take your infection warnings to heart, you know.”

“Good to hear,” Yuko says approvingly, studying the bandages on Bakugou’s cheeks. “How do you feel, Bakugou? Aside from the pain - any nausea, headache, chills?”

“Some nausea,” Dabi hears the kid say. Apparently, he can cooperate for Yuko. “But that was mostly the antibiotics, I think.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” Dabi comments snarkily, walking back over and pulling on his gloves. Bakugou uses his limited mobility and flips him the bird. Dabi just smirks.

“Scissors,” Yuko gestures to her mobile tray table and Dabi obliges. “Do you mind? I’m going to take a look at your injuries.” Dabi sees Bakugou grimace.

“Go for it, lady. Wanna know what I’m working with too,” he growls. Dabi shoots him a warning glance.

Without further ado, Yuko cuts through the bandages and gets to the bloody and slightly greyed gauze packed underneath. Dabi’s seen enough people laid out on this table to be able to view the injury with a critical eye as Yuko gently pulls away the rest.

There’s still a lot of gunk moldering across the healthy muscles. Dead stuff that was too difficult or badly placed to be removed. Still, a bunch of it came away with the gauze, as it was supposed to. Bakugou makes a distressed wheezing noise as the last of it comes off.

“Oh dear heart, I didn’t think it’d be this bad,” Yuko says sympathetically. “Do you want to be put under? This must hurt terribly.”

Dabi frowns, “He had a reaction to the oxi-proxen - is that a good idea?”

“What kind of reaction?” Yuko asks, concerned.

“He freaked out over a little repressed breathing, like I wasn’t literally laid out face first,” Bakugou interjects irritably, though he sounds strained. “It was only for a second.”

Yuko hides a smile, “He was right to be concerned. We have seen others have worse reactions with prolonged use. Is that why you dropped his dosage?” This last was directed at Dabi, who nods his assent.

“Well, if you have no allergies, I see no reason we can’t get you hooked up to the good stuff with a little supplemental oxygen. I’d really rather not treat this while you’re conscious and cause you more pain.”

Dabi sees Bakugou swallow nervously, his expression briefly folding into uncertainty.

“Could you… can you tell me what you think first?” the kid asks, unusually quiet.

Yuko hmm’s at that, leaning close to Bakugou’s raw back with an intent look on her wrinkly face.

“Well, assuming we avoid infection and other complications - which I’m hopeful for, given how quickly you were treated - and you don’t strain yourself, I’d say you have somewhere between five to eight weeks for full recovery,” she pauses when the kid’s breath hitches. “I’m sorry it won’t be sooner.”

“I - no that’s fucking great,” Bakugou chokes out, voice shaking just a bit.

Dabi sighs when Yuko shoots him a look and says in an undertone, “I wasn’t sure he could recover and not end up like…” he gestures vaguely at himself. Yuko’s expression tightens but she lets it go. For now, at least.

“Then let's get you prepped for anesthesia,” she says brightly, “And we’ll get you started back toward normal.”

It’s the work of practiced minutes to have Bakugou hooked up to an IV and heart monitor and have an oxygen strip taped under his nose. Yuko is inspecting Bakugou’s cheeks and Dabi’s suturing job when the kid asks, “How does your quirk work?”

Yuko huffs. “Kasai didn’t tell you?”

“He wouldn’t even tell me your name,” Bakugou says drowsily, missing the wide eyes Yuko sends Dabi’s way. He studiously ignores her incredulity.

“Well, you’ve heard of Recovery Girl, I assume? She works at your school,” Yuko says easily and Bakugou hums in acknowledgment. “She’s my daughter, and she’s the one who will be taking you home on Saturday.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot up, and again Dabi finds himself ignoring a searching look. The kid’s probably surprised to find a villain so closely associated with his own nurse.

“My quirk works a little different from hers, though,” Yuko continues as the awkward moment passes. “She draws on the energy in the patient. I draw on my own energy. It won’t be the quickest of healing sessions, I’m afraid - not much energy at ninety-three, you know.”

Dabi scoffs loudly from the end of the table and Yuko smiles. Bakugou’s eyes close and only barely reopen.

“Take a nap, kid,” Dabi says, eyes steady on the heart monitor. “You’re in good hands.”

——

Earlier that day, after the teacher’s meeting

Toshinori exits the private UA conference room more troubled than when he entered it.

The news stations were already nailing the school to the wall, censuring them for so badly failing their students. Talking heads were debating whether or not Bakguou, with the showing he’d given at the sports festival, would actually turn to the villains’ side. And, worst of all, it was now more certain than ever that there was a mole amongst the students or the teachers.

The only bright spot that came from the meeting was actually Naomasa’s interrupting phone call, letting him know that there was a lead on the villain hideout. A patchwork villain matching the description of “Dabi” entering into an abandoned building only two weeks ago.

Which would be discussed at the first meeting with the police, planned for around three in the afternoon. There, Naomasa would be going through the preliminary briefings on the villains and the profiles they had so far. If all went well, and enough evidence was compiled, the hero strike team could hit the villain base as soon as tomorrow.

It still grinds at Toshinori though. At a little past noon now, Bakugou has officially been with the villains for about twelve hours. Knowing that they’d need to wait another day, at least, before they could retrieve his student truly angers him.

Who knows what they’re doing to young Bakugou, Toshinori thinks grimly, rubbing his forehead in dread.

After all, he’d met Shigaraki and Kurogiri. And while Naomasa said that the hand-covered villain apparently hadn’t been present, knowing that the League is involved is enough to turn his stomach.

Toshinori had been a hero for thirty years, now. He’d come close to death more times than he could count, and many more times than the public would ever be aware of. But in his first run-in with the League, he’d nearly been bisected, disintegrated, and impaled. That was a bit more varied and violent than even he was used to.

And worse than that is the certainty that All For One is pulling the strings on the League behind the scenes.

He hasn’t told the other teachers yet. Because (and he truly hates to admit this) he’s not sure it’s safe anymore. That kind of information is deadly in the wrong hands, and he can’t risk it getting back to All For One that Toshinori suspects the villain survived their last fight. It might provoke the villain to act first - or worse, retreat. Then they’d lose their only lead.

But still, he has to tell someone. To keep the information alive, if nothing else. Because if this turns into another fight between him and All For One?

Well, Toshinori’s not laying odds on surviving that bastard again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalls Sir Nighteye’s predictions of his death sometime within the next year and wishes that he didn’t so thoroughly believe this would be it.

Shaking his head, he notes that he’s made it to the teacher parking lot without really paying attention. Hitting the unlock button, he slips in his stuffy car.

The planning meeting is set for three o’clock, giving him plenty of time to run across town to Might Tower so he can hear back from his sidekicks. Then if all goes well and the police meeting ends on time, he can head down to the hospital where the kids are located.

His heart clenches, thinking about his students - put through so much turmoil and terror at their age. It’s horrifying and infuriating that the villains have targeted the next generation before they had a chance to prepare.

They will have to step up sooner rather than later, whether I want them to or not, the unendingly practical side of him insists. I have very little time left and the villains are only building momentum.

A text from Naomasa pings him, letting him know that Aizawa has been released from his interview. No new information.

Using the voice command, Toshinori messages back, requesting an in person meeting with Aizawa and Naomasa before the big planning meeting.

Because if Toshinori is looking to the next generation, and wants the students of Class 1-A to survive to graduation, they’re going to need all the support they can get.

And if I can’t be there for them, I’d rather have someone who’s put himself on the line twice be the person who hears the truth. About All For One. And… about One For All.

——

In the dark of the laboratory, Dr. Tsubasa finishes reading off the report from Sgt. Kato of the Musutafu Police Department.

All For One taps one finger against his temple, not even bothering to contain the amused smile tugging at his mouth.

He’d thought that Dabi’s past as a vigilante would be the most interesting thing he learned about the young flame user. It appeared that even he could be surprised at times.

What an interesting development.

When All For One had finally deemed Tomura ready to launch, it’d gone unsaid that the boy would need supporters. Villains who were attracted to power and who held power themselves. Maybe not an army, but certainly a force to be reckoned with. Of course, with prominence given to Tomura - that was key.

All Might always focused on the ring leader of whatever group he happened to be fighting.

And when the Number One hero went head to head with Tomura? Well. It wouldn’t really matter if he won or lost against Shimura Nana’s grandson. Either outcome would likely crush the infernal Symbol of Peace.

Which was why All For One inspected each new member joining Tomura’s little League. A homicidal teenager, several Stain disciples, and other assorted oddballs weren’t cause for much concern. He might not have even looked twice at Dabi if not for the fact there was no history on him.

That piqued All For One’s interest. There were very few people who could completely disappear from the system, given the types of quirks the government had at their disposal in modern society.

A brief conversation with their middle man, Giran, revealed that Dabi only had a couple of stories linked to him since he’d come on the scene - which was fairly recent. Barely two weeks before he’d come in contact with the League.

But those stories were intriguing. One with a torched criminal hanging out around a school district. The man had a record as a pedophile.

The other was actually a hero. Or ex-hero. Interestingly enough, the man had once worked for All For One, a year or so prior. The hero and his partner were both rather crooked, but it had been the hero’s partner that All For One had been interested in.

After all, it wasn’t every day you saw a quirk that could forcibly activate another person’s quirk.

When the hero had delivered his partner to All For One, he’d been paid for a job well done and, at some point, he must have hung the hat up on his hero career as well. Likely from guilt, but that was of little consequence to the supervillain. What All For One wanted to know was Dabi’s connection to the hero. Giran hadn’t known, however.

It was around that time that Tomura started changing his tune regarding the flame villain - no longer deriding him about his connection to Stain or his terrible attitude or even his questionable hygiene (Tomura, it was safe to say, had not liked Dabi). Instead, he seemed to hold the other villain in somewhat higher regard than the other members.

With mystery surrounding the flame quirk user on two fronts now, All For One had requested a meeting.

That encounter had been enough for him to garner several new facts.

Dabi was educated. His parents likely had incompatible quirks. He held pro heroes in disdain because a hero close to him had caused him harm at some point. He didn’t like Tomura’s vendetta against the UA students.

(This last tidbit had prompted All For One to recommend Dabi lead the training camp attack, which they were still waiting to see the results of).

None of these facts were explicitly stated, mind you. But All For One had several quirks at his disposal that allowed him to read a person. And while Dabi was decent at disguising his thoughts, he had a few centuries to go before he’d be a match for the supervillain. And it was clear Dabi was hiding quite a bit.

Kurogiri had shown his worth then - obtaining a clear fingerprint from the flame villain on a discarded beer bottle.

Running the print through the regular channels had turned up, to little surprise, nothing. But having Sgt. Kato run it through the police database revealed a whole new story.

And that is the report he’d just finished listening to. He cannot help but think it’s almost too perfect. The fingerprints match a series of unsolved vigilante cold cases, and one of the suspects listed is Todoroki Touya.

Legally dead at age fifteen, several months before the cases began. Listed as a suspect primarily because the descriptions of the vigilante matched those of the Todoroki boy so closely. But the fingerprints from one of the crime scenes and the quirk came back as no match. In fact, no quirk was ever used in any of the cases listed.

Except now it is clear that Dabi’s quirk matches that of Todoroki Touya’s, and his fingerprints match those of the Vigilante Kasai. Which means someone changed Todoroki’s fingerprints in the police records.

The cases also detailed Kasai’s apparent crusade against child abusers. Now isn’t that interesting? It’s just as well he’d set up that little training camp test for Dabi, after all. And while Tomura had decided to give the flame villain one more day to see if he would actually return with Bakugou or not, it doesn’t really matter anymore. Because Dabi, Touya, is a villain - and that alone is enough to ruin Endeavor.

All For One allows his smile to broaden into a full-blown grin. It isn’t often he’s excited to see the outcome of one of his many plans - typically people are just far too predictable.

But this? All For One could not have asked for more dramatic irony.

The grandson of Shimura Nana, and the long-lost son of Todoroki Enji. Taking down the Number One and Two heroes with their own heirs.

Oh yes, he could be very excited for this.

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning dawned bright and hot and beautiful, heedless of the turmoil breaking over the Musutafu Police Headquarters like an ominous wave. Sidekicks from six different agencies in the area were collecting information from various departments to take back and cross-reference against their own private archives.

Inter-agency communications were being handled by a set of twin Lieutenants known collectively as MarcoPolo, who specialized in streamlining contact information and encryptions. With them at the helm, no one had to ask who was in charge of what portion of the investigation or who had which particular files, etc. Communications between hero agencies and the police were as running smoothly as could be expected.

Best Jeanist’s Tokyo agency had sent in a small team of interns to handle the hustling of files and messages between floors at the headquarters. If any of them were particularly steely-eyed, well… most of them had worked with Bakugou only a few weeks previously. And the number four hero himself had flown in from his Okayama Prefecture base in order to make the planning session tentatively set for three o’clock.

Other heroes were located much closer to Tokyo and had been trickling in since five in the morning. Interns kept the coffee flowing.

From Might Tower, a sidekick named Kinai was in charge of reviewing the ever-growing evidence board, which was housed in the largest conference room on the 8th floor. With the student’s descriptions and three villains in custody, the picture of the new League was becoming clearer. And with each new hero’s arrival, more information was being added to the massive board.

It’s this board that Naomasa’s blurry eyes had been scouring for the past half hour. Kinai is suffering alongside him, but her keen eyes had already picked out two of the villains from past lineups. She’s working in tandem with one of Naomasa’s hero-certified task members, Sgt. Kato, who has an eidetic memory and a specialization in past criminal cases. With the Wild, Wild Pussycats and the students’ testimonies, the two of them have been narrowing down the list of suspects to manageable levels.

Naomasa finishes digitally pinning up the school photo of one Toga Himiko before stepping back to view each of their ten suspects.

Muscular, Mustard, and Moonfish are already in custody. Naomasa saw them around four or five in the morning when they’d finally arrived in Tokyo. He still has a headache from those particular conversations, so he moves on to the ones unaccounted for.

A man in a spandex suit, who Aoyama said was called Twice by one of the other villains. Kinai’s working supposition is that he is Jin Bubaigawara. The quirk matches with Aizawa’s testimony that he fought clones made of some sort of slime.

Next is Toga Himiko, whose description was matched fairly quickly to her criminal record. There were very few teenage female villains with a knife fetish like that, thank small mercies.

Magne also has a record as Hikiishi Kenji. Mostly assault charges using her giant magnet, primarily against women. Which matches with her attack on Pixie-Bob.

Then there’s the man with a lizard mutation that matches the description of Shuichi Iguchi - self-styled as “Spinner.” They don’t have much of a record on him, but apparently Fatgum’s agency has dealt with him before in a minor capacity. Amijiki has already gone to get case information from the agency’s archives.

The masked man with the marble ability is still just a sketch with a question mark next to it on the board. He’s the one who was able to capture Bakugou and Tokoyami with ease. They have at least sixty different criminals in the system with shrinking abilities, but Naomasa is confident Kinai and Sgt. Kato will identify him soon.

Kurogiri they already have information on, from the USJ incident. The Nomu, too, although it appears to be different from the one that fought All Might.

The last man is perplexing, if only because his description is so distinct. The only other time Naomasa has seen anything like it was on a report as “a man with a patchwork face” who entered into an abandoned building not too long ago. He’s already requested the files from that sighting to be brought to the boardroom as soon as possible.

Still, with a description and a powerful fire quirk like that, an alias should only be a paper-thin obstacle between them and identification. But just like the shrinking villain, they only have the name “Dabi” and a sketch. No further information.

Naomasa pinches the bridge of his nose, looking at the board. They’re still waiting on the police and All Might’s sidekick Sensoree to report back from the forest, but honestly, with a villain capable of warping involved, there’s little he can expect from that quarter.

That didn’t leave them without hope, however. One of the students - Awase - informed Aizawa that he and Yaoyorozu had managed to tag the Nomu with a tracker. It had been the highlight of Naomasa’s morning, to hear that they might have a means of finding the villains, whenever Yaoyorozu awoke.

Unless the villains came to them first, of course.

Naomasa can’t say that he hopes for that scenario. It’s never ideal when the villains are holding all the cards, though it happened all too often, even after All Might came onto the scene.

Speaking of, Naomasa notes that the number one hero should be arriving for the afternoon conference within the next ten minutes or so. Toshinori had texted earlier saying he’d be early. Likely so he could have a moment to chat with Naomasa in private about the case. And to talk to Aizawa, who was running on coffee and cold rationality, as far as Naomasa could tell.

He’s not the only one, Naomasa thinks, rubbing his eyes to clear the exhaustion. Before long, he might need to see Boost for a small energy transfer. He’s getting too old for these middle-of-the-night, hit the ground running kind of cases.

Though, considering the fact that not only are children involved - the students of the number one hero, no less - but also the League of Villains… the stakes are certainly higher than the typical late-night brawl or mugging.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and Naomasa excuses himself from the duo still at work by the board and slips out of the room. Looking at the caller ID, Naomasa taps the green answer button.

“All Might - you here?”

Toshinori’s deep voice comes from the other end, “In the lobby. Which floor are you on?”

“We’ll be holding the conference on the 8th floor, in the big room - you know which one. That’s where I am,” Naomasa says, checking his watch. “Do you want to talk first or should I go get Eraserhead?”

“Get Aizawa. I’ll be up shortly.”

The phone clicks off and Naomasa runs a hand through his short hair, making his way to the elevator. He’s never heard Toshinori be so terse. Still, from the way he talks about his students, they may as well be his kids with how much he cares for them. Bakugou, in particular, has been the topic of many coffee conversations between the two of them. And while Naomasa doesn’t have kids, he’d practically raised his sister, who was his junior by almost fifteen years. If she were kidnapped…

He shudders as he pushes open the door to the first-floor archive room, where Aizawa had cloistered himself. Naomasa doesn’t see him immediately, but finally catches sight of him at the very back, in the cold case section.

Aizawa’s thoughts seem to be running in the same direction as Naomasa’s, it appears.

Knocking on the giant metal filing cabinet at the end of the row so as not to get lassoed, Naomasa says, “All Might’s here.” Aizawa glances up with bloodshot eyes.

“The meeting about to start?” There are probably six or seven stacks of files piled around his impromptu desk in the middle of the aisle. Naomasa catches a few labels that look far too familiar.

“Nah, mini-conference before we jump in feet first. And a chance to grab coffee. You coming?”

There’s a slight pause before Eraserhead nods, closing the file he’d been perusing. Naomasa gives him a hand up and helps re-stack the files. The one labeled “Kasai” he holds onto, though. Aizawa shoots him a questioning look.

“Great minds think alike,” Naomasa shrugs. “You might have something here.”

Aizawa frowns as they head out. “For Todoroki’s sake, I hope not.”

Naomasa taps his thumb on the well-worn manila folder. “That was only one possibility. Not even the most likely.” They reach the elevators and he hits the button for the 8th floor.

“I know,” Aizawa concedes. “It’s just something that Todoroki told me that’s been getting to me.”

“What did I tell you,” comes a voice from behind them. Naomasa doesn’t need to turn to know who it is.

“Endeavor, you’re early,” the detective greets pleasantly while Aizawa maintains his silence. The flame hero is in full costume, beard and mustache already blazing and eyes hard. He hadn’t been happy to get the late-night news that his son had been attacked.

“All Might is already here,” Endeavor says, as if that explains his own presence. Naomasa supposes it does, in a way. The flame hero shoots a piercing glare at Aizawa and repeats, “What did I say?”

Aizawa is nonplussed by the demand, but still answers, “The younger Todoroki, I should have said. He was giving me information on some of the villains they encountered.”

“We’ll have a full brief on it at the meeting,” Naomasa interjects as the elevator pings its arrival. “Care to ride with us? The heroes are mostly waiting in the information center on the 4th floor. All Might should be there.”

“Tch,” Endeavor scowls, following them onto the elevator.

The atmosphere remains tense until they let Endeavor off on the 4th floor. Then the door swishes shut and Aizawa gives Naomasa a smile with far too many teeth.

The detective only shrugs without remorse. Just because he can detect lies doesn’t mean he can’t tell them. Besides, All Might has a prior appointment.

When the doors reopen on the 8th floor, they see Toshinori hovering just outside. His expression is grim.

Naomasa nods them into one of the smaller conference rooms across the hall.

Toshinori only waits for the door to close behind them before smoke billows out and he shrinks down into his true form. The white mist had barely cleared before he turns to Aizawa and drops the proverbial bomb.

“In your time underground, have you ever heard of a villain known as All For One?”

——

Earlier that day

In Kyushu, Hawks is finishing his morning stretches when he gets a very concerning text from his secretary.

[Text from: Mikomiko]

- Hawks, did you hear about Tokoyami and the kidnapping?!

His eyes widen and his stomach lurches like he’s taken a nosedive. Rolling out of his handstand so fast he smacks his nose on the coffee table, he grabs his phone from the floor and thumbs off the music he’d been blaring.

Cursing - and rubbing his nose - he messages back.

[Text from: Hawks]

-no what the hell?!

He shoots back the reply and switches over his hero news app, where he sees he has three new emails from the Hero Commission and another four from his secretary. He’s not even had his first cup of coffee yet.

It’s only been twenty minutes, he thinks crossly, eyes flying over the first email from his secretary. It’s a police update on a student kidnapping.

Tokoyami?!

His wings snap out and he’s on his feet with only one downward sweep. Then his phone pings again.

[Text from: Mikomiko]

- His summer camp got attacked! The villains nearly got him

“Shit. Gah. Maybe start with that bit next time,” he complains faintly, closing his eyes for a heady moment. His wings cinch back in agitation, knocking over his water bottle and a takeout carton from his late-night munchies. He barely notices. Just brings himself back under control like he’s been taught.

Heart resuming its normal rhythm, he gives in to his need to move - pacing as he thumbs back over to his email with the police reports.

Hawks rests a clenched fist against his lips as he starts scanning the multiple messages he’s received. The details clarify, though they’re sparse and repetitive.

The League of Villains had attacked the UA summer training camp and made off with one of the students. One of the Wild, Wild Pussycats, Ragdoll, was also missing. Several children and two of the heroes were injured, being treated at an undisclosed location. Pros from around the country were being called in for an emergency rescue planning session. Several others were being called upon to step into the void in the meantime and were being held in reserve in case the villain confrontation escalated.

According to the Hero Commission, Hawks falls into that second category. As the number three hero, he is going to be kept abreast of the situation - only to be called in if things go south.

Hawks purses his lips against his fist. The number one, two, four, and five heroes are being called in, alongside several other ranked heroes. That leaves him as the only one in the top five to carry on business as usual.

Even though it was his intern who’d been attacked. Even though he’s the only one who can pull off aerial extractions if it comes to that. And against a villain with warp capabilities? His speed and maneuverability could be invaluable.

Hawks digs a talon-sharp fingernail into his palm, mind racing.

He smells the Commission’s interference here, keeping him in reserve. Usually they liked to stroll him out to show off at every media-drawing event they could find an excuse for. His accomplishments got splashed across every outlet from daytime talk shows to Twitter to old-fashioned newspapers. It was almost embarrassing at times.

Between the daily pony shows and his actual job, Hawks barely had time to perform basic human functions. Like sleeping. And eating. It’s even a common joke that his favorite thing is chicken, but it honestly stemmed from being the only food he could eat quickly while flying to whatever job he had next.

So being held back from what is likely to be the biggest hero/villain sting operation in decades? It’s a definite red flag.

There’s a hardened part of him that easily tags the most likely reason, though he doesn’t like it. But… with the talk he’s heard around the Commission headquarters and his own observations, it does make sense.

All Might is getting older, and everyone has noticed him becoming less active in the field. Endeavor, as much as Hawks admires him, is not well-liked or well-trusted amongst the general populace. If this operation is a bust, approval ratings for all the heroes involved will drop.

But not for Hawks, who is sharp enough to know that the Commission plans for him to become the Number One someday. Regardless of whether Hawks actually wants to be or not.

It’s… vexing, though he doesn’t show it. Because the Commission and their manipulative plots aside, Hawks actually likes his job. Likes helping people and working with his various colleagues. Likes his weird little intern, even. And he hates it when politics get between him and his job.

Even Best Jeanist is flying out of Okayama to help retrieve his intern, Hawks thinks in familiar annoyance.

Which reminds him.

[Text from: Hawks]

- Hey fellow bird-man, just heard the news. How u holding up?

He shoots another quick text off to his secretary, letting her know he had gotten the reports and is aware of the situation.

Tapping the edge of his cell against his thigh, he mulls over his options. He knows what the Commission would recommend, and as irritated as he is with them at the moment, he can’t deny that it’s the same thing he’d do.

It’s just past five o’clock in the morning. The news of the attack will break at six. Further information will come in waves to the masses, but panic will begin its slow and toxic build the longer it takes to find a resolution.

Hopping up the stairs to his bedroom, Hawks sends off a text to his sidekicks on the morning shift, letting them know he’ll be joining them.

Some people might think that having heroes out and visible would make the public more concerned - like the situation is out of control. And for some heroes that might be true. They worked the bare minimum and went home. Seeing them outside of their regular beat would be alarming.

Hawks’ people know him though. And there’s a reason one of his more popular nicknames is the “Guardian Angel”. Citizens know that when Hawks is out and about, they’re in good hands. And they’d need that, after the blow the villains had struck.

He’s shrugging on his jacket, grimacing at how hot it is for the summer, when he hears a ping from his phone. It’s his erstwhile intern.

[Text from: Plucky]

- It’s bleak, right now. Not hurt but Dark Shadow got out of control

- And I didn’t want him hurting anyone else, so I pulled him in. Like you told me not to do

- And Bakugou got taken. Because I couldn’t react in time

- I’m sorry Hawks-sensei. I was too slow

The texts come rapidly, one right after the other, and Hawks feels sympathy curling in his chest. He pulls off a glove with his teeth and shoots back a message that the Commission likely wouldn’t approve of.

[Text from: Hawks]

- Fuck That. This is on the villains and the pro heroes

- I’m just happy ur alive

- Moonfish has a murder count twenty bodies deep

- U took down an a-rank villain, Tokoyami, and saved ur friends

- no one can ask more than that

It’s not elegant, but hell if he’s going to focus on the negative. Tokoyami does that enough - hence the ironic nickname.

But he is insanely proud of his intern. Reports showed that he’d single-handedly taken out Moonfish. Yeah, he’d had to unleash Dark Shadow. But how was that different from Endeavor going supernova against a villain? Sometimes heroes had to go beyond their limits to win.

[Text from: Plucky]

- Yeah, well. Plus Ultra, you know?

- Just worried about Bakugou

Hawks does know, despite not attending UA himself. Asking more of yourself than you can ever give? Having expectations higher than you can ever reach, even with wings?

Yeah, he definitely knows.

[Text from: Hawks]

- u probably already heard this, but the heroes are doing everything they can

- just read thru the reports

- they got a plan

Do they really? Kinda. It’s like, half an idea of a plan. Though they did note that some particulars weren’t included for security reasons. Still.

[Text from: Plucky]

- Thanks, Hawks-sensei - Aizawa-sensei said so too and I trust you guys

- Just - dark thoughts. As usual.

- I’ll let you get back to your morning though

- You probably have patrol

- And a massive McChicken waiting for you

Hawks allows himself a tiny grin, snapping his visor down over his eyes. This is why he likes his intern.

In faaaaact, nobody, including the Commission, would question it if I took tomorrow off to go check up on him in person, Hawks decides, allowing his grin to stretch wide.

Maybe it’s nosy of him. But Hawks just likes to think of it as being thoughtfully involved. And if there happens to be a need for him whilst he’s there? Well, kudos for happy coincidences.

[Text from: Hawks]

- text me anytime, birdy

- and i told u that in confidence

- see if i share any w/you when i see u

[Text from: Plucky]

- One word: Cannibalism

Hawks sends back a quick “no regrets” and unlatches his window. Tucking his phone into an inner pocket, he pulls on his other glove and steps out onto the balcony.

The sun is just breaking over the horizon, setting the tops of skyscrapers aflame as the light hits thousands of panes of glass. The air is warm even this early, promising a disgustingly hot day. But Hawks knows once he builds up speed, it’ll hardly matter. Flexing clawed toes inside his boots, Hawks hops up onto the railing of his balcony. Hundreds of feet stretch out below him, but his heartbeat never rises above resting.

He flairs his wings wide behind him and the sun illuminates the brilliant red like a danger sign. A warning to all those below.

“Show time,” he says to no one in particular.

And jumps.

Chapter Text

“You were supposed to act like you barely knew me,” Dabi remarks as he and Yuko work back and forth on Bakugou’s back. The kid is totally unconscious now, breathing and heartbeat holding steady on the monitors at the end of the table. And Dabi is free to speak honestly for the first time in a while.

He’s holding the saline solution, rinsing where Yuko indicates, as she does a much more thorough and professional job of removing the dead tissue from Bakugou’s back. With Yuko’s clinical setup and the bright fluorescents streaming down, the damage is much clearer. He winces a little at how much he’d missed in the dim lights of his apartment.

Seeing the extent of it, Yuko had… not been happy. Which is probably why she’s taking her time in answering him.

Finally, she sighs, breath blowing up her medical mask, and says, “What, precisely, would prosecutors do to me if they found out about our connection, Touya? Throw me in jail for a life sentence at ninety-three? Good for me, I’d have a paid-for retirement home and wouldn’t have to cook anymore.”

Dabi winces at the sound of his own name and at Yuko’s frank assessment. She hadn’t gotten any less feisty in his time away, despite the front she put up for the kid.

“It’s not just that,” he persists. “It’s dangerous to be associated with me these days.”

She raises her filmy eyes from her task to give him a look, then casts her eyes back at Bakugou pointedly.

“Apparently,” she says, leaning in close again to better inspect the ragged edges of Bakugou’s wound. “I think we can suture part of this that didn’t lose too much underlying structures. I’ll be focusing on making the muscles, tendons, and ligaments return to their original state and ignoring the skin for now. At least until he sees a regrowth specialist. This kind of accelerated regeneration is not my specialty.”

Dabi huffs at the deflection but doesn’t let it deter him. “Yuko -"

“Touya,” she cuts in with the same tone. “I’m an old lady. If the police come for me after Bakugou gets home or if the villains come for me for helping out their target, I will have lived a complete life and gone out with a bang. That’s good enough for me.”

Lips thin, Dabi bites back his initial retort that it’s not good enough for him. Much as he didn’t like her decision, she was an adult and could make her own choices, just like he had.

“What is not okay with me,” Yuko continues, “is you leaving this boy in suspense. I suppose since he knew nothing about me that you just left him wondering what would happen to him? Touya, I’m disappointed.”

He dumps a wad of used gauze into the biohazard bin with a bit more force than necessary.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, voice strained. “If he got away before he met you, that’d put you at risk for no reason. And I didn’t hurt the kid, other than cleaning out his back.”

Yuko gestured for the tweezers, which Dabi didn’t slap into her hand. “I know that - you’re not your father, after all. But you left him afraid - I didn’t think I’d need to remind you that emotional stress is still harmful.”

Remembering that she’d originally said that to him, Dabi deflates, feeling his indignation at the scolding peter out like a dying ember.

“Sorry, Yuko,” he mutters.

She sighs again, “Well, at least you got him to a healer. He can hardly look at you like you crawled out of the devil’s asshole, now.”

Dabi wheezes, nearly dropping the solution bottle he’d been picking up.

She does that on fucking purpose when I least expect it.

Glaring between the old woman and the unconscious blond, he sniffs, “You two deserve each other.”

“Oh?” Yuko says in delight. “I’m going to like him, then.”

“Yeah, probably,” Dabi says, reality settling back in. “But I didn’t bring him to you for his personality.”

“Hmm, yes, I did wonder why you didn’t take him to my daughter or a hospital - you were rather sparse on the details.”

Dabi frowns, “Because the walls have ears, even at my apartment.” He chews on his scarred lip for a moment, thinking. “I need a reason for this kid to escape me. And I’m drawing a fucking blank.”

Yuko looks at him meaningfully, eyebrows raised, and Dabi huffs.

“We can’t fake his death, Yuko. He’s still got a life ahead of him.”

She’s quiet for a beat, moving her instruments around.

“So do you, Touya.”

His throat tightens. Part of him wants to very clearly and ruthlessly disillusion Yuko about him and whatever future he might have had. Tear down the memory of the hurting and angry teen she knew and really grind in the fact that he’s a villain now - that there is nothing left for him other than the goal.

Another part of him knows he can’t do that to her. Not to the woman who had put him back together twice and had been the grandmother he needed when his life was at its absolute lowest. So, for now, he lets the comment slide.

“That’s… not what we’re talking about here,” he says, voice remarkably steady. “And I’m on a bit of a time crunch. If I don’t get back to the League by tomorrow, at the latest, they’ll be pretty unhappy.”

Yuko purses her lips, appearing to mull over his dilemma. As she does, Dabi notes that she just has a few more sutures to put in before they can get Bakugou re-wrapped and take him off the anesthesia.

Eventually, Yuko leans down, peering at Bakugou’s exposed vertebrae with a speculative air. “How is his mobility? Did the rot get to his spinal cord?”

“Uh,” Dabi hesitates, having not even thought about that, “He’s good. Kid can walk, but it’s painful.”

“Any numbness in his feet or fingers?” She continues, brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“None that I know of,” he says. “May need to ask him when he’s up.”

“Do your villain buddies know the extent of the injury? Are any of them medical professionals?”

Dabi winces, “They all saw it. And I may have mentioned to one of them that the kid wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.”

Yuko’s eyes narrow, “Not ideal. Hard to argue that he ran off or was able to attack you.”

Another pause, and Yuko gestures for Dabi to lift the boy so she can start wrapping the bandages around his torso. Again, Dabi finds himself grunting at the kid’s weight.

Yuko puffs out a breath of amusement, “Been slacking on the arm exercises?”

Dabi beats back a sarcastic retort, manipulating the kid around so Yuko’s shorter arms could reach across him.

But actually, that leads him to another question he’s had and didn’t think he’d get to ask.

“Scars won’t stretch,” he admits. “The second round of burns made them thicker - I can’t gain any muscle on my arms anymore, I don’t think.” Yuko makes a sympathetic noise.

“That’s likely the case. And the staples?” she asks. “Those are new, and certainly not something I would prescribe. Keeping them from getting infected must be a nightmare.”

Dabi is absurdly glad she’s not pitying him, and that he can talk freely about one of his few daily complaints.

“I think I might be building up a resistance to anti-biotic cream,” he admits ruefully. “But I grew two more inches and the skin didn’t keep up.”

Yuko frowns at that, probably guessing the rest of the story - that he’d been in such poor health and had been pushing himself so hard that his body didn’t have the energy to put into continuous healing and growth.

Still, she just hums and says, “Well, we can certainly take a look at that when we get done with young Bakugou here. You can put him down, now.”

She ties off the last wrap and Dabi cautiously stretches his arms. The kid was built like a freaking tank. All muscle and bone.

“Might actually take you up on that,” he remarks, prodding a slightly damp section along his left side. His fingers come away bloody. “I popped a couple of staples when the kid pulled his insane escape stunt earlier.”

Yuko looks aggrieved and Dabi waves a negligent hand, “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Among other things,” Yuko chides, shooing him back as she pulls a light blanket up and over the kid.

“Sure,” he agrees easily, having no intention of following through, but reluctant to tell Yuko so. Wiping the blood off on his jeans, he reaches up over his shoulders to tug the soiled hoodie over his head - careful not to let any fabric catch on his face.

“Oh, Touya,” Yuko sighs, seeing the stains spreading across his white t-shirt. It’d been a fresh one too, after cleaning the kid up that morning.

“Finish with the kid’s stuff,” Dabi says, indicating to the IV still pumping in the anesthetics. “You still have any of my old clothes around?”

“Same place as always,” she says. “I ran them through the wash when you said you’d be coming, so they’re all nice and fresh.”

Dabi’s heart clenches stupidly over the simple gesture. Swallowing against a tight throat, he beats a hasty retreat, grabbing a sticky gauze pad on his way out.

Shucking his clothes into the laundry room baskets, he shuffles down the hallway into the living room. At the side cabinet, he toes open the lowest drawer and sees the precious few possessions he’d had during his time living with Yuko. All meticulously stored and preserved - just waiting for him to come back.

His lips thin, and he shoves down the feelings threatening to overwhelm him.

I’m only here for the kid, he reminds himself, selecting a worn t-shirt and some baggy sweats. He slaps the gauze pad over his still leaking staple sites. An uncomfortable pinching feeling lets him know that one is still partially dug in, but he ignores it for the time being.

Fortunately, even with an additional two inches, his old sweatpants and t-shirts still fit and he revels a bit at the feeling of clean clothes. A shower would be nice as well but would have to wait until he and Yuko had come up with a plan.

If nothing else, I’ll let her know I’m serious about doing this, he thinks, re-centering himself. This is not the time to let nostalgia overrule his ambition. With that in mind, he pushes open the door to the clinic.

“So?” He prompts, watching as Yuko finishes cleaning up her station. He knows she’s been thinking this whole time.

His earlier resolve takes a massive hit when her shoulders bow slightly. It hits him again that it’s really not fair to rely on her so much. She’d spent the majority of her career helping others - rich, poor, hero, villain - and had especially helped him when he’d found himself short a family, support, and his health.

Which is why he’d left in the first place - so she could live out her life without his useless hide taking up her time and resources. He’d carved out a significant portion of the savings that he’d accumulated and had Torrent wire them to Yuko as a repayment for her care. It was the least he could do.

“Touya?” She’d evidently seen him go distant and was giving him a reproving look.

“Mmm?” He hums, pushing his doubts away.

One thing at a time.

“There are two things I can think of that I don’t think you’ve considered,” she says, tossing her gloves into the waste bin. “The first one is that Daiki could probably help give you a strong alibi with the resources he has - “ Dabi opens his mouth to object but Yuko continues “ - and the second is that I can’t move Bakugou around on my own. I’ll need your help if you want to shelter him here until Chiyo comes.”

His mouth snaps shut abruptly.

Fuck, I didn’t even think about that, he fumes. If I have issues moving him around, how the fuck would little old Yuko??

He thinks, vainly, that Bakugou can move himself. That the kid can shuffle well enough… once he’s up. But how the fuck could he get up if he couldn’t move his arms?

Brainless, useless idiot, Dabi thinks. He can feel his flames heating his hands in response to his self-reprimands and takes several breaths before he speaks again. After all, Yuko probably wouldn’t appreciate him torching her clinic, or adding himself to her patient list.

“Okay,” he starts, “okay, so what do you think Daiki could do to help?”

Yuko smiles a very sly smile.

“Well, he called me before you got here…”

——

Tomura contemplates the text he’d received from Dabi earlier, giving excuses about the cops being out in force and not being able to move the kid back to the hideout. Instead of replying to it immediately, Tomura had picked up his controller again, going through the motions of the new level - grabbing items and picking up hidden packets that’d been mentioned on the forums.

It wasn’t much of a distraction, all told. The game was a rehash of so many before it, but the reviews had said the final levels made it worth it. Tomura doubted it, but it was something to occupy his hands.

His mind, however, was mulling over the problem that Dabi presented.

Only a month in the League, and the flame user had completely revamped the structure - bringing on new players and solidifying the team. Tomura wasn’t too proud to admit it - the difference was too stark to try and excuse anyway.

Stain, he knows, was the reason that Dabi, Toga, and Spinner had decided to join the League. He has no illusions that they would have stayed if not for Dabi’s firm stance and beliefs. Tomura wasn’t exactly quiet about his disdain for the Hero Killer.

He’d often witnessed the three of them talking quietly at the bar about values in hero culture and where society had really started dropping the ball. He’d heard Dabi talk with a quiet intensity about how citizens had given up their moral responsibility when they let the heroes be the sole judicators. It made people reluctant to call out wicked heroes because it would mean that they’d made a mistake in judgment. And it would mean admitting their own laziness in leaving everything up to other, fallible, humans.

Listening in, Tomura had found himself nodding along, agreeing with the flame user. He’d had that sentiment for quite some time, but had never been able to voice it quite so clearly.

He wasn’t the only one to agree. Spinner had agreed wholeheartedly and so had the rest, as they joined. But it wasn’t always about heroes and villains, either. Somehow, Dabi - reluctant and antisocial as he was - had formed connections with everyone in the League on a variety of bases.

Magne, after hearing Dabi’s offhand comment about no one hiring a “Frankenstein’s Monster lookalike”, would talk to Dabi about inherent prejudices in the workforce. The ones that were supposed to be illegal but still ran rampant. Like those expressed against her for her transgenderism or against Dabi for his scarring. How people looked down on them for not being their idea of perfect. Weirdly, Magne seemed comfortable talking all this out with Dabi, who seemed to understand well enough.

Compress, too, often chatted with Dabi. Oddly, they seemed most content talking about media, though Compress was usually the vocal one - bemoaning performances or giving accolades to books or plays. Dabi, apparently somewhat literate, despite his foul mouth, gave occasional opinions on things he was familiar with. Compress was delighted.

Twice seemed to enjoy Dabi’s sarcasm and the fact that the flame villain never appeared annoyed at Twice’s mental issues. They gave each other shit, tossing quips back and forth as they trained together. A couple of times, Tomura had even seen Twice double over from Dabi’s really horrible puns.

Mustard, too, appreciated the sarcasm. But he appreciated the fact that they apparently had similar music tastes even more. Tomura had seen Dabi roll his eyes at all of the older emo bands that Mustard had been blaring out of his headphones. Three scotches later though, and he’d started bobbing his head and humming along to the music. Mustard had noticed and been impressed when Dabi could, even drunk, list off the entire discography of his favorite artist. The kid had been a solid supporter since then.

Toga, from what Tomura could see, was something of a bratty younger sibling to Dabi, and they'd fallen into it almost immediately. He'd call her psycho, and she'd call him a salty piece of bacon and it would spiral. Only recently had Tomura really noticed that there was occasional fondness there, but it was still mystifying at times.

Muscular and Moonfish were the only ones who didn’t really interact with Dabi much, as they were very recent additions to the League before the attack on the camp. Even then, Muscular had approved of Dabi’s ruthless view on dealing with heroes and Moonfish hadn’t been enough to intimidate the flame user.

Kurogiri was probably the only one who wasn’t swayed by Dabi’s natural… charisma? Leadership? Tomura couldn’t quite put a finger on it. But it was some kind of magnetism - similar to what All For One exhibited with his subordinates.

Which was probably why Kurogiri was unaffected. The warp user had seen what true leadership looked like, and wasn’t swayed by a cool attitude or a responsible nature.

Still, it irked Tomura that the month Dabi had spent with them seemed to mean nothing to the flame villain when he’d made such an undeniable impact on the rest of the League. Tomura himself might not grieve the flame user leaving, but it could cause him some serious problems.

But his sensei had pointed out that it was better to know now rather than later if Dabi was going to turn on them.

Clicking his way through an annoying battle intro scene, Tomura feels the tension start back up in his shoulders as he thinks about All For One and Dabi.

Early on, when Giran had introduced the flame user and the asshole had made such a terrible impression, Tomura had complained about him to his sensei. But as time went on, and Dabi started to draw him in, he’d changed his tune. And his sensei had been intrigued.

Tomura wasn’t used to that. Even Kurogiri, who had been in All For One’s service since before Tomura was born, rarely met with the man himself.

So when All For One had asked to meet with Dabi - what could Tomura do but acquiesce?

With a rolling stomach, he’d watched as his sensei questioned the flame user - asking about his quirk, his view on heroes, his knowledge of villainy. And with each astute and rational answer, All For One’s interest grew. When he’d commented on how admirable Dabi’s independence was, it took everything Tomura had not to gouge into his neck in irritation.

His sensei ended the interview by revealing the upcoming attempt on the UA summer camp - that Tomura hadn’t even told the rest of the League about - and suggesting that Dabi lead the assault.

Dabi had been cool in his acceptance, voicing his readiness to do whatever the League needed to move forward with their plans. All For One had laughed.

When the flame villain left, Tomura had disintegrated the first disposable item he could find then turned on his sensei, not-quite demanding to lead the attack himself. All For One had tsked, asking whether or not Tomura trusted his sensei.

“Come now, my boy, have you ever known me to do things without reason?” His sensei asked, amused.

Jealousy and insecurity curling in his stomach, Tomura had only clenched and unclenched his fists, looking at his sensei with both hope and dread.

“I have discovered a few interesting things about your friend Dabi,” All For One continued, gesturing his protege closer. Tomura trudged up to his sensei’s chair, interest overpowering his agitation.

“What did you find?” He asked, taking the stool his sensei indicated. All For One grinned conspiratorially, setting Tomura further at ease.

“Oh, quite a bit. I know that he used to operate as a vigilante under the pseudonym “Kasai” and that his specialty was in rescuing endangered children.”

That set off two very strong reactions in Tomura. The first, that they had a vigilante in their midst, which was fucking terrifying. Vigilantes were like heroes without the legal system holding them back. Oftentimes, when villains clashed with vigilantes, it ended violently. If Dabi had been one of those lawless heroes, was he in the League as a plant? As a virus, set to destroy their whole system?

The other reaction, however, was much older. It came from a child who watched people passing by on the street, begging silently for one of them to look twice. To stop. To do something.

Dabi rescued endangered children. And his sensei wanted to send the fire user into a camp full of kids with instructions to hurt or kill anyone who got in their way.

“This mission… it’s a test then? To see if he can level up past his weakness?”

“Precisely,” All For One said proudly. “If these students are allowed to continue their interference - if All Might is allowed to raise the next generation, it will become a hindrance to your goals.”

“And if we get rid of those kids, it’ll be a blow against All Might,” Tomura said, warming to the idea. Relief hit his system like a hammer, knowing his sensei wasn’t favoring Dabi.

“Of course,” his sensei said. “It would be best to know now, rather than later, whether or not children will be a sticking point for your friend Dabi. Though I will leave the final decision up to you.”

“No, no,” Tomura objected, “You’re right, sensei. This makes the most sense. But… what if he does betray us?”

“I am still gathering information on him,” All For One admitted freely. “He has surprisingly little background on him. I was only able to find out this much because Kurogiri obtained a fingerprint that cross-referenced with cold cases in the police data banks.” His sensei shrugged. “If it comes down to it, and Dabi does find his conscience getting in the way, you could simply get rid of him. It’s not as if he knows enough about the League to cause too much trouble.”

Tomura had nodded at that, but internally he found it difficult to agree. Because as frequently as he reported on how well the League was coming together, he never alluded to the fact that Dabi tended to be in the center of it.

And that is what’s troubling him now, as he thinks about Dabi’s text.

Is it betrayal? The cops patrolling an area wasn’t uncommon, but it was vague. And Dabi hadn’t given him a solid timetable on his return either.

Jerking his joystick hard with his thumb, he frowns as his character still catches the blast and disintegrates, respawning at an earlier checkpoint. Frustrated, he pauses the game there, picking his phone back up.

It’s nearing nine o’clock in the evening and he’s let Dabi sweat since around noon, leaving him on read.

Logically, he knows they need the flame villain. For his long-range attack capabilities, if nothing else.

But the part of him that curled in envy at his sensei’s praise really wants to take Dabi down a peg.

It doesn’t help that he feels a little betrayed. Despite their rough meeting, he’d grown to like Dabi - he wasn’t immune to the flame user’s cool attitude, after all. He’d even played with the idea of making him his right hand before the whole situation with his sensei had happened.

And now the guy might be betraying the whole League for an arrogant brat that couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Tomura glowers, thinking about the kid and his loud mouth. That’s probably what itches at him the most - Dabi stepping forward and grabbing his wrist. Grip strong and eyes like iron as he stared down at Tomura. Not afraid at all.

Showing more loyalty to a little side character than to his own team leader.

Both of them caught sensei’s interest, Tomura thinks sourly, knowing they both might end up betraying that rare regard. But I can handle them. If it comes to it, I can be that killer instinct we wanted from the brat. And Dabi… He smiles tightly, Dabi was never the team leader here anyway. It’s time I reminded the League of that.

Carefully, Tomura rolls his phone in his hand, thinking about how he should approach this situation. If it were a tactical game, he’d need more intel - but his sensei was already working on that.

Better to wait as All For One had suggested. Hold onto the vigilante dirt until it’s proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dabi has betrayed them.

But, there is one thing he can use against Dabi that won’t seem out of line. It gives them the perfect opportunity to see if Dabi has really let go of his past.

Grinning, Tomura pulls up his messenger app and shoots out a text.

- Fine, but have the kid back here by tomorrow night or you’re out of the League

Chapter Text

It’s a little after eight in the evening by the time Dabi sends Yuko on to bed. Even the minor amount of healing she’d been able to perform for Bakugou had drained her significantly and she’d been drooping by the time she pulled her hands away.

On the somewhat bright side, Bakugou had regained maybe 5-10% of his muscle mass. It isn’t a ton, but given how much he’d lost… it’s a start in the right direction. With his back repacked with saline-soaked bandages, his face properly cleaned out and roughly halfway healed, morphine on a constant drip, and an actual bed to rest on, Dabi isn’t surprised that the kid’s still conked out after the anesthesia wore off.

If he wakes up within the next few hours, Dabi will be there with some home made miso and orders not to move. Otherwise, he’s content to let the kid rest.

As it is, he’s got other, slightly more important things on his mind. Like going over the plan with Daiki.

He pokes his head in the clinic to check on Bakugou briefly. The kid’s vitals look fine and he’s getting some well deserved rest. Picking up the little radio monitor off the counter, he continues down the hall to the living room. If anything happens to Bakugou’s heart monitor or breathing status, the radio will alert Dabi immediately.

Like a fucking baby monitor, Dabi muses, smirking. The image of a swaddled and cursing Bakugou is probably generated by his own sleep deprivation, but it still makes him chuckle as he settles onto ‘his’ couch. It’s possibly the most well-worn piece of furniture in Yuko’s house and he thinks he might actually feel remorse if she ever decided to get rid of it. After all, it’d been his bed for… months, at one point.

He sinks into the back of the couch, remembering those days - when his father had first brought him to Yuko.

She had a reputation in those days for being discreet. Which is probably why Enji thought she’d be the perfect solution to his little problem. Because the family doctor could be paid enough to ignore how many “self-inflicted” quirk injuries the Todoroki brothers came in with. But having handprints literally burned into a kid’s neck was… a bit too obvious.

His dear old dad realized the mistake he made with Touya that day seven years ago - when he grabbed his son by the throat and slammed him into the wall. At that point, Touya had still been fighting back, kicking and scratching and cursing. It wasn’t until Endeavor activated his quirk that Touya realized he might actually die.

Dabi doesn’t remember much after that. He knows he must have lit up the fire in his arms, trying to claw his dad off. And afterwards, Yuko did say she’d seen extensive burns across Endeavor’s forearms - on his supposedly fire-proof skin, no less.

It’d given him vicious satisfaction, knowing he’d made Endeavor feel a fraction of the pain he felt constantly. Just like it’d given him satisfaction to know that his father had miscalculated.

Because, while Yuko was discreet, she wasn’t evil. Seeing a situation that was so obviously abuse being brought to her because of her reputation… well, she’d worked around it as best she could, given Endeavor’s position and power.

Faking Touya’s death was relatively easy. Almost too easy. A strong sedative for Touya, a remorseful “doctor face” from Yuko, and a death certificate signed for Endeavor. And yeah, Enji hadn’t fought it too hard.

Upon waking hours later, Touya had been disoriented and in extensive pain, despite the morphine he had on board. It’d taken him over three months to recover.

He still had scarring from it, even after. Yuko had been able to determine enough about his injury that she realized his quirk used twice the oxygen that a normal flame user’s would. Their best guess was that his ice quirk was incomplete and only drew in oxygen instead of oxygen and hydrogen.

With the double dose of oxygen though, his flames burned hotter and faster - almost always at complete combustion level.

The kicker was that it burned so fast that it went for the first available oxygen - which was in his skin. It caused something like extreme dehydration and burned the skin immediately afterwards. So, while the skin on his neck was shiny and red from Endeavor’s handiwork, his arms were almost purple.

Generally speaking, this would have been treatable. But Yuko was already in her eighties and, even on a good day, burns took a lot of energy to heal.

She’d recommended he go to her daughter or another healer who could restore him back to his original state, but he’d declined. He wanted to fucking remember what his dad did to him.

In the time he took to recover, the news never reported his absence in the Todoroki household. Undoubtably UA had received word that he wouldn’t be attending their Spring semester hero course… which was the only reason Endeavor had even deigned to pick up Touya’s “training” again.

Couldn’t have an embarrassment at his alma mater, after all.

But to his knowledge, no one ever investigated the unusual death of Todoroki Touya. Not his siblings, not the police, and not UA. Undoubtably, it had to do with Endeavor’s fucking terrifying legal team running interference, but still…it was a blow to be completely forgotten by society.

So, depressed, angry, and lonely, Touya had gone to see his siblings. Just to make sure they were okay, if nothing else.

Fuyumi, his twin and best friend, was in high school by that point. Not a hero course, but one of the better schools in Tokyo. Watching from across the street, he saw her leave school later and later in the day. Laden down with school projects, materials for school events, and piles of extra work.

When he’d stopped a couple of her friends and asked about her, he’d found out she was the class president and quickly becoming the most involved student in the school - taking on projects for school plays, festival events, and school field trips. As far as they knew, she spent the majority of her day at the school.

If they reported back to Fuyumi about an unusual stranger asking about her - well, there were benefits to a beanie and tinted glasses.

Natsuo, too, had been staying later at school. He’d gotten himself involved in the school track team and basketball team, and had started a recreational soccer group as well. Somehow, on top of that, he was ranked in the top three of his class and had been voted the most likely to succeed in his middle school class.

Touya didn’t need to ask anyone for this information - he’d gotten it just listening in on the girls gush about Natsuo at a cafe near his brother’s school. What a little heartbreaker.

What worried Touya though, was that Shouto was now alone with their father.

It was much more difficult to sneak into the Todoroki mansion to check on the kid. But a month after Touya’s recovery, he managed it. Sneaking in through the gutter that ran under the extensive fence, he crept through the gardens until he was able to see through the slatted window of the training dojo.

Shouto was going through his basic kata - punches, kicks and blocks sweeping through the air with as much precision as an eight year old could manage. Enji stood off at the head of the room, observing.

When Shouto made his first mistake, Touya flinched expectantly, waiting for the explosion. And it came, but only in the form of yelling.

“Do not raise your heel, Shouto! How many times must I tell you?” Enji snarled. Shouto’s heel snapped to the ground and he tried to continue, but Enji cut his hand down in the boy’s path.

“Enough. Start over.”

Shouto nodded shakily and stepped back to his starting point to begin again.

It went on like that for another two hours - with Enji barking and yelling and degrading, but without the physical reinforcement that had been so prevalent in Touya’s own training. In Shouto’s early training, even.

After a while, they did get to sparring. Here, Touya felt the anxious sweat start trickling down his temples. But Enji went easy on the kid. Or, as easy as he was able to.

Shouto would probably have new bruises and might be washing the taste of the training mats out of his mouth later, but it was nothing on the pure violence that Touya remembered his dad being capable of.

After that afternoon, Touya returned a couple more times, just to ensure Enji hadn’t had an off day of gentleness, but it was more of the same. Bark, with tolerable bite.

Which meant Touya could be reasonably sure that Endeavor wouldn’t try to murder Shouto too.

Good, great, wonderful. The perfect creation would survive. Scarred, maybe, but hey - that was probably just a mark of being a Todoroki at this point.

So… he had to ask himself, what now?

He was free. Yuko had given him the chance to start over. Told him that he could stay with her as long as he needed. Help out around the clinic until he was ready to start working or decided to go back to school. If he wanted a new identity altogether, she knew another young man who would be able to set him up properly.

Or, if he wanted to go to the police, he could do that too. She had recorded the state he arrived in and was willing to testify for him. And that same young man, Torrent, would be more than happy to help compile other evidence against Endeavor free of charge.

Touya had been sitting on the same couch, still unsure of which way he wanted to go forward, when there was urgent knocking on Yuko’s back door. By now, he knew what that meant.

He helped hustle in a group of vigilantes, fresh from a drug bust gone south, and set up a hectic triage while Yuko prepped her surgery table. Fortunately, one of the other vigilantes had a minor energy transfer quirk and ended up supporting Yuko through the incident.

Which left Touya hanging out in the corner in case he was needed, alongside one of the other vigilantes; a tall brown-haired guy with sharp eyes and a bright smile, despite the blood from his team mates coating his whole right side.

“Hey, kid,” the guy said, sticking out his hand. “You one of Yuko’s kids?”

“Huh?” Touya didn’t take the hand - it was caked in blood anyway. The guy seemed to notice and withdrew it ruefully.

“Ah - it’s her network,” the guy explained. “Most of us vigilantes know to bring any endangered kids to her.”

“You guys rescue kids?” Touya asked.

The guy scrubbed his cleaner hand through his messy hair. “Sure do - though I’m usually coordinating it. Had to get my hands dirty this time,” he confided. “These guys needed an extraction quick. But we got the kids they were testing on too. So, still a win.”

Glancing between the satisfied smile on the guy’s face and the team in various states of injury but still somehow laughing, Touya felt his interest grow.

“How does someone join this… network?” He asked casually, not looking at the guy.

The guy, who he’d later learned was called Torrent - the very same one that Yuko was always mentioning - gave him a wide grin.

“Easy enough. Just gotta want to help and be able to steer clear of the heroes.”

Touya returned the grin with a few more teeth, “Can I rub it in the heroes’ faces on the down low?”

Torrent let out a surprised laugh, “Sure thing, kid.”

Seven years and one very interesting vigilante career later, Dabi finds himself relying on the same two people who had supported him after losing everything.

But only for the sake of the kid, he muses again, staring at the phone in his hand. No need for them to get involved in the rest of this shit.

It’s easy enough to compartmentalize in his mind. Fuyumi, Natsuo, Rei, and Shouto all belong on the hero side. The side of the light. Yuko and Daiki fall into the vigilante category, which is still light, but significantly less lawful.

Dabi is on the villain side now. And none of the others will be following him there. He’s chosen it. He needs it. Or at least, he needs the resources All For One can provide. The proverbial mountain of quirks that man has will be invaluable to Dabi’s goals. The villain’s plants in the police, the government and the hero agencies will be even more priceless.

And if Dabi wants to wake up society. Wants to destroy the hero system. He’ll need what All For One can provide.

Which is not the answer he uses when Daiki bugs him about it. Likely, Daiki will remind him that there is literally no digital record that can elude the vigilante Torrent. Instead, Dabi just tells him that he has unfinished business with the League and leaves it at that.

Or tries to, anyway. Daiki is very persistent.

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Seriously, what do they have that I don’t?

[Text from: Dabi]

- National recognition? Are you done w/those vids yet?

[Text from: The Nerd]

- These things take time u ass. Don’t make me make ur face prettier than normal

[Text from: Dabi]

- Not possible at this point

- You’re sure you’re okay w/this?

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Yep. Offing a couple big name vigilantes is nbd.

- And it’ll make u look GOOD

- well, better than normal

[Text from: Dabi]

- stop complimenting me its freaking me out

[Text from: The Nerd]

- perfect - mission accomplished

Dabi glares at his phone, flipping it the bird on the off chance Daiki had hacked his camera.

The plan, so far, is easy enough. Daiki frequently worked with vigilantes across Japan. Often times, those vigilantes had friends or family they didn’t want compromised. So, when they got caught on camera, they went to Torrent.

Daiki had created several fake vigilante profiles - faces, gaits, clothing, the whole deal. Then he just got into the video footage with his quirk and replaced whatever images they had of the real vigilantes with his fictional ones. It kept identities safe and provided cover for stuff like property damage or criminals being taken out. Stuff that wouldn’t be explained if Daiki just wiped the videos instead.

It’s two of those fictional vigilantes that Daiki is sacrificing for Dabi’s sake. Creating fake video footage of a massive fight between the flame villain and the vigilantes from the perspective of a shaky bystander. The correlating video evidence from two nearby CCTVs would really seal the deal on authenticity.

The story would be that, on the way back to the bar, Bakugou called for help. The kid came to without Dabi realizing it, and two nearby vigilantes responded to the call. In the chaos that ensued, Bakugou got away and hid in the crowd until he made it back home.

It might stretch the imagination a bit, with the wounds Bakugou has. But Dabi is comfortable chalking it up to the kid’s stubbornness. He’s seen it in spades over the past day, after all.

The videos will hit the internet around the same time Dabi gets back, which they’ve planned for 8pm on Thursday. Enough time for them to mess up a back alley with fire and other destructive quirk effects and fake some injuries for Dabi.

It’s not foolproof, but it’s certainly better than telling the League that he lost track of one injured kid. And taking out two ‘vigilantes’ pretty high up on the wanted list wouldn’t hurt his reputation, either.

For once he’s grateful his quirk is so destructive - they won’t even need bodies to pull this off.

After that, he can return to the League and continue proving his worth and willingness to cooperate. If he keeps it up, it’s likely he’ll get more responsibility. Responsibility leads to more information access - more trust.

His phone pings again, and he glances down with a smirk, thinking it’s Daiki being a smartass again.

[Text from: Handyman]

- Fine, but have the kid back here by tomorrow night or you’re out of the League

Out of the League? Dabi stares at the message, uncomprehending for a minute. He looks at the message prior, the one that he’d sent.

He’d been telling Shigaraki about how Bakugou couldn’t be moved. That the cops were out in force and they’d be caught.

Dabi rereads Shigaraki’s ultimatum, fury starting to boil under his skin. The air around his hands begins to shimmer and he drops his phone before he can melt it.

Who the fuck does he think he is? He thinks hotly, surging off the couch to pace the small living room.

Fucking fuck.

Blue fire is curling around his fingers.

This has Shigaraki’s insecurity written all over it, Dabi fumes, nearly kicking over an end table in his anger. And his fucking sensei won’t say a damn thing against precious Tomura’s decision.

All that planning. Dragging in Yuko and Daiki. That fucking asshole .

Fuck, what’re they supposed to do now? Bring in Bakugou? Actually go straight to the fucking heroes? Kill Shigaraki?

Dabi pauses in his furious pacing, the flames flickering out as his blue eyes fix ahead, thoughts racing.

Abruptly, he spins, scooping his phone off the couch, fingers flicking over to the text screen.

[Text from: Dabi]

- Change of plans

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Dude, the vids are almost done

- Why are you so impatient?

[Text from: Dabi]

- Got an ultimatum from the Leader of the League - Bakugou or nothing

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Shit man.

- But… maybe this is a sign to leave while you can..?

[Text from: Dabi]

- Img sent

- That’s what he did to the kid’s back

[Text from: The Nerd]

- What the fuck

[Text from: Dabi]

- Not taking the kid back

- So we’re taking Shigaraki out instead

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Fuck it - I’m in

- Let’s kill this guy

Heedless of the staples digging into his skin, Dabi allows himself a hard, unforgiving smile.

Endeavor hadn’t been able to make him bow down all those years ago. The countless villains, criminals and corrupt heroes he’d faced hadn’t been enough to break him. He’d been maimed, burnt, broken, used and destroyed - he’d lost his name, his family, and his life. But he’d still put one foot in front of the fucking other and moved forward.

Always toward his ultimate goal. His magnum goddamn opus. The reason, he was convinced, he was still fucking alive.

If Shigaraki thought his little threat would be enough to control Dabi - that he could make Dabi meek and mild and come to heel when called…

Well, he was going to be bitterly, bitterly disappointed.

Chapter Text

When Katsuki comes to, it’s to the sight of Dabi reclining in an old office chair, sitting by his bedside with his bare feet kicked up by Katsuki’s pillow.

Gross.

He pulls a face. He hates it when people put their nasty feet near the pillow he freaking sleeps on. Grind his face all night in whatever you stepped in last? No fucking thank you.

It takes a full minute for it to register that his face doesn’t hurt, despite the scowl.

Huh, the old lady is no joke, he thinks, trying to work up the willpower to test out his back. Given the extra damage it’d taken on the trip over, he’s in no particular rush.

A sound near his temple draws his attention. Dabi is licking a finger and turning the page of his mangled sci-fi book. Katsuki is halfway tempted to ask what chapter he’s on. If only to distract himself from the colossal task of moving.

It’s weird, he thinks idly, mind slowly coming back online. Why is he still here? Thought he was going back to his League buddies. Getting back to being an actual fucking villain.

And there’s a thought he didn’t really want. Some part of his mildly drugged mind wonders if he could fight Dabi again after the insanity of the past 24 hours.

If he attacks the school again, Katsuki thinks vaguely. Or All Might. Or Aizawa-sensei. Shit, what if the League goes after our parents at some point? It’s not like Shigaraki’s going to leave us alone.

He closes his eyes and acknowledges that, yes, he could fight Dabi again. But he wouldn’t really want to.

Really need to figure out what the fuck Dabi wants from the League, he muses. Can’t be their med facility. A faint snort escapes him and the rustling of pages stops.

“Looks like sleeping beauty finally hit his quota,” Dabi says over his head, interrupting Katsuki’s musings. The teen drags his eyes up to meet the villain’s.

He tries to say something witty back, but is beaten to the punch by his stomach’s obnoxious growling.

Dabi smirks, “You hungry?”

“Could eat my mom’s cooking without compl’ning,” Katsuki grumbles, unusually candid. Dabi’s eyebrows quirk at that.

“Not much of a cook?” He surmises. Katsuki groans again, closing his eyes.

“She either gets too impatient an’ burns it, or gets too impatient an’ serves it raw. No fucking in between,” he admits, a shudder rolling down his back. A shudder that doesn’t hurt.

Huh.

He flexes his hand next, and even the shifting of tendons up to his shoulder doesn’t cause any pain. Dabi must see the surprise on his face, because he sets his book down and drops his feet to the floor.

“Yeah, morphine’s a hell of a drug,” he remarks, poking Katsuki in the shoulder. “Probably not going to feel much for another half hour or so. You up to standing?”

Sleepiness fading, Katsuki grins, “Hell yeah.”

Dabi smirks back and helps get him to his feet. That part is still… a struggle, and Katsuki is panting by the time he’s upright. Dabi nods to a nearby wheelchair and cocks an eyebrow at Katsuki.

“Hah? Go die,” the teen scoffs, giving the wheelchair a sour look. “I’ve been dragged around enough.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dabi says simply. He prods Katsuki out of the room, guiding him down the hall to the kitchen at the pace of an asthmatic turtle.

The teen lets himself be ushered into a seat at the table while Dabi moves around the kitchen with confidence, pulling miso out of the fridge, grabbing bowls, spoons and cups out of the appropriate cabinets without paying attention. He’s even yawning throughout the process, lending even more evidence to Katsuki’s ever growing hypothesis.

“You used to live here, didn’t you?”

Katsuki blinks at himself, not exactly having meant to ask. Not yet, anyway.

Fucking morphine is a hell of a drug, what the fuck.

In the kitchen, Dabi pauses in his puttering, arm halfway raised to pull down a pan.

“Yeah, I did,” he says eventually. He doesn’t add anything and continues with re-heating the soup.

The silence that follows is… kind of awkward. But Katsuki doesn’t pay it much mind because he’s busy thinking.

Generally speaking, villains and moms of Pro Heroes didn’t run in the same circle. As a matter of fact, hadn’t he read something at some point about Recovery Girl coming from a whole family of Pro Heroes? If Yuko was retired, maybe it didn’t matter as much who she treated. But still - hero and villain? Not usually the types who would call each other “friend”.

And he did think that Yuko considered Dabi, or “Kasai”, as much a friend as Dabi did her. She’d been ridiculously fucking sweet with the villain earlier. Even relying on him during the assessment of Katsuki’s injuries. Like this was habit for them.

If Dabi had lived here with Yuko - maybe as a patient? - he’d probably helped her in the clinic. It’d explain the villain’s ability to take care of Katsuki’s injury, if nothing else.

Also, she knew Dabi’s real name. Possibly? Dabi hadn’t seemed too irritated to have it revealed and… fucking naming your kid “fire”? It took balls to name a kid for a quirk before it even manifested.

And hadn’t Yuko mentioned something else about “Kasai”? Something about people confusing it for the area? Katsuki had noted they were entering the Kasai district of East Tokyo… but people wouldn’t confuse Dabi’s name unless he was well known in the area, right?

Why would people think Dabi, or “Kasai”, was named for the location? Unless it was his code name at the time? Maybe his villain name? Like that guy who’d gone by “Kyoto-Man” a few years ago.

Or… Katsuki thinks, brow furrowing deeply, it wasn’t a villain name at all.

“You’re thinking about something really damn hard,” Dabi says out of nowhere, setting a bowl of steaming miso in front of him. Katsuki blinks at the soup and back over at the villain, who is settling into the seat across from him.

It’s on the tip of Katsuki’s tongue to ask, but he catches himself in time because surely not. No fucking way the asshole across from him was a hero.

“I didn’t poison it,” Dabi drawls, looking amused. He digs into his own soup, as if to prove it. Katsuki is about to point out that he can’t fucking lift a spoon to his face when he glances back at his bowl. There’s a wide straw fitted to a little medical grade support sticking up.

“Huh,” he says, taking a sip. Then he groans.

“Better than your mom’s stuff?” Dabi asks smugly.

“This is fucking amazing,” Katsuki says, again more candid than he’d like. But he can’t fucking help it - he’s subsisted off of two onigiri and a power bar for the past day. He’s starving.

Katsuki barely catches the satisfied expression that flickers over the villain’s face. It makes him wonder if Dabi was the one who made the food. Again, he doesn’t ask.

He’s got more important questions anyway.

“I thought you were going back to the League?” he watches Dabi carefully for his reaction. Dabi just takes another bite, unbothered.

“Not until tomorrow.”

“Why the delay?” Katsuki pries.

“… let’s just say there was a minor detail that needed to be taken care of first,” Dabi says, and Katsuki doesn’t understand the sudden chill in the air or Dabi’s dark smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you should be grateful I’m not a hero,” the villain says with amusement, like he’s laughing at a private joke.

“Aren’t you?” the teen shoots back. “I mean fuck, rescuing a student from your own gang and consorting with grannies?” Katsuki scoffs to hide his unease. “Not really intimidating, even for a regular asshole.”

Dabi’s expression goes carefully neutral. But his blue eyes are burning.

“Don’t call me a hero, kid,” Dabi warns. Katsuki raises both eyebrows.

That’s a pretty fucking strong reaction, the teen muses. The guy doesn’t care that I nearly throw us into the laps of the police but gives a damn that I call him a hero? Knew he didn’t like them… but this is different. He hates them.

“Alright, whatever,” Katsuki says dismissively, going back to his soup. He watches from under his lashes until Dabi resumes his meal.

The silence that follows this exchange is… even more awkward. Katsuki isn’t sure how to break it.

Isn’t sure if he should, frankly. It’s bad enough that Dabi’s helped him this much. Not enough to make up for the initial kidnapping, of course, but still - in any other situation, Katsuki would start to feel like he owed the guy or something. He hates owing extras.

Getting to know the villain, though. That would probably be a mistake.

Unless he’s willing to yak about the League’s next move, Katsuki thinks, sipping his cooling soup. All this pussyfooting around was fucking annoying. Katsuki preferred it when people were just, fucking straightforward and easy to work with, if he had to work with them at all.

Dabi is the antithesis of easy to work with, at least on an informational level.

Which, in hindsight, isn’t particularly surprising, given the fact that he’s a villain going under one, possibly two, pseudonyms.

With effort, he lets it go for now, refocusing on the more imminent issues of getting home, getting healed, and getting back to goddamn work. Wondering about the villain’s history isn’t going to be much help, now that he’s pretty sure Dabi won’t harm and/or kill him.

Five to eight weeks. Fucking Deku is going to have such a head start now, he thinks in irritation, allowing himself to think about his return to normal life for the first time in twenty-four hours. Following that is thoughts of how his parents are going to react to all of this and burying a groan at how much his dad is probably going to cry.

“Freaking crybaby,” he mutters quietly, wishing he could pinch the bridge of his nose. Across the table, Dabi looks up from his phone.

“What’s that?”

“None of your business,” Katsuki growls, taking another sip of soup. Fuck, it even had the right level of spice, and nobody ever thinks to add spice to miso. It makes Katsuki wonder if the upper cabinets in Dabi’s old apartment had held the same kinds of chili peppers and powdered peppercorn as the Bakugou household.

Again, images of his parent’s worried faces cross his mind and Katsuki pushes down the guilt and shame that accompanies them.

It’s my fucking fault for getting caught, he thinks. Riding on that self recrimination is the hotly logical side of him, but they knew what they were getting into when I signed up to be a goddamn hero.

Still, there’s a deep sense of discomfort in playing house with a healer while his parents lose sleep and possibly cause a bunch of property damage.

“Hey,” he says, before his brain catches up with his mouth. The villain gives him an exasperated look. Katsuki glares. Fuck it.

“I need to use your phone.”

Dabi’s eyebrows rise slowly and disbelievingly.

“No.”

Katsuki grimaces. “The old lady’s phone, then? I don’t fucking care.”

Dabi huffs, “Again, no. We’ve gotten cozy enough with the police today, don’t you think?”

At that, Katsuki feels his face go warm. He’d rather not be reminded of that disaster, thanks.

“Not calling the police,” he grumbles. “Or the heroes.”

Dabi studies him for a full minute before saying slowly, “Okay, I’ll bite. Who would you waste a phone call on if not the authorities.” He says the word like it’s disgusting.

Katsuki hesitates. But it’s not like the villain doesn’t already know it’s a weakness of his. And… shit. Maybe he’s starting to trust the fucker a little bit. At least not to be a totally evil son of a bitch.

“My parents,” he says flatly. “They’re probably flipping their shit right now.”

That catches Dabi off guard, and Katsuki gets the odd honor of watching the villain flounder in total surprise.

“Uh…” the villain hesitates, spoon halfway to his face.

Katsuki’s eyes narrow. “Did you forget I have parents?”

“No, I just assumed you sprang from the earth, fully formed of rage and idiocy,” the villain snarks back. “You still can’t use a phone. Not even if they promised not to inform the authorities. If they’re anything like you, they’re probably too fucking heroic not to give it a shot.”

Lips thin, Katsuki snorts and jerks his eyes away from Dabi. It’d been a long shot anyway. One that he might ought not have mentioned, since Dabi would likely give Yuko a heads up about his goals.

Fucking. Morphine.

Still, Dabi’s not all wrong. Even if his parents swore not to say anything, his mom would either get too frustrated waiting or his dad would get too amped up on dumb courage. They’d definitely take Katsuki’s call to the police. Who would then track it and ruin whatever Dabi’s plans were and yada yada yada.

The villain had inadvertently reminded Katsuki of something, though. His parents are a lot like him. If he can tough it out through this shit show, so can they.

Stewing over his slightly-less-shitty future, he barely notices when Dabi gets up to take their empty dishes to the kitchen.

But a light flashing across the table pulls him out of his musings. It’s Dabi’s phone screen, showing an incoming text.

Fucking cocky of him though - leaving it here when he knows I want it.

Katsuki leans forward as best he can, again noting how little it hurts, and reads the text upside down.

[Text from: The Nerd]

- So, if Shigaraki doesn’t come outside for Bakugou, what’re you going to do? Roast the kid on camera?

Shock hits first. A sickening feeling of… almost betrayal. Terror, that he’d almost fallen for the villain’s act. And on the heels of that comes rage.

That lying fucking bastard.

Then everything in Katsuki’s body goes blazing hot, and he sees red.

——

The sound of a chair scraping against wood causes Dabi to pull his head out of the cabinet where he’d been hunting for a chocolate bar. Mildly alarmed, wondering if the kid had fallen, he looks over at the kitchen table.

Only to see a face he hadn’t witnessed since the sports festival. Bakugou is snarling at him, likely yanking his stitches and -

A muffled boom registers before the pain does.

“AP Shot,” Bakugou hisses out, fury radiating even as his arms shake, right palm smoking and braced against his thigh.

Dabi barely hears it, kneeling as he is in the middle of the kitchen trying very hard to stay conscious.

Fucking shit, his brain screams, left hand clutching at the burning hole in his thigh even as instinct takes over and he rolls to avoid any further shots. Hearing the cabinet door explode behind him lets him know this was a good idea. And then he’s staggering upright, relying on his speed and Bakugou’s injury to give him the advantage.

It does, to an extent. He gets a scorching hand in Bakugou’s face, but not before another fucking explosive beam tears into his collarbone.

Bakugou shouts as Dabi slams him backward onto the table, the edge knifing into the kid’s still healing back. Dabi would feel bad about it if he weren’t so goddamn livid.

Hand gripped across the brat’s face, Dabi keeps the heat just this side of scalding and snarls, “What the fuck are you doing.”

Bakugou is bucking as best he can, trying to get his palms pointed at Dabi. Removing his hand from the kid’s face, Dabi grabs both of Bakugou’s wrists, forcing them to aim to at the floor.

The kid curses again and ignites his hands, blasting them out of the villain’s grip. Dabi has approximately one second to register the loud popping emanating from the kid’s palms before he’s blown off his feet by another minor explosion.

Grunting, wind knocked out him, he sees Bakugou slide off the table. The kid’s knees buckle the second his feet hit the floor.

Pissed beyond all reason, Dabi waits for the kid to hit the hardwood face first before he gets back up and limps over. Warily, because the kid is apparently fucking insane.

He only pauses at a tiny blast skittering across the kitchen floor like a fizzled out firework before he crouches down at the kid’s side.

His thigh absolutely rejects that action, but he shoves the pain down. Pops sound again, but he snatches the kid’s hands, pinning them behind his back and holding them there with his good hand.

After all, he knows the kid’s obsessed with becoming a hero. Any quirk activation now will only destroy the kid’s back more.

Not that he seems to care anymore, goddamn, Dabi thinks viciously, clenching Bakugou’s wrists in a death grip. He glares down at the enraged teen.

There’s silence ringing outside of their pants for breath, and Dabi’s positive that Yuko heard the commotion. He only hopes she stays back until he can make sure the kid is better restrained.

“Again,” Dabi grits out, anger and pain adding a dangerous edge to his voice. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Like you don’t know, you goddamn liar,” Bakugou seethes. Blood is leaking through his face bandages.

“I don’t, or I wouldn’t be dicking around asking,” Dabi sneers. He can feel blood leaking down his own cheek like some kind of twisted mirror.

Bakugou just glowers, eyes pinpoints of fury, and Dabu tightens his grip until the kid winces. He grinds his teeth, but lets up.

“If I let you go will you fucking control yourself?” the villain asks.

“T- Kasai?”

Yuko’s alarmed voice comes from across the room and Dabi takes her in peripherally. No way he’s taking his eyes off the kid until he gets confirmation Bakugou will back off.

Lips pressed into a thin, white line, Bakugou nods his head against the hardwood. He still looks furious, but Dabi cautiously lets his grip relax.

The kid still can’t sit upright without help, not being able to move his arms (and had probably shot off all his blasts from waist level - not that Dabi’d been paying attention in his attempt not to be turned into gory confetti).

Still, he sees Yuko coming over to help and he resigns himself.

Grabbing the kid by the collar of his hoodie, he hauls him back into a sitting position. Yuko makes a distressed sound at the rough handling and the kid curses, but Dabi doesn’t give a damn.

“Explain. Now.”

Bakugou growls, “Fucking die. I don’t have to explain jack shit if you’re just planning to kill me anyway.”

Dabi pulls in a deep, calming breath and counts to ten.

“We. Have been over this,” he says, enunciating each word like he’s talking to an idiot.

“What makes you think Kasai wants to kill you?” Yuko interjects, dragging over the overturned chair to join their impromptu floor circle.

“Hah, he didn’t fucking clue you in?” Bakugou spits out. “He’s planning on setting me on fire for Shigaraki.”

There’s several beats of silence after that proclamation. Yuko just looks mildly concerned, but Dabi is completely done.

He rises from his place on the floor and stalks as best he can out of the room. Kicks open the door to the garage, ignoring the sharp stab of pain it sends up his leg. Grabs up a heavy bundle from the floor, and stomps back into the still-silent kitchen, where he throws the bundle at the kid’s feet.

“That’s you,” Dabi says coldly. Bakugou looks at the rolled up carpet and blankets held together by bungie cords in a roughly human shape, uncomprehending.

“What?”

Yuko sighs heavily, rising from her chair.

“Kasai, you explain while I see to both of your injuries. I swear…”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Dabi objects acidly. Yuko reaches over and pushes his hip, and Dabi barely keeps himself from staggering. The charred hole in his thigh throbs.

“Indeed,” she says, unimpressed. “You need not get into specifics - I’m assuming this is part of you and… your friend’s plan?”

Dabi runs a hand over his face and Bakugou pipes up.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Dabi scowls, wondering if this day could get any more fucked, when his phone goes off with another obnoxious ring tone that was definitely a concerned Daiki.

Fucking hell.

Chapter Text

Yuko brings her mobile tray into the kitchen while Dabi gives a rough sketch of the plan he’d cooked up with his crazy k-pop friend, who’s listening in through the speaker phone.

Katsuki is still on the floor - leaned forward and bare-chested again as Yuko looks over his newly bruised back. The morphine is starting to wear off and he can really feel how much the hitting the table and his own explosions were not a good idea.

None of it was, apparently. And Katsuki feels his jaw clench at more than just the returning pain.

Dabi’s sitting on the floor across from him, one arm draped across his leg to support his blasted collarbone. Fortunately, with the low angle Katsuki had been shooting from, it’s more of a graze than anything. But the villain’s other hand is busy rolling up the leg of his sweat pants to get a better look at the hole from Katsuki’s AP Shot.

It’s not a pretty sight.

And Katsuki’s not just talking about the blackened, fist-sized wound that Dabi’s currently peeling fabric out of.

Seeing Dabi’s scars on his forearms and face was one thing. Seeing them stretch from ankle to mid-thigh gives him an even clearer picture of how damaged the villain is. Not that Katsuki’s any more curious than he was before.

Still, at some point, the bastard must not have been able to move at all.

No fucking wonder he was so prepared to deal with my shit, Katsuki thinks. He scowls, dragging his eyes away from the sight of staples and scars as Dabi elaborates on the dummy he’d dumped.

“The idiot on the phone can manipulate anything digital - even edit in a person that’s not there,” he says, tilting his chin toward the phone sitting between them. “But it still needs to look like I’m hauling someone around. I can’t fake that.”

“So! The plan is to get Shigaraki to come outside, if we can. If we can’t, the plan is to get your dummy killed on camera and lure him out some other way,” this comes from the K-pop friend over the speaker. “Hey Kasai - remember you asking how we were going to fake your injuries? I guess problem solved, right?”

Dabi is pulling on a surgical glove with his teeth, and makes sure to shove his middle finger up first in view of the camera.

“I’m hurt Kasai, I really am.”

“No, that’d be these boys,” Yuko says with a very forbidding tone. Katsuki tenses reflexively, but she doesn’t pull her hands away from his back.

Yeah, this lady is definitely related to Recovery Girl, he acknowledges.

Across from him, Dabi pauses in the cleaning of his wound and glances up. It’s the first time he’s looked Katsuki in the face since he pulled him upright.

“You got something to say to Yuko?” the villain says cooly.

Katsuki grits his teeth, anger still beating a heady thrum through his pulse. But the villain’s not totally wrong.

“I’m fucking sorry, okay?” He grinds out. “For making you do more work, lady,” he directs at the old woman. He makes sure to catch the villain’s gaze while he says it, because it’ll be a cold day in hell before Katsuki apologizes to his kidnapper. The villain snorts and goes back to rubbing burn cream into the hole in his leg. Katsuki maintains a straight face despite how deep Dabi’s fingers sink into his thigh muscles.

“Being fair, that was probably the worst text you could have snooped on,” the voice pipes up from the phone. “But do you have an idea of the plan now?”

Yeah, he fucking does. It’s shitty, but better than the alternative, which would involve, you know, actually getting immolated.

Dabi is supposed to call Shigaraki on the way back to the hide out after having been “attacked” by a couple of vigilantes. The k-pop friend already has CCTV videos put together to fake that, apparently. The flame villain will beat the vigilantes and still have dummy Bakugou with him when he calls asking for Shigaraki to help him out.

If Shigaraki suspects a trap, well - the dramatic phone call will be staged in front of one of the perimeter cameras, which Dabi will say he’s waving at. It would only take a moment for Shigaraki to verify Dabi is injured and has the digitally faked Bakugou with him.

From there, it’s a toss up, because Shigaraki could either come outside - where the k-pop friend will be waiting to snipe him - or tell Dabi to bring the kid in himself. The flame villain is going to attempt goading Shigaraki into ordering him to torch the fake Bakugou on camera.

Hence K-pop's text.

“But if the fucking hand man tells you to bring me inside?” Katsuki says after a moment of thought. “S’not like you can drag in that thing and call it me.” He nudges the bundled up carpet with his foot.

“Still working on that part, to be honest,” K-pop admits. “Trying not to let the rest of the League know Kasai killed their leader, you know?”

“That’s enough,” Dabi interjects, dropping the tube of burn cream back in Yuko’s kit. “He’s got plenty of information.”

Katsuki scowls fiercely at the villain’s flat and final tone. Behind him Yuko sighs.

“Well, I can’t say it’s the best plan. But it’s certainly not the worst you two have come up with,” she mutters.

“Thanks, Yuko!” K-pop says merrily. Katsuki is, oddly, reminded of Kirishima with his obnoxious energy and positivity.

Dabi doesn’t chip in - just wraps a bandage one-handed around his leg. Katsuki can’t help but notice how practiced the motion is.

“Well, you’re all set, young man,” the healer continues, patting Katsuki gently on the shoulder. “You’ll be stiffer than you were before, but after another dose of morphine, you should be feeling better.”

The old lady rises with effort from the floor, joints creaking and popping audibly, and goes across to the villain, who’s rolling down his sweats.

“It’s fine, Yuko,” Katsuki hears Dabi say in an undertone. “Shoulder’s pretty shallow and I’ve already done my leg.”

“I’m sure it is ‘fine’, but I’d like to look you over all the same,” she says, patting his hair as she lowers herself down beside him.

Katsuki watches the old lady lay her hands on Dabi’s forearm, checking for further damage with her quirk. The villain, as mad as he still is, relaxes into her presence. Kind of like a kid to his mom.

He drops his eyes, grudgingly allowing them their moment. His gaze falls on the phone, still sitting between him and the villain, where a third, random stranger is on the line, working to save his ass.

They’re saving Dabi’s ass too. He glowers, wondering at the odd relationship dynamics. Because it’s pretty clear K-pop and Yuko aren’t villains, but they’re willing to help one. Even to the point of murdering someone.

Which is another thing that Katsuki’s pretty sure he should object to. On heroic principle, if nothing else. He might not ever be best buddies with Shigaraki, but it’d been drilled into them that everyone deserved a chance at a fair trial. That lethal force was reserved for life-threatening situations only.

Pretty sure this qualifies, Katsuki thinks. But none of this is going down until tomorrow. Gives me time to think of an alternative, if there is one.

“Hey.” Dabi’s voice cuts through his thoughts. Apparently he’d finished his little moment with Yuko. In fact, the old lady seems to have gone back to bed.

Katsuki drags his unfocused gaze away from the now-disconnected phone to meet the villain’s blue eyes. They’re still hard, but somewhat less angry.

“Yuko wants you hooked back up to the IV,” Dabi says evenly. “If you need to piss or drink, now’s the time to do it.”

The teen sucks on his inner cheek, biting down the irritated diatribe that wants to come out at the villain’s tone. No need to wake the old lady up again just because he couldn’t fucking keep hold of his anger. Instead, he just shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

Dabi nods back and uses the table to haul himself back to his feet. From there, it’s something of a process getting Katsuki to stand - what with Dabi’s leg and arm not being able to take much weight - but they manage it well enough.

They shuffle down the hallway to the clinic, Dabi supporting Katsuki with an arm hooked under his ribs - which ughh, fucking hurts - so it’s slow going. Katsuki takes the time to mull over the past twenty minutes. The past twenty-four hours, really.

From being kidnapped, to injured, to the constant back-and-forth of trust and distrust… He’s fucking exhausted. Trying to get information had been his only means of fighting, so far. The embarrassment that was their kitchen fight proved that well enough. But with Dabi being so goddamn closed off… it’d been a trial and a half just to get basic information.

Which, Katsuki supposes, is better than being slow-rotted in front of a bunch of villains. Still. Not knowing his enemy had gotten him into this mess. He can’t afford to trust the asshole, but… it seemed like he could trust the guy’s intentions at least. Because no villain he’d ever heard of would only issue a warning after nearly getting caught by the police. And definitely no villain would ever take getting shot in their… safe place… without severe retaliation.

And Katsuki had felt the heat held back in Dabi’s hands.

Goddammit, he fumes. Recovery Girl’s mom isn’t going to let me get toasted either. I’m as safe as I’m going to get. As angry as he still is, he knows that much.

Dabi gets him up on the hospital bed and stuffs the pillow into Katsuki’s arms to lean on while he slowly goes about getting a fresh needle and morphine bag. From the bed, Katsuki glares at the back of the villain’s head.

Fuck you, you stupid asshole, Katsuki thinks, conflicting hope and anger and exhaustion fighting for dominance in his mind. He holds the lumpy pillow closer, tightening his weak arms as best he can. Down the hall, he hears a clock chime for one o’clock in the morning.

It’s only been a day, Katsuki thinks, closing his eyes. If Dabi has his way, this shit will go on for another two and a half. On the heels of that thought is the realization that Dabi might be dead in another day, if his plan goes half as shittily as Katsuki thinks it will.

Meanwhile, Dabi comes back over with the supplies. A little heart monitor gets attached to Katsuki’s index finger, and he releases the pillow with one arm to expose the IV catheter still taped to the crook of his elbow.

Katsuki watches as the villain reaches up to hook the morphine bag on the stand and notices the villain’s arm trembling minutely.

A weakness, the calculating half of his brain points out, noting both that it’s the side he’d grazed earlier and that Dabi is apparently left handed. The other half of him brings his eyes back down to the top of his pillow, an uncomfortable feeling souring his stomach.

Why are you doing this? He wants to ask. Why did you take me?

He doesn’t say anything. And neither does Dabi. Maybe whatever frail possibility there had been for trust, or at least an impasse, is gone. Maybe all that’s left is mutual survival of a fucked up situation.

Katsuki doesn’t struggle when the villain helps him lie down. Doesn’t comment when Dabi drags the light blanket up over him.

As the villain flicks off the lights in the room, Katsuki, eyes drooping already, catches the villain’s gaze. Dabi’s scarred face is still stony and unreadable - no indication of what he feels showing through. The look lasts for barely a second, then he closes the door with a firm click and the room goes fully dark.

Laid out on the hospital bed, feeling the effects of the fresh bag of morphine starting to kick in, Katsuki glares at his pillow and wonders why he feels like the villain this time.

——

Dabi walks stiffly down the street to the stashed motorcycle, video props thrown into a tiny garden wagon trailing behind him. The clacking of wheels on old asphalt sets his teeth to grinding, but since they’re doing that against the pain in his leg anyway, he ignores it.

Ridiculous fucking brat, he gripes, unlocking the shed. Throwing the supplies into the saddlebag and propping up the dummy on the back seat, he swears under his breath when he remembers his injured left leg will have to do all of the gear changing on the way back to Yokohama.

Why does everything have to be so goddamn hard? He thinks in a rare moment of sincere frustration. His hands shake as he pulls the helmet off the handlebar into his lap.

He lets self-pity choke him for approximately five seconds, before he’s shoving it down under the anger and determination again. He doesn’t have time to be a fucking crybaby anyway - especially not over some dumb kid who misread a situation.

It was a good fucking reminder, anyway, Dabi notes in irritation. Villains and heroes in training aren’t supposed to cooperate. S’why I made sure to piss off Shouto. Can’t risk that temptation.

Still, seeing Bakugou’s face twisted in fury and having that fury directed at him had been a… surprise after the absolutely insane day they’d had. Stupid really, forgetting for even a second that he was the bad guy here.

Lips thin, Dabi shoves that aside too, and pulls his helmet over his ruined face.

“Hey, Kasai!” Torrent’s voice comes over the internal helmet speakers. Dabi’s eye twitches.

“I hate it when you do that, you know that, right?”

“Sure do! You okay to drive?”

“Of course,” Dabi growls, backing the bike out of the shed. Yeah, his shoulder is stinging like a bad case of road rash and his leg is spasming at random, but he’s definitely had worse. And pain is a handy focus point.

“You tell me if it’s too much. I got a couple of guys that owe me favors who’d give you a ride, no questions asked.”

Dabi isn’t a fan of the concern in Daiki’s voice. Not to mention the doubt in his ability to handle himself.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gets out, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Suit yourself.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, but Dabi isn’t lulled by it. Torrent is still there, and likely won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, now that he knows Dabi is alive and operating as a villain. He’d done nothing but pester him about it in their texts earlier.

The flame villain sighs as he turns onto one of the main streets, knowing that Daiki will have questions he can’t deflect as easily outside of texting. One of the reasons he’d wanted to get a solution that didn’t involve the tech genius in the first place.

Though Yuko was right, he admits to himself. This’d be pretty much impossible to pull off without him. At least, not without tipping my hand to the League or endangering the brat.

He kicks the motorcycle into fourth gear, flinching as his leg sends shooting pains up his hip and down to his toes, and merges onto the highway.

“Touya?”

The name makes Dabi’s hand clench reflexively, torquing the gas handle and causing the bike to lurch forward. Heartbeat and heat increasing under his skin, Dabi loosens his grip. The last thing he needs is for the police to pull him over for speeding.

“I go by Dabi now,” he corrects icily. Over the speakers, he hears a staticky sigh.

“Can I get away with Kasai, at least? “Dabi" just sounds weird to me.”

“Whatever. What is it?”

“Well the kid brought up a pretty good point - this insane plan of ours is nowhere near done with yet. And you’ve got… a lot of travel time.”

Dabi swerves around a slow truck and hums his agreement. Killing Shigaraki… was an impulsive decision. One that, ultimately, he couldn’t think of a way around. Because he knows how petty hand man can be - the asshole’s threat to kick him out of the League wasn’t idle. And Dabi needs the League - not Shigaraki.

So, then came the plan to take Shigaraki out of the picture.

Bare bones would be a stretch at this point. He couldn’t just walk into the League hideout and shank their leader. Or roast him or shoot him or any other scenario he’d thought of. He needed plausible deniability in the role of Shigaraki’s death. Which is where Torrent and his sniper rifle came into play.

But for that, they needed to lure the leader out into the open.

So far, the only lure they could think of was an injured Dabi calling from a nearby alleyway where one of the League’s perimeter cameras was located. On the phone, Dabi would say he’s waving at the camera and needed a pickup for him and the brat, as Dabi was injured from a fight with vigilantes and unable to walk.

Something he’d never thought he’d want to thank the kid for - giving him realistic injuries.

It would be easy for Shigaraki to check the cameras and verify Dabi in the alley. He could even rewind the footage to see Daiki’s edited fight. But that was the easy part.

Which Daiki is quick to point out.

“For instance, do you know if Shigaraki has told anyone else in the League? It’d look pretty suspicious if you called him outside and he gets offed a minute later. Or, hell, he could just send someone else outside to get you.”

“It’s not Shigaraki’s MO,” Dabi says briefly. “He hates communicating with the League, and hasn’t made any real effort to get to know any of the members other than Kurogiri. I know them better than he does.”

“That does say a lot,” Torrent agrees readily. “But you also said he’s kinda power trippy. You sure he won’t send someone to go get you just to flex?”

Dabi mulls that one over, since it’s actually a good point. Especially since Shigaraki could just send Kurogiri out to pick him up. He’d need a good incentive to draw out the hand bastard himself.

“I could text Twice and Compress,” he muses aloud. “Get a feel for whether or not they know about Shigaraki’s ultimatum.”

“Okay, so… if they don’t know?”

“Still try and draw him out. I think the temptation of me needing his help will be too much to resist. Let's him reassert that he's got the biggest dick on the playground.”

“Sounds charming. And if they do know?”

“Probably have to change the video to show the kid getting away during the fight,” Dabi says with a scowl. “And deal with whatever fallout Shigaraki dishes out. He might not throw me out if it’s obvious to the League I tried to get the kid back to him.”

“And you really think that’ll work?” Daiki asks doubtfully. Dabi snorts.

“See, the thing is, he wouldn’t have sent me that text unless he thought I couldn’t follow through.” Dabi’s leg spasms and he grunts as his foot twitches against the gear shift. “He’s been jealous ever since I talked with his damn sensei.”

“Okay, translate that for me.”

“Like you said earlier, he’s trying to flex,” Dabi sneers, trying to get his thoughts in coherent order. “He’d probably be happy to find a way to kick me out of the League. Or, if I did bring Bakugou back, it’s because he “commanded” me to. See how that works? He pushed me into a corner where I either fuck up or submit. He just forgot that there were other options available.”

“Like killing him?”

“Yep.”

“So it could go either way. Either the League knows that you’re on thin ice or they don’t. Either Shigaraki gets lured outside, or he doesn’t. We’ll have to have the security camera footage edited for any of the above possibilities,” Daiki sighs. “Any reality where I don’t actually have to kill anyone tonight?”

“I mean, if Shigaraki decides to let the kid escape with the “vigilantes” then he’ll survive, for now,” Dabi mutters without humor.

“But you don’t think that’s likely.”

“About as likely as Endeavor winning father of the year.”

“Bad odds then.”

Dabi laughs and tries not to notice how lightheaded it makes him. Planning with Daiki was always a bit of a headache to begin with. After two days with only six hours of sleep? It’s more like being mentally punch drunk.

“Well, it’s still not as fool proof as I like, but I trust you,” Daiki continues. “You’ve always been pretty good at reading people.”

“Hmm. And you just have to be ready to off him as soon as he comes outside.”

“About that - what do you think about backdating an assassination request on the dark web? Just to cover our asses.”

“What, so All For One finds a reason for Shigaraki’s murder?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be better than leaving it a mystery.”

“As long as you can post it up without it getting traced back to you.”

“Don’t insult me like that, man. It’s rude.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

Daiki trails off into mumbled imprecations, but Dabi can hear the clattering of insanely fast typing on the other side. For as much as the plan boiled down to “lure an asshole outside to assassinate while also maintaining cover and absolute deniability” there were still way too many opportunities for things to go wrong for Dabi to be comfortable.

Especially if Shigaraki told Kurogiri, Dabi muses. Don’t think he would, since he’s trying to prove himself to his sensei, but…

Dabi tries to work through the problem like he’s done a hundred missions before.

Find out what you can about the target. Find their weakness. Target that weakness ruthlessly.

Shigaraki’s was his need to prove himself to his sensei. To prove he could lead the League. Dabi had pegged that the first time he’d seen the two of them talking over the screen. It’s why Dabi is fairly certain Shigaraki hasn’t told the League he’s trying to get rid of Dabi.

Because Dabi is a threat to Shigaraki’s position, as little as Dabi has actually tried to be. Useful, sure. But not a threat.

And the rest of the League likes Dabi, for some unknown reason. If it came down to it, Dabi would bet Shigaraki was too much of a chicken to test which side the rest of the League would take, between the two of them.

But sending Dabi a private threat? Shigaraki could easily tell the rest of the League Dabi had defected. It’s part of why Dabi wanted video evidence - much harder to make it Shigaraki’s word vs Dabi’s.

Doesn’t solve the Kurogiri problem, though, he thinks. Mistface won’t betray Shigaraki and might be the only one Shigaraki would tell about his little threat. If handyman sends Kurogiri to my location, I don’t think we’ll be able to pull this off.

He tries not to think about that. It’s too exhausting juggling all of the possibilities.

Dabi slows down behind a police vehicle, wary of passing them after the stunt Bakugou had pulled earlier. He’s still not sure if it was enough to get his plates entered into the system.

“…How bad would it be if you weren’t in the League, really?”

The question comes out of nowhere, catching Dabi in a place of too many concerns and not enough sleep. He answers honestly.

“It’s my only way forward.”

The growl of the motorcycle is the only thing between them for a beat.

“Kasai, man, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. What happened to you? What has the League got going for them that’s better than what we were already doing?”

Dabi’s pulse ticks up several notches as memories and the accompanying anxiety roar through him.

“Later, Daiki. Can you check the police notices to see if my plates have any alerts on them?”

“I tagged your plates for immediate scrambling on any system as soon as my contact reached out to me with the information. Don’t dodge the question, Kasai. I’ve got you, no matter what. You’re my favorite soot gremlin bro, you know?”

For the second time that day, Dabi feels his heart clench in stupid pain at a simple gesture of caring. Part of him wonders if it was ever worthwhile to leave Daiki and Yuko behind. But the other part of him knows better. Knows he owes Daiki a straight answer, too.

“We… we planned to gather up information on crooked heroes, right?” He says into the speaker, throat tight. “Use the vigilante network to tag the ones working with criminals, exploiting the system, on the take, all that shit. Do our own research, catch them in the act, if we could.”

He flicks on his blinker harder than necessary, cutting across the lanes for his highway branch heading south. Over the headset, Daiki makes a noise of agreement.

“After what happened when we went to the police with my dad’s bullshit, I started thinking that no amount of goddamn proof would be enough. The police were just as corrupt as the fucking heroes.”

“…I remember,” Torrent says in a low, angry voice. Dabi swallows.

“I told you the only way to get it done was to cause a scene. Get the attention of society. We needed more heroes, more evidence, more testimonies. Make civilians so mad that the heroes had to take responsibility. Get the other heroes like All Might to step up too and start holding fuckers like Endeavor accountable.”

“Kasai, man, that’s what we were doing,” Torrent says in frustration, but Dabi cuts in.

“It was never going to work, Daiki!”

Dabi grips the bike handles hard, trying to push the fire roiling under his skin back down. The last thing he needs is to lose control going seventy on the highway as a wanted criminal.

Teeth grinding so hard he can feel his jaw muscles cramping, Dabi continues, “I fucking saw how much of a damn they gave. Let me tell you - it was underwhelming.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dabi bites back his anger. The grief and horror were still too fresh in his mind, even after more than a year.

“You’ve seen my face,” Dabi states flatly. “That was heroes’ work. But at least I survived it. Can’t say the same for the other twenty-three people there.”

“Kasai -“

“And I waited -” Dabi plows over Torrent’s voice “- for the news to report on it. Twenty-three deaths at the hands of heroes. One of them employed at Might Tower, if you can fucking believe it. Public enough that even the attorneys wouldn’t be able to bury it. Other heroes were there, police, firemen. Fucking dockworkers - probably ten or fifteen of them. And you know what it got?”

“Kasai…”

“Thirty seconds on the morning news. It was overshadowed by a new drama’s final season.”

There is silence over the headset again. This time heavier than before.

“Decided to take time to work on my quirk,” Dabi continues, feeling exhausted. “Kept thinking that it might’ve gone different if I’d had control. Came back to the city to find the fucker from Might Tower. He had some kind of forced quirk activation ability - s’why I needed to be able to keep my shit under control. Couldn’t risk him using my own fire to barbecue me again.”

“Fucking hell.”

Dabi snorts without humor. “No shit. Turned out the guy was missing. Asking around lead me to rumors of a guy called All For One. Apparently, one of the scariest and most powerful villains to have ever existed. People fucking… disappeared around him. But if you needed something and were useful to him, he could get you fucking anything. Positions, quirks, intel, you name it. The guy had his fingers in everything.”

“So, you decided to work with this mafia guy?”

“Not quite,” Dabi admits. “Giran warned me away from him. But then Stain’s video came out. Guy had some of the right ideas - and he had connections with the League, which was All For One’s pet project. The perfect in.”

Torrent is quiet on the other line, and Dabi takes the momentary reprieve to check his location on the internal map display. He’s almost to Yokohama. It’d be another ten minutes before he reached the alley where they’d decided to stage their little fiction.

“Kasai, man, this is too dangerous. Like, I get where you’re coming from, but if this guy is as terrifying as you say, what’s to stop him from offing you for killing Shigaraki?”

Dabi huffs, “That’s why we’re trying not to let anyone know it was me.”

“And didn’t you say Shigaraki’s, like, his pupil or something?” Torrent continues, heedless, “Who’s to say he’ll even keep the League around if something happens to his protege?”

“Going to convince him to let me take charge,” Dabi says with a confidence he doesn’t quite feel.

“Yeah? So let’s assume this all goes perfectly, for just one goddamn second. You kill Shigaraki. No one suspects you. All For One decides to name you his new leader of the League. Hooray! Now you’re under the thumb of another power tripping megalomaniac who will use you to extend his own influence.”

Anger flares again, pulsing behind Dabi’s grainy eyes. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why the fuck are we even talking about this!”

“Because I don’t have another choice anymore!” Dabi shouts into the speaker. “I fucking chose this, okay? I leave, and All For One won’t stop hunting me down. I stay, and at least I have a chance at making a difference. It’s not like a super villain is gonna say no to taking down hero society.”

“I can help you, dammit! We’ve made a new identity for you before - we get you out, somewhere safe and -“

“At the risk of sounding fucking cliche, there isn’t anywhere safe for me,” Dabi cuts in again. “You haven’t seen his Nomu. There’s a whole class of them dedicated to tracking. All it takes is the tiniest scent. A hair, a drop of sweat, it doesn’t fucking matter. They can find you.”

“Shit, Kasai.”

Hearing the genuine distress in his friend’s voice, Dabi feels his heart squeeze again. And even though he’s never been good at it, he tries for a little levity.

“Don’t fucking fall apart on me dumbass. It’s not like you could hide my face anyway,” he points out. “Besides, even if running were an option, you know I’d never take it. It’s what got me in this fucking situation in the first place.”

Torrent huffs out a strangled laugh over the line. And Dabi finally pulls into the alley they’d decided on.

“Then we’d better make this work, I guess.”

Dabi grins tightly, staples catching against the the helmet padding.

“I guess we’d better.”

Chapter Text

Thursday morning

Groggy as he is, Katsuki still has enough energy left to get his teeth on the IV line. With much labored tugging and muffled cursing, he’s able to pull the needle free of his arm.

Fluid drips onto the floor, but Katsuki pays it no mind. His head is spinning with the effort of twisting his head and neck around.

It takes nearly five minutes before he can see clearly enough to assess his surroundings. Even with the minimal amount of morphine in his system, he still feels sluggish and slow as he works out a way to get off the hospital bed.

Fighting probably didn’t help, for fucking once, he thinks grimly, shimmying inch by inch to the edge of the bed. There’s a rail up to prevent accidental falls, but he’d seen the switch Dabi used to lower it. If he could get a few inches over and half a foot higher, it’d be level with his hand.

It’s grueling and embarrassing, but eventually Katsuki is able to grope his way down the side of the bed to the lever and pull it up. The railing collapses on his dangling wrist and he bites back a curse. Instead he clenches his lips and uses his knees to start pulling himself over to the side of the bed.

Not falling is particularly difficult, but somehow Katsuki manages it, sweat rolling down his sides and from his temples. Still, he has his feet under him and no villain around to stop him. That he knows for sure, since he’d heard the quiet click of the front door and the muffled roar of a motorcycle passing down the street. Which meant Dabi was off to set up his crazy plan while it was still dark.

And it is an absolutely crazy plan. The more Katsuki had thought about it, the more he’d realized all that could go wrong. How easy it’d be for Dabi to be caught in his lies. It would just take one miscalculation. One stray variable the villain didn’t account for, and Shigaraki would know that he was trying to dupe the League.

The decay villain would take Dabi apart for his betrayal.

Katsuki isn’t going to sit back and fucking watch that happen. Maybe he’d fucked up a couple of times, but this goes past Aizawa’s definition of reckless and strays into the idiotic category.

Dabi hadn’t been looking at all the options. Or he was choosing not to look at them all. Fuck if Katsuki cares - they’d been taught to pick the option with the highest chance of goddamn survival.

If he can just get to All Might, he can make sure the heroes are able to take down the villains. He knows where the pub is. Dabi won't like it, but if the League is gone, he’d have no reason to risk his neck. And since he won’t be at the villain hideout, the flame villain won’t get caught with the rest.

Katsuki presses his lips into a grim line, and acknowledges that he might have to help the villain get caught anyway. He’d still need to face time for the attack on the camp. Again, he fights down something that feels annoyingly like guilt.

Though I’m not fucking sorry, he thinks viciously, looking around Yuko’s clinic for the set of tongs he’d seen earlier. It’d make up for his lack of arm mobility and would let him open fucking doors. Goddamn. Asshole should appreciate getting away from those psychos. And he’s already got people who’ll help him when he gets out of jail.

Because Katsuki isn’t planning on letting the heroes in on Dabi’s little network. Not unless Yuko and K-Pop prove themselves to be a danger.

He spots the tongs on the second shelf of the old lady’s mobile cart and awkwardly maneuvers himself to be able to grab them. It fucking hurts, but the pain’s almost become a constant for him at this point.

Angling the tongs up to the doorknob, he gets a grip and turns - only for the handle to not move at all.

That fucker locked me in here, Katsuki realizes in pissed off incredulity. Then he remembers the the fight in the kitchen and winces.

Alright, maybe he had reason to, he concedes privately, eyebrows still furrowed. Glancing around the room, he finds a solution to his current dilemma.

With much kicking and shuffling, he maneuvers over a tiny stool that would put his hand level with the handle. Stepping up onto it, he presses his palm forward and focuses.

Most of the time, his quirk isn’t particularly suited to stealth - not with the popping and roaring of chemicals reacting. But he is capable of tiny, micro explosions held close to the skin. They aren’t much use, except for generating heat.

Which is what he needs - enough heat to soften the locking mechanism. Or to crack it. Whichever the fuck came first.

There is a quiet crackling for several minutes, and Katsuki feels his strength sapping rapidly. With one last burst of energy, he feels the glowing handle warp under his hand and give way. He sets his shoulder against the door and shoves steadily, back aching with pain despite the drugs still in his system.

The door pushes grudgingly open, sticking on the melted metal smeared across the locking mechanism.

Sweat beading across his brow and arm shaking with the effort, Katsuki steps gingerly down from the stool and into the hallway. Quietly, he steals down the well worn hardwood, making for the living room.

“I’m curious,” comes a voice from behind him, and Katsuki stiffens immediately. “As to how you were planning to get to the train station.”

The lights flicker on, and he sees the old lady standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Was going to borrow a phone,” Katsuki says obstinately, refusing to be ashamed. “Call All Might.”

Yuko’s eyebrows rise, “Ohh? You know All Might - I haven’t seen him since he was a boy.”

Katsuki feels a spark of interest ignite before he squashes it. “I don’t wanna hurt you, lady.”

“No, I don’t believe you do,” she agrees easily enough, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen, and tossing over her shoulder, “I don’t believe you want to hurt Kasai, either. Not again, anyway.”

He hesitates momentarily before shuffling after her, irritation, guilt, and curiosity compelling him forward.

“Have a seat, Bakugou,” the old lady says, gesturing over at the kitchen table he’d been sitting at earlier. Katsuki feels his eye twitch in annoyance at the delay. He remains standing.

“The bastard’s plan is stupid,” he says bluntly. Yuko gives him look. Not for the first time in the past day, Katsuki wishes he could cross his arms. Could move his arms at all, frankly.

“That boy was certainly not the bastard in his family, I assure you,” she says mildly, pulling out a tin for tea. The action is eerily reminiscent of Dabi’s earlier preparation of dinner.

Wait a fucking minute.

“You know who he actually is.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question. He’d already suspected it, anyway.

“Hmm, yes,” Yuko says, measuring out her tea leaves into a disposable baggy. “And you don’t. He’s not going to risk your life again, even if his plan goes awry.”

Katsuki scrunches his nose in irritation. “That’s not it.”

Yuko pulls down a second mug and adds another baggy of leaves. “Oh?”

The kitchen begins to fill with the smell of a soft white tea. Katsuki only recognizes that weak shit because it’s his dad’s favorite. He swallows tightly.

“He’s planning on killing Shigaraki,” he says plainly. “But his plan might as well be a fucking net for all the holes in it. If the heroes get there first, there’s no need for any of that bullshit.”

“Ooohh.” The old lady’s eyes go wide, even as she shuffles over to the table with the two tea cups. “Oh, dear heart.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow. “What.”

Yuko pats the chair next to her again for him to sit and this time, Katsuki joins her at the table. One of the tea cups has a straw sticking out over the rim and he resigns himself to sitting down to tea with a super retired grandma. Or was she? Did Recovery Girl have children herself?

Shaking his head, he takes a sip and waits for the old lady to expand. Anxiety at time passing closer to Dabi’s return takes a backseat to possible intel.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Yuko says finally, wrinkled old hands clasped loosely around her cup. “I had it myself, in fact. So did D… well, our mutual phone friend.” Katsuki notes the slip and watches her with sharp eyes.

“So why not fucking do something?”

The old lady puffs out a soft breath. “I like to think that with age comes some discernment. Knowing when to act and when to hold back. In this case, acting would cause more harm than good.”

“In what universe is being alive worse than getting help?!” Katsuki snaps, pulling back sharply from his straw.

Calm, cloudy eyes meet his and Katsuki bites the inside of his cheek in frustration.

“You’ve been hurt by villains,” Yuko continues. “It would make sense if you reacted poorly to people who hurt you, say… coming to help you, wouldn’t it?”

“As if they would,” Katsuki scoffs, parsing out her meaning easily enough. “You’re saying the bastard was hurt by heroes?”

“Very badly,” she nods sadly. “Every scar you’ve seen. And before you ask, no - it was years before he became a villain.”

“I was your age when this happened. Younger, when it started.”

Katsuki mulls that over in silence, brows furrowed hard.

It’s easy enough to believe. Katsuki’s done enough research on heroes of the past to know that not all of them were all goody goody like the media tried to portray them. Even All Might, with his quirk, ended up tanking his opponents more often than not. But he doesn’t think that’s what Yuko’s talking about. She’s talking about intentional harm against… a kid.

Suddenly Dabi’s crusade to keep him safe is making a lot more sense. As is his hatred of heroes. Still, Katsuki doesn’t exactly want the asshole to die for him. Maybe face criminal charges for the kidnapping and attacking their camp, but…

Shit. Why did it have to be so grey? They hadn’t even gotten to their Morality vs. Legality class yet. That wouldn’t be until second year.

“He might not fucking like it,” Katsuki growls, glaring down into his tea, “But Shigaraki will kill him if he goes in there alone with that half-ass trap idea. That guy’s a psycho.”

Yuko smiles slightly at that, “Well, I have no doubt he and… our mutual phone friend are hammering out the details as we speak. And while it’s unlikely it will go to plan, they have survived so far. I have faith in them.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t care if they’ve been lucky in the past. Eventually luck ran out - just look at him.

It’s not my responsibility to look after two idiot adults, he reminds himself. But this fucking… doing nothing shit is getting really old.

“You remind me of him, when he was your age, you know,” the old lady comments. “Always wanting to go go go. Make a difference, get to the action.”

“I am not a villain,” Katsuki snaps, eye twitching. Yuko huffs again.

“Neither was he. Nor do I think he wanted to be, if I’m being honest. I think he believes he’s run out of viable options, and is going for the only one left that he hasn’t tried.”

“Options for fucking what?” Katsuki grits out. “Revenge against all the heroes? Good luck with that, he’s out-fucking-numbered.”

Yuko sighs, “No, not necessarily revenge. Change, mostly. But it’s not my story to tell. I can only say that as an ex-pro hero myself, I know what he’s trying to do. And while I can’t agree with his methods, or control his actions, I do agree whole-heartedly with his end goal.”

Katsuki is far from mollified. “A pro would never agree with this,” he snarls, jerking his chin toward his back. Yuko looks saddened.

“No, I should say not,” she agrees. “And neither did Kasai, as you can see. Which is why I’m glad he brought you to me. It shows that he’s not yet far enough into the villain mindset to be desensitized. That he hasn’t sunk so low as to avoid people he cares for and respects.”

That, oddly, makes sense. And Katsuki grudgingly concedes that Dabi had been very clear on his stance regarding what Shigaraki did.

But we’re getting off the goddamn topic. Shit, she’s good at that.

“He’s putting the people he cares for and respects in danger too, doing this,” he points out, just shy of snide. “Seriously, the heroes will put the League away in five minutes flat. Why not let them?”

Yuko hums and taps a wrinkly fingertip against her cup, somehow looking older than before.

“This may not be what you want to hear, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kasai would rather be killed by Shigaraki than accept the help of heroes.”

Katsuki’s frown pulls hard at his face, extremely tired of the vague shit.

“Lady, I’m gonna need more than that,” he says tightly. She’s painting a pretty dramatic picture - saying heroes were the reason Dabi is the way he is and that accepting their help would be a fate worse than death. But it’s still nothing he hasn’t seen happen before in history. People got hurt all the time, but that rarely made them decide all the good guys were actually scum.

She studies him thoroughly. Looking into his eyes like she’s searching for something. Maybe she finds it, because she pushes back from the table.

“Wait here for a moment,” she says and walks out of the kitchen.

Katsuki barely has a minute to mull over what she’s told him before she’s re-entering with a thick medical file held in her wrinkly hands. She sets it on the table and taps it with one finger.

Looking more serious than he’s seen her so far, Yuko says, “In all my years as a pro-hero healer, I have never seen a case that made me so disgusted with my own colleagues. I can’t tell you everything, but young Bakugou…”

She trails off, eyes on the folder in front of her. And Katsuki can see how upset she is when her fingers curl into a fist.

“If Kasai’s way doesn’t work, I want the next generation to learn from their predecessor’s mistakes. To make sure cases like this can’t happen again.”

The teen’s brows furrow in confusion and he opens his mouth to ask for her to get to the fucking point, when she continues.

“By now you know that I work outside the law, as a vigilante,” she says. “What you don’t know is that Kasai was a vigilante too…”

——

Dabi feels a bit like something the neighborhood cat dragged in by the time he gets back to Yuko’s house. Weary, dirty, and sleepy beyond all imagination, he shoulders his way through the front door. He barely even has the presence of mind to kick off his mucky boots on the mat. One of them falls over on its side, and he stares at it blearily for half a minute before turning to close the door behind him. Then he resets the house alarm, just for good measure.

He can see the sun just barely making itself known on the horizon. Great. Only a few hours for sleep before he’ll need to make the trek back down to Yokohama for the real performance.

Still, he’s satisfied with the set up they’d done. It’d required some… ingenuity on their parts, considering they had to have responses recorded for whatever Shigaraki’s reaction ended up being, but… they’d done their best.

Dabi reaches around his back and pops his spine, loud cracks echoing in the empty hall. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he grudgingly decides to hit the shower before going to bed for a few hours.

Which requires a stop in the infirmary for fresh bandages, since he’d definitely felt blood leaking down his leg by the time he finished in the alleyway.

He’s not sure if he hopes the kid is out of it or awake at this point. After the earful he’d gotten from Daiki about being more careful about where he leaves his cellphone and a few hours of somewhat manual labor to get out his own angst, he’s pretty much over the kid’s blowup. He hadn’t been that different at that age anyway, especially the first time he’d been out on the streets. Which means being injured and in enemy territory is something Dabi is unfortunately familiar with. Bakugou isn't.

And really he did kidnap the kid.

Can’t keep reminding myself I’m a villain if I get mad when I’m treated like one, he thinks groggily, nearly tripping on Yuko’s umbrella stand.

The warped door handle gives him pause, and he's unsure what to expect. Had the kid escaped? When he cautiously pops his head in the clinic, he’s not quite prepared to see bright red eyes glaring at him. The kid looks about as shitty as he feels, just with more teenage energy.

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou growls. “Took you long enough.”

Running on approximately six hours of sleep over three days, Dabi doesn’t have the willpower to play their game of ‘who’s the bigger asshole’. Instead he just rubs at his sore shoulder and asks, “Did you want something, kid?”

Bakugou grimaces, squirming slightly. Thinking back on their timeline, Dabi guesses what the kid needs easily enough.

“Bathroom?” He remarks, stifling a yawn. Picking up a wad of fresh gauze and some antibiotic cream, he stuffs them in the pockets of his villain jacket. Meanwhile, Bakugou’s face is flushed with embarrassment.

“I don’t need your fucking help,” the kid mutters. “Just get me upright.”

“Hmm.” Dabi blinks slowly, taking in the badly rumpled sheets. Apparently the kid had been trying to get up for at least a few minutes.

Are those bite marks on the pillow? He wonders, not quite as surprised as he feels he should be.

“If you make a mess, you’re cleaning it up,” he settles on eventually, reaching over to release the collapsable gate on the side of the bed.

It’s something of a routine, now - getting Bakugou back up and on his feet. Dabi makes sure to disengage the IV catheter, since the morphine bag is hanging mostly empty anyway. Yuko would likely get the kid a new one when she woke up, but it looked like the kid was already on a lighter dose than when he left. He’d put money on Yuko checking in on Bakugou in the middle of the night. The freaking softie.

At the door, he points the kid down the hall toward the bathroom. Then, since he’s going to be waiting for the shower anyway, he takes the extra time to go grab a spare set of clothes.

The clock in the living room reads a little after five in the morning. He’d need to leave in twelve hours if he wanted to make it back to the alleyway with spare time to go over any last minute details. And this time, Daiki would be with him in person.

Dabi exhales deeply at the thought. Goddamn if Daiki and Yuko didn’t make him feel like a fucking kid again. He snags another set of sweats and an old t-shirt, the nostalgic smell of Yuko’s detergent wafting up to meet him.

Wryly, he muses that if Bakugou hadn’t gone and gotten hurt, he’d be well on his way to being an actual, you know, villain. Here, though. In this place, with these people who know who he is under the scars… he feels a lot more like Touya than he does like Dabi.

It’s irritating, to a degree. Because it’s going to make returning to the League that much more painful.

Just a couple more days, he thinks tiredly, shoving the drawer closed with a socked foot. Kill Shigaraki. Come back and help Yuko ’til Saturday. Then I get back on track.

He knocks briefly on the bathroom door and hears explosive cursing from the other side. Amused, he cracks the door open.

“Everything going alright in there?” He asks with false sweetness.

“Go die, asshole,” comes the now-expected answer. Something clatters loudly

“Nah, not today,” Dabi says, opening the door all the way. Bakugou is leaning his side against the sink counter, reaching uselessly for the overturned soap dispenser. Dabi snickers at the sight.

“Shut up,” Bakugou snarls, kicking at his shin. He misses by a solid foot.

Stepping into the small bathroom, Dabi snags the soap bottle, pumps some into his hands and elbows up the water faucet handle. He looks pointedly at the kid’s hands.

“Seriously?” The kid complains, glaring at him. Dabi shrugs, and grabs Bakugou’s hands.

“I want a shower and you’re taking too long.”

“Whatever, shitty asshole,” the kid grumbles, ignoring Dabi as he brusquely washes his hands for him. It’s oddly reminiscent of when he used to help a much shorter Shouto. But with more cursing.

Shutting off the water, Dabi arches an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

A muscle ticks in Bakugou’s cheek and Dabi reminds himself that it should be beneath him to take pleasure in pissing off a kid. But hey, being a villain meant you could enjoy what you wanted, right?

(And maybe, just maybe, he’s still smarting a little over their fight in the kitchen, despite what he tells himself.)

“Toothbrush,” the kid says flatly. “Mouth tastes like a gym floor.”

Kid’s gotten ballsy, Dabi thinks in amusement. He knows I’ll have to fucking brush his teeth for him.

But, for the first time in a while, Dabi takes in the kid’s overall state. It’s not exactly the UA picture perfect image he usually holds in the back of his head.

Like him, Bakugou’s hair is greasy with sweat and oil - though for some reason way beyond his current cognitive abilities, the kid smells like sugar cookies. His skin, other than the areas covered by bandages, is beaded in light perspiration with the effort of standing. The black pants he’d been wearing at the training camp were streaked with dust, blood and mud, and the t-shirt he’d lost at the bar, when Shigaraki had… happened. Mostly, he’d just been wearing bandages or Dabi’s old hoodie in lieu of an actual top.

Currently, he’s down to just the bandages.

There’s not a lot of thought in the gesture, with how tired he is. In fact, Dabi’s not even aware he’s moved until Bakugou looks at him oddly. Between them, the old sweats and t-shirt are held out like an awkward peace offering.

“Take it or leave it, kid,” Dabi says, aiming for nonchalance but probably landing in the midst of “zombie incarnate”. Bakugou glares at him with squinty eyes.

“Tch,” the kid finally grunts. The villain takes that as a yes and shakes out the t-shirt.

It’s baggy enough that Dabi can work it up the kid’s arms and over his head without pulling too much on his back. The pants, though, are another issue.

“Don’t need ‘em.” The kid’s face is mulish.

“Not going to force you,” Dabi says, shrugging. He knows Bakugou would probably prefer to be out of the gross pants he’s in, but it isn’t his problem if the kid’s too prideful to accept the help it’d require to change. Himself - between Yuko and the doctors he’d had as a kid - he’s pretty much over modesty.

He drops the sweats on the counter, and lowers himself painfully to check under the sink for a spare toothbrush. If he’s remembering correctly… ah, there’s the box.

The kid is shifting from foot to foot, looking uncertain. Dabi doesn’t try to guess what’s going on in his mind. Just smears a healthy dollop of toothpaste onto the toothbrush.

“Open up.”

Bakugou does as he’s told, for once. And Dabi flashes back to two nights ago, when he was dumping pain killers down the kid’s throat because he couldn’t stand to see the kid crying in agony on his couch.

Which is probably why he doesn’t say anything mocking while he awkwardly brushes the kid’s teeth for him. For Bakugou’s part, he makes sure his face is mostly a snarl.

“You’ll pop your stitches if you keep that up,” Dabi comments idly, trying not to jab the kid in the back of the throat.

Bakugou coughs when he removes the toothbrush, “You would know.”

Dabi blinks languidly. “Yeah, I would.” Holding a cup up to the kid he says, “Rinse.”

The kid does, giving him an odd, calculating look. Dabi ignores it.

“Think you can get back to bed without keeling over?” He asks, biting back another yawn. Bakugou scoffs.

“I don’t need anymore sleep.”

Dabi rubs a tired hand down his face. “Probably not. But Yuko won’t be up for another hour. Better rest before she gets to work on your back again.”

Bakugou’s face makes another complicated expression before he turns his face away.

“Whatever.” He turns and kicks the door open. It’d be more impressive if the door moved more than a couple of shuddery feet. Stalking out like an angry, bowlegged cat, Bakugou disappears down the hall. Dabi might worry about leaving the kid alone, but if Bakugou tried to escape (again), the house alarm would go off anyway.

Too tired to stress about it, Dabi pulls out the gauze he’d grabbed and shrugs his villain coat off his shoulders, letting it hit the floor with a thump of metal and leather.

Fighting near lightheadedness, he struggles out of the rest of his clothes and steps into the shower. Yuko would probably have words for him, putting exposed wounds under hot, pounding water pressure, but again. Too tired. To care.

After nearly falling asleep, twice, in the shower, Dabi eventually hauls himself out from under the blessed water. Dragging a towel through his hair, Dabi goes through his usual ritual of running a thin layer of antibiotic cream over his staple lines. He also finds the one that had been half blown from Bakugou’s ill-fated motorcycle stunt. Prying it out with a pair of tweezers, he wraps some gauze around it until he can dig his stapler out of his duffel.

The only new part to his routine is the two injuries the brat had scored on him. But they get pretty much the same treatment. Antibiotic cream, wrapped in gauze, hidden beneath clothing.

Except he’d need a new shirt, since Bakugou had his.

Sighing, Dabi makes his way back to the living room, where his old and faithful couch awaits.

Only to see the kid, sitting gingerly at the end. Thumbing through… Dabi’s book.

“Brat.” Dabi can’t add anymore. His ability to process is too far gone.

“What?” The kid glances up, looking way too obstinate for - Dabi flicks his eyes at the clock - a quarter to six in the morning.

“S’my spot, kid. And I’m tired.” He makes his way to his drawer and fishes out another t-shirt. At this rate, he’d need to do a load of laundry. No way was he making Yuko do it again.

“You can use the infirmary, bastard.”

“Brat,” Dabi inhales, standing over the kid. “Beat it.”

Bakugou spares him an unconcerned glare. “No.”

Dabi, who has siblings and hasn’t forgotten how this goes, promptly drops face-first across the couch and everything on it.

“OI!” Bakugou shoves as best he can at the legs laying across his lap.

“You’re welcome to- to leave,” Dabi says around another yawn. He knows he’s definitely not getting up again anytime soon.

Bakugou grumbles from the end of the couch, squirming around like a mildly debilitated fish in a net.

“Stop movin’,” Dabi mumbles, already halfway asleep. It’s only the continued struggling that lets him drag one eye back open.

The kid had managed to pull his arms from under Dabi’s shins. Now he was trying to free the book. Sighing for what feels like the hundredth time, Dabi reaches under his ankle and pries the novel free, and sets it in Bakugou’s half-limp hands.

The kid grunts and pins the mangled thing against Dabi’s calf. The villain takes half a second to note that the kid had apparently decided to start halfway through the book before exhaustion finally takes its toll.

The sound of muffled imprecations follows him into sleep.

Chapter Text

It’d taken some digging to pry the students’ location out of the Hero Commission lackey assigned to him, but Hawks managed it with charm and a solidly logical argument.

“You don’t understand, we bird people have to stick together,” he’d said dramatically.

The lackey might have been amused or exasperated for all the expression she held. Still, she got him the information, and he counted it as a win.

So, at half past nine in the morning, he finds himself entering into the lobby of Besupin Municipal Hospital. Immediately, several people recognize him, despite his lack of hero costume. Big red wings would do that for a person.

“Hawks?”

“Is that the Number Three Hero?”

“His wings are bigger than I thought they’d be!”

“What’s he doing here? He doesn’t look hurt.”

“Maybe he’s here to visit someone?”

“He’s shorter than I thought he’d be.”

Hawks feels his mouth stretch into a wide smile, offering patients and family members alike a cheery wave. Several of the people wave back, and a handful more rush over to him, asking their questions in person.

Briefly, stupidly, Hawks is glad he decided to freshen up at the airport bathrooms (where, again, he’d gone through a round of recognitions). He can already see several of the hospital denizens uploading their pictures with him onto social media.

“Hawks are you here about the training camp? Do you guys have a plan to go after the villains?” A dark headed woman asks, pushing her way to the front of the throng. He gets distinct reporter-ish vibes from her.

“Ah, afraid I can’t say,” Hawks says placatingly, hiding his surprise with ease. “I’m not currently involved with the training camp incident.” Her eyes sharpen like, heh - like a hawk’s.

“So it’s just coincidence that you’re here at the hospital where the survivors of the camp attack are located?”

Hawks’ grin slips into a well practiced serious expression. “No, of course not. It may not be common knowledge, but my intern is part of class 1-A. I’m just here to check up on him.”

“Waahhh, so heroic!” “What a good mentor!” “Take me as an intern!”

There are a variety of similar sentiments spreading through the crowd - cooing and smiles and a definite uptick in pictures making their approval quite clear.

Heh, told the Commission it’d work, Hawks thinks, patting himself on the back mentally. Not that they didn’t already know it’d be good for his ratings - it was the only reason they’d let him come.

The dark haired woman isn’t so easily swayed, though. She quirks her lips to the side as if to say, ‘Really?’

“I find it difficult to believe that they wouldn’t include you in their efforts to rescue the Bakugou kid and Ragdoll,” she says skeptically. “Especially since UA hasn’t even released a statement about the status of the missing.”

Hawks nods along - “..agreement makes people feel included in your world, Hawks, don’t forget” - and says, “Of course, it’s incredibly frustrating to be left waiting without information. I can only assume the team involved has a good reason for the delay.”

He almost tells her that there’s a press conference scheduled for later that afternoon, just to get her to back down, but pushes back the urge easily enough. “…never give additional information that you can’t be 100% sure of, if you can help it. It will spare you getting called a liar down the line.”

Besides, she really shouldn’t know the kids are here, he thinks, eyes narrowing in thought.

His feathers ruffle slightly, and he turns his attention back to the rest of the crowd, purposefully avoiding the dark-haired woman’s eyes and thus dodging further questions.

“Actually, hey - would you guys mind if I took a pic? I haven’t posted one to my insta in forever and my social media manager is actually thinking about firing me,” he says sheepishly. “Though I totally understand if you don’t want to!” There’s immediate jostling and calls of acquiescence throughout the little gathering and Hawks finds himself squished into the middle. Fortunately, he has a feather airlift his phone up above and snaps a good handful of pics. There’s a few cheers around him, even as he finally extracts himself.

He laughs at the hashtag suggestions and the handles being tossed his way and bows slightly.

“Thanks for your support guys! Now wish me luck with the scariest task of all - talking with a teenager!” He turns up the grin again, scrunching his eyes and running a hand over the back of his neck in a facsimile of awkwardness. The crowd laughs with him and a couple of them call out in teasing voices that he’s not much more than a teenager himself.

He waves them off good-naturedly and makes for the stairs, since his wings and elevators don’t get along. Taking them at a jog - partly to work out the kinks from being trapped on the plane for more than an hour and partly to avoid being stopped again - he reaches the third floor in no time.

A helpful and flirty nurse directs him down the hall, though he hardly needs the assistance - the overabundance of police are a dead giveaway anyway. Frankly, he’s not sure what they could do against a group of villains - especially after he’d read the new profiles for them. Saying they were a powerful bunch of fruit loops was an understatement.

Still, he fires off a jaunty salute to the first inspector he spots. Going by the heavy bulletproof vests and the helmets a few of them were sporting, he’d say they were one of the Special Assault Teams. Possibly even counter-terrorism. There’s even one of the big police dogs there that he has an immediate urge to pet. He refrains, obviously.

“How’s it going today, inspector?” Hawks asks, approaching with a lazy smile and an unhurried gait. Greeting the local authorities was an awesome way to get insider intel and to not get shot for sneaking into volatile situations through windows like a common criminal, Hawks.

Ah, and there is his inner Miruko.

“Can’t say it’s my usual beat,” the inspector - who’s nameplate indicates is Ins. Kanegai - says. “But the air conditioning sure is nice.” Hawks grins.

“In that getup? I’ll bet,” he agrees amiably. “Counter-terrorism?”

“With a specialty in quirk suppression,” the inspector nods. Hawks tilts his head, curiosity getting the better of him. Maybe they could handle the fruit loops.

“Oh? What’re you guys working with? If you don’t mind my asking,” Hawks says, popping up on his toes to look over the inspector’s shoulder at the rest of the squad. At least one of the guys was definitely a “quirk suppression by brute force” type. The rest of them seemed to be pretty much human shape and proportion though. “Going to be hanging around for a bit, so I might as well get to know my neighbors, you know?”

“Not a problem,” the inspector smiles, dipping his head in a short, informal bow. “Inspector Kanegai, of the Quirk Keepers, at your service, Hawks.” A brief thrill of discomfort shoots through Hawks at the obvious deference. Just because he’s a hero doesn’t mean he’s any better than a hard working officer.

“Nah, none of that,” Hawks says, easily masking his feelings. “Just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. Besides, this guy looks like he could eat my lunch and make me pay for it.” He laughs, hooking a thumb at the brute force officer he’d noticed earlier. A bark-like laugh comes from behind the guy’s helmet and the inspector grins, shoulders going more relaxed.

Gotcha.

“Hey inspector,” Hawks says nonchalantly, though in a quieter voice, “Before I meet the team, any chance you know the chief of your local police?” The inspector gives him a quizzical look but nods anyway.

“Cool - can I send you a pic to send to them? Had a lady in the lobby asking questions about stuff she shouldn’t know about. Like the kids up here,” Hawks says, nodding down the hall. To his credit, the inspector’s eyes only sharpen, instead of turning to anger.

Good emotional control, Hawks thinks approvingly. Wish my local inspector was this quick on the uptake.

“Not a problem. We’ll get it taken care of,” Ins. Kanegai says firmly, his own approval showing through with his determined nod. They take a moment to exchange the information and for Hawks to outline the situation. Within a minute, the information is sent and the inspector is turning to present Hawks to the rest of his men as if nothing had happened.

More friends, Hawks thinks in contentment as the inspector introduces him to the rest of his squad of Quirk Keepers. Always nice to make more friends.

After a few more good natured back and forths that also counted as typical pissing contests between police and heroes, Hawks is directed to Tokoyami’s room a little further down the hall. He quirks an eyebrow when he sees the door is already cracked though - with pretty deep darkness coming from the other side.

“One of these days, I might want you to teach me how you do that,” comes a familiar voice from the familiar blackness. Hawks’ grin is a hundred percent genuine as he switches gears flawlessly.

“Ah, my broody bird friend, you going to invite your old boss in?”

A red eye peers out from behind the door.

“Very well.”

The door creaks open, letting in the fluorescent light from the hallway and Hawks walks in with confidence, striding across the room, and pulling back the curtains. He’s fairly sure he hears a hiss behind him, but pays it no mind. He’s got a bribe ready to go anyway.

Unclipping the small backpack from it’s place nestled between his wings, he unzips it and snags the first round object he feels.

“Think fast,” he quips, tossing it to his erstwhile intern. Tokoyami catches it with minimal grace and a surprised squawk, but any irritation he might have felt at the impromptu missile disappears when he sees what Hawks brought him.

“The best apple in the world,” Tokoyami whispers. Then his eyes narrow. “Are you bribing me for something?”

“Rewarding you for being alive and kicking an A-rank villain’s ass, maybe,” Hawks corrects, swinging the little bedside chair around so he can straddle it backward. Behind him, his wings sag to the point of brushing the floor. “If you want to talk about it.”

Tokoyami takes a thoughtful bite of the apple, literally named The Best Apple In The World by the oh-so-humble producers, and hops up on the empty hospital bed closer to the door.

“It’s been… disquieting,” he says eventually. “I have given my statements to the police regarding my experience at the camp. What I saw and what happened with Dark Shadow…” Tokoyami grimaces at the memory. “So much of it happened so fast, with so much confusion. And I was out of it for so long…”

The teenager bows his head in shame, cradling the apple in his hands, elbows resting dejectedly on his knees. Hawks feels his heart twist in sympathy. All of them were so fucking young. Too young to be dealing with this crap.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again - that is not your fault,” Hawks says quietly. “You can take responsibility for the things that are directly in your control. The second someone else forces a situation on you, it’s out of your control. Got it?”

“It is not so easy to accept when the guilt is still so strong,” Tokoyami says softly, not meeting Hawks’ eyes. “I keep thinking if I had been doing my job as rear guard… or if they had taken me through the portal instead. In absolute darkness like that, I could have unleashed Dark Shadow without holding back.” Hawks sees his intern’s hands clench around the apple.

The hero is silent for a moment, deciding which way to go with his talk. In the end, blunt honesty is the route that feels most appropriate.

“You know you’re my first intern, right?” He admits, casting his eyes up at the ceiling so Tokoyami won’t feel so pressured to meet his gaze. “And you’re a bright guy. You know, logically, all the things I could tell you. It’s not your fault, it’s amazing you were able to stay safe, it’s actually insane that you were able to take down an A-Class villain, etc. etc. - right?”

Tokoyami nods, raising his bowed head to look at Hawks. The hero keeps his gaze on the ceiling, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

“So what I’m going to tell you instead is coming just from me, as another guy who’s been in your shoes,” Hawks continues, thinking back on the training he’d been through at Tokoyami’s age, and how not all of the trainees made it through.

“The first teammate I lost was to an earthquake. He was liquifying rocks to get further below one of the buildings we were searching, and I was holding up the rest with my feathers. When the aftershock hit, more concrete knocked loose and a tiny piece - no bigger than an egg - hit him in the temple. Dead as a doornail before he hit the floor.”

Hawks let some of those old emotions come back up to the surface. How he’d yelled and yelled for Nara to get up. How he’d told the approaching med team that his teammate had a head injury, only to be informed that his buddy had been dead for the past ten minutes.

The hero clears his throat, watching as the plain white ceiling tiles go a little blurry above him. “I didn’t catch the debris because I wasn’t good enough with my feathers to be that precise yet. Figured he could handle it.” He clears his throat again, and turns his gaze back to his silent intern.

“We can only do our best. And by best, I mean when we leave a situation, we know there’s nothing else that we could have done with the training, the resources, the abilities we currently have to make a different outcome. So you tell me, Tokoyami, with the resources you had at your disposal, the training you’ve had so far, and the abilities you’ve worked on with Dark Shadow, could there have really been a different outcome?”

Tokoyami’s eyes are wet and he shakes his head mutely. Hawks swallows and rises from his seat, walking over to plop down next to his intern on the bed. An arm and a wing wrap around the teen’s shoulder and Tokoyami leans his head down against Hawks’ shoulder.

“I tried everything I could think of,” Tokoyami says hoarsely. “And when I could not think of anything else, I let Dark Shadow go.”

“I imagine that was pretty terrifying,” Hawks says softly into his intern’s feathery crown. Tokoyami nods against him.

“He tore up the forest. Nearly killed Shoji,” Tokoyami shudders. “He threw that villain so hard he broke off all his teeth, which the officers said were stronger than steel. If it had been a normal person… they would not have survived that.” Hawks feels his intern shake his head.

“Until I have control over him,” the teen mutters, “I cannot do that again.”

“We can work on that,” Hawks agrees. “Anything else?”

Tokoyami raises his head to look at Hawks. “Are you offering to train me again?”

“I told you it was a standing offer to come back to my agency at any time,” Hawks reminds him with a smile. “Wasn’t lying about that. But yeah, I’m also offering something more hands on, for the rest of the summer if you want.”

The teen’s eyes widen in surprise and Hawks knows he’s made the right choice.

“You don’t have to do that,” Tokoyami says incredulously.

“Sure don’t - but I want to,” Hawks says with a shrug, pulling the teen into an actual side-hug. “You’re my favorite intern, after all.”

Tokoyami scoffs, squirming away, but Hawks feels the teen relax. “I am not going to be cliche and remind you that I am your only intern,” he mutters.

“You just did, Plucky,” the hero points out dropping his arm from the teen’s shoulder, but leaving the wing out as a protective shield. “Now eat your apple.”

Tokoyami actually snorts at the ridiculous nickname instead of going all ‘haughty darkness master’ like he used to, so Hawks feels like he’s made some progress.

“Have you gotten to check in on your friends?” He asks conversationally, as Tokoyami munches on his ridiculous snack. Young people were often better off in groups - getting their reassurances from their close friends and family, not stewing alone in the dark. Going by their conversation, Hawks would be comfortable putting a significant sum of money on his intern having remained sequestered in his guilt since he came to the hospital.

“We met briefly in the 3rd floor lounge,” the teen admits. “Just to talk about what happened. I think they met again while I was having scans done to make sure getting shrunk did not cause any damage.”

“Did it?” Hawks asks, eyeing his intern.

“No, not that the doctors can tell.”

“Good - let’s go see them,” the hero says with a grin. Tokoyami groans.

“I knew you would say that.”

“Sure you did - I’m your favorite boss and it’s good to anticipate what your boss is going to say,” Hawks says with mock seriousness, ushering Tokoyami off the bed with his wing. “Also remind me to add ‘intelligence gathering’ and ‘the importance of emotional health’ to your curriculum.”

“Yes, siiir.” Ah, is that attitude Hawks is hearing? Excellent.

They pass down the hallway and Hawks gets several nods from the police patrolling up and down. Sparing his intern further social interactions, Hawks just does his hero smile back and makes for the lounge.

There, they find several of Tokoyami’s classmates playing a card game around a couple of shoved-together coffee tables. Perfect - situations that involve activity are a lot less stressful than plain conversations.

Of course, his entrance ruins that and Hawks only has a moment to regret his own fame before he and Tokoyami are being surrounded.

“Hey guys, I’m here to present your long-lost schoolmate,” Hawks says brightly, gesturing to Tokoyami. Not quite throwing him under the bus, but making sure his intern gets his emotional needs taken care of too.

“Oh, Tokoyami! We’ve been wondering what happened to you! Where were you?” A round faced girl exclaims. Then a girl with audio jacks dangling from her ears pipes up.

“Did the scans come out okay? The docs told us you had extras…”

Another (super freaking tall) student with six arms steps forward. Hawks immediately spots the bandages on one of his extra limbs, “Don’t crowd him, guys,” he says, blocking the rest of the surge. Then he turns to Tokoyami and asks simply, “You okay?”

Tokoyami nods his bird head slowly, and Hawks knows he’s going to be alright. A small smile tugs at his lips though, as the girls push forward again to give his intern hugs.

“Hawks?” A red-headed kid says hesitantly. The hero vaguely remembers him from the sports festival, some kind of hardening quirk. Kimimoto? Kanashita?

“Kirishima Eijirou,” the kid says, executing a tiny bow. Hawks extends his fist, which the kid bumps back.

“Hawks - nice to meet you,” the hero says easily. “What’s up?”

“Ah,” the kid rubs the back of his head sheepishly, but the look in his eyes is anything but shy. “Just wanted to know if there was any new news on Bakugou?”

The kids around them go quiet, and Hawks flickers out a glance to each of them.

“I’m not working with the rescue team,” Hawks admits. “But I am being kept aware of the situation. As soon as I know something, I’ll make sure Tokoyami knows it too. Though I suspect you guys might end up finding out before I do, with All Might as your teacher.”

There are disappointed but understanding faces all around and several of the students turn back to Tokoyami, drawing him over to one of the coffee tables.

The red-haired kid - Kirishima - is holding back some really heavy disappointment though. Hawks can see the kid fighting tears of frustration.

“You guys haven’t heard a lot, I take it?” Hawks says mildly, giving the kid an opportunity to vent if he needs it. Hawks knows what holding back that kind of distress can do to a person, after all.

“No, Aizawa-sensei came in a few minutes ago,” the kid says. “But he was really, um, reluctant to tell us much.”

“Which makes you assume the worst?” Hawks guesses, tucking his hands into his pockets. Damn, if underground heroes didn’t need refreshers on the bedside manner courses. Not giving false hope was one thing… but leaving them with nothing?

“…Yeah,” Kirishima admits, crossing his arms. Not defensively, exactly. More like he’s holding himself together.

Hawks smiles at the kid. “Hey, Eraser doesn’t admit to anything that’s not set in stone. And even then, I think he’d want it verified first.” He would know - Hawks had followed the careers of every hero breathing since the Commission had taken him in, learning what they did well and what to avoid emulating. Even those heroes who were less well known.

Kirishima snorts, and while it sounds watery, the smile is genuine. “Yeah, we figured it was just his usual Aizawa-ness. But… nothing new? Really?”

“Afraid not,” Hawks says sympathetically. “Heroes have a rescue plan in the works but they’re playing it pretty close to the chest, for obvious reasons.” The kid nods. Good, at least they know that much.

“Still,” the hero continues, “With the lineup going in on this, I gotta say your buddy Bakugou has better odds than just about anyone could ask for.”

That seems to brighten the kid right up, and when he smiles, Hawks is greeted by a row of very pointy teeth.

Note to self, Hawks muses, do not introduce this kid to Miruko. She’ll be teaching him all of her signature dirty fighting moves. And I’m not up for getting bit again on Friday Fight Nights.

“Thanks, Hawks,” the kid says, waving and making his way back over to his friends. Hawks gives a distracted wave back, as he hears the doors behind him open.

“Oh, didn’t know they had pros wandering around,” someone - Hawks turns - with white hair says. The speaker has two others with him - obviously relatives.

Which is odd, because Hawks definitely recognizes the one in the middle as Endeavor’s kid. The other two are older, but… that distinct mix of white and red couldn’t be that common.

“Um,” he says, floundering for the first time all day. “Todoroki?”

The speaker on the left snorts, and offers a hand, western-style, “Natsuo, please,” he introduces. Hawks shakes his hand as the only girl dips her neck in a graceful half bow.

“Fuyumi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she greets. Hawks returns the nod and turns a bemused look on the last one.

“Shouto,” the boy says shortly by way of introduction. “Natsu, Fuyumi - I’m going to talk with Kirishima.”

And with that, he walks away.

Fuyumi sighs and offers Hawks an apologetic smile, “Sorry about that - it’s been a long couple of days…” But the hero is already waving away her apology.

“Not at all, totally understandable,” he says easily, compartmentalizing away his surprise at Endeavor’s three children. Since when? “It’s been insane across the board for everyone here. I take it you guys are family?”

“Siblings,” she confirms. “Are you working with the heroes on the rescue mission? Or here to protect the students?”

See, Commission, literally everyone thinks I should be helping out, Hawks thinks with some vindication.

“Nah,” he answers, nodding over to the group of students, “Here to check up on my intern. He was almost kidnap victim number two.”

Natsuo folds his arms. “Of course. Must be good for the image too, huh? Instagram maybe?” Hawks can’t quite keep the surprise off his face and Fuyumi flushes red.

“Natsu, that was rude,” she hisses, mortified. To Hawks she says, “I am so sorry, it really has been a crazy few days and we were just on our way to get coffee…”

But, again, Hawks is waving her embarrassment away.

“Dude, it’s fine,” he grins and cocks his head up at Natsuo. The guy must have gotten his dad’s height, geez. “I mean, sure, that’s one of the reasons I was allowed to come. Can’t deny it.” He shrugs, massive wings shaking out slightly behind him.

Natsuo snorts and makes to turn back out the door when Hawks continues, “But my intern’s also a teenager who’s been through a terrifying experience. I thought he could use someone on his side who understands what he’s going through.”

The hero can actually see Natsuo reassessing and let’s the guy’s eyes search his face. Hawks has nothing to hide here anyway - he’s being 100% honest.

“You wanna join us for coffee?” The big guy says after a beat.

“Sounds awesome,” Hawks says amiably, motioning for one second. Searching out Tokoyami, who he sees talking with Shouto and Kirishima, and waving until he gets the bird boy’s attention, he gestures at the two Todoroki siblings and mimes drinking. Tokoyami rolls his eyes and nods regally. In retaliation, Hawks sends a couple of puffy feathers over to pester his intern.

Behind him, Fuyumi giggles. “Seems like you do have a pretty good relationship with your intern. Though… aren’t the internships over with? Shouto isn’t working with father anymore.”

Hawks doesn’t understand the loud scoffing noise that Natsuo makes as they head down the hall to the elevators, but responds to Fuyumi anyway. “He was my first intern and we’ve kept in touch. Just put in an offer for extra training this summer, too.”

“Oh, that’ll be good,” she says sweetly. “And your first intern? Wow. I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise, since you’re so young. I forget, since you’re in the top ten.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Hawks says with some amusement. The way Fuyumi said it, you’d think he was still a teenager.

“Heh, the old man didn’t hit number three until he was twenty-four,” Natsuo laughs, hitting the down button for the elevator.

“Ah,” Hawks says awkwardly, again not sure what to think of the big guy’s mocking tone. “Endeavor had some pretty scary competition. I’m just grateful a bunch of those guys are retired now.”

“Still, twenty-two is really young,” Fuyumi says, diverting the conversation back. “I’m twenty-two and haven’t even finished grad school.”

“Don’t people normally not finish grad school until their… like, late twenties?” Hawks deflects. Ah, the old Japanese habit of humility to express praise. He wishes people wouldn’t downplay their own accomplishments just to highlight his own. It becomes a never ending cycle of who can be more humble.

“Yeah, Yumi’s just being too nice, as usual,” Natsuo cuts in. “So Hawks, Shouto’s told us a little about the villains. What do you think the heroes’ odds are?” The elevator stops off on the second floor, where the cafe is located, sparing Hawks from having to answer immediately.

Something’s up with this family, Hawks thinks. Aloud he asks, “Ah, in what sense? Odds of successfully rescuing Bakugou?”

“Sure, I guess. The old man never talks about the rescue side of things anyway.”

That’s disturbing, to a degree. Hawks casts a look around the small crowd in the cafe and scales his answer back to one that wouldn’t be detrimental if tweeted about.

“Think the odds are pretty good, so far,” he says. “Though since I’m not on the team, I’m not sure what the final plan is.” He casts a half-lidded look up at Natsuo. “Actually more curious to hear what Shouto said about the villains. I’ve only read the police files so far - and those are as bland as plain toast.”

Natsuo and Fuyumi exchange a significant look. Like an, oh shit, kind of significant look.

“Nothing really that you probably don’t already know,” Fuyumi says after a moment. Natsuo nods and makes a beeline for the cafe line.

“Anything might be helpful if I end up fighting them,” Hawks comments, catching her eyes. He’s not above using guilt as an ally. She flushes again.

“Ahh, um,” she stammers, “Mostly he’s just concerned about our father going up against one of the villains. Apparently, he has a very strong fire quirk as well.”

Hawks searches his memory. “Dabi? The one who was leading the attack?”

For some reason, she ducks her head. Ahead of them in line, Natsuo’s spine goes straight as a rod.

“Ah, yes. That’s him,” Fuyumi says faintly. “Pardon me, I need to use the restroom. Natsu can you get me an espresso?”

“Sure thing, sis,” Natsuo says, not looking back at them. Hawks cocks his head in curiosity as Fuyumi exits the line.

Before he can pry further, Natsuo says, “So are all of your side kicks bird-themed or is that just the interns?”

Hawks snorts. “Just the intern at this point. Bird people gotta stick together.”

Natsuo looks over his shoulder, grey eyes dark. “You actually do care about that kid, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Hawks says, confusion stewing in the back of his mind again. “Didn’t you guys freak out when you heard about the camp?”

The big guy shudders, “Like you wouldn’t believe. I think we lost our collective shit. Shouto’s the baby, after all.”

“Mmm,” Hawks hums, peering up at the overhead coffee menu. “I actually didn’t know Endeavor had so many kids. Are there any more siblings running around, or have I met everyone so far?”

Natsuo swings around so sharply that the hero almost bumps into him. Wide grey eyes are searching his face, and again Hawks finds himself hopelessly lost.

“What?”

Shaking his head, Natsuo releases a shaky laugh. “Nothing, man - not many people know about me or Yumi because we didn’t get fire quirks. Weren’t encouraged to take the hero track.”

Thoroughly weirded out and not willing to touch a loaded statement like that, Hawks reigns in his curiosity and says instead, “Well, can’t say it’s all roses and autographs.”

He gives the cafe, which still has a distinctly ‘hospital’ vibe to it, a pointed look. Natsuo only nods and steps forward to give his order.

While the Todoroki talks to the barista, Hawks feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. It’s his new friend.

[Text from: Sharp Eye Kanegai]

- Hey Hawks. It’s the inspector from earlier. Heard back from the police chief on that woman you were asking about. She’s an ex-reporter. Attaching some of the public info on her. Anything else and you’ll need to go through your agency. Hope this helps.

Hawks taps on the attachment, letting his quick eyes scan it before it’s his turn. One of the headlines stops him in his tracks.

Reporter Fired for Defamation of Hero Endeavor

The barista calls for the next customer, but Hawks takes another second to skim the article, wondering what the hell as his eyes catch on the second paragraph.

…. regarding the death of Endeavor’s eldest son, Todoroki Touya….

Well, shit, Hawks thinks. Foot in mouth disease much?

Placing his order, and burying his chagrin, Hawks wonders just how much he doesn’t know about his own personal hero.

A glance around the cafe seating shows him two white heads, bowed together in intense conversation.

I guess there’s no time like the present to find out.

Chapter Text

Dabi sleeps for hours, causing Katsuki’s legs to go totally numb since the villain doesn’t actually move at all. Yuko even offers to wake Dabi after seeing Katsuki’s predicament (though not before laughing heartily first), but he just shakes his head.

He’s gonna let the asshole sleep. See if that helps him survive his idiotic plan.

Katsuki can’t help but blame the laughing old lady for his newfound interest in Dabi’s survival. After all, if the villain is dead, Katsuki can’t prove the bastard completely and unequivocally wrong.

Heroes aren’t all bad. And I’ll make sure the ones who are get fucking axed, he thinks viciously, glaring at the book in his lap.

Katsuki snorts at the irony of not actually wanting the asshole to die after he’d blown a couple holes in the guy himself.

Just goes to show I’m a forgiving piece of shit. Gotta work on that.

Yuko hadn’t gone into specifics with her impromptu 3 AM backstory-fest - not enough for him to guess who Dabi actually was. But it was enough to piss him off.

Because pro heroes weren’t supposed to abuse their kids.

“I was your age when this happened. Younger, when it started.” Dabi himself had said that. Just hadn’t said it was his actual family that did it.

Katsuki couldn’t imagine either of his parents, no matter how angry they were with him, ever being cruel enough to hurt him. Not really. Never anything more than a swat when he was being mouthier than usual.

Heroes also weren’t supposed to murder their kids, then cover it up. Which was even more fucking scary because that required help. Like, legal help.

“You might not believe this, but there are people in the police and the hero agencies who report to the villains first,” Dabi had said. “There’s corruption throughout the system. How do you think we found your training camp?”

He’d been fucking warning Katsuki not to trust the legal institutions. Because he’d been fucked over by them before. It was sickening.

And heroes sure as fuck weren’t supposed to kill a bunch of people then blame it on a vigilante.

Also, shit, Dabi as a vigilante. That made a lot more fucking sense than him being a hero. Especially with how much he fucking hated them.

“Well, this may not be what you want to hear, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kasai would rather be killed by Shigaraki than accept the help of heroes.”

Yuko had said that, and been really annoyingly firm about it. And Katsuki, honestly, can’t say he disagrees with Dabi’s reasoning. Didn’t make his whole villain thing right, but it sure as hell explained why the guy didn’t like heroes or hero society.

It also made his quest to keep Katsuki safe make both more and less sense. Because Katsuki was technically a minor (though not a fucking kid) and Dabi apparently used to run around like some kind of Japanese Batman - taking in children left and right, and fighting the criminals who went after them.

But Katsuki is also a hero in training. So he can only assume the age thing overruled everything else.

Of course he’d tried to get more information from the old lady, but it was around that time he’d started feeling stupidly tired, and Yuko’s image had doubled. He knows she helped support him back to the clinic, but he really doesn’t remember much after that.

His going theory is that she spiked his second cup of tea.

Which was annoying as fuck. And when he came to again, it was to a muzzy head and an extremely uncomfortable bladder. He was damn near grateful when Dabi showed up at the clinic door just a few minutes later.

But he also didn’t fucking know how to act around the guy anymore. Because as much as he tried to focus on the here and now, taking people as they are, he’s not totally heartless. And Yuko had had pictures.

So he was awkward as fuck, trying to treat Dabi (who looked like shit, and that was Katsuki being nice) as a villain.

He is one though, he thinks. Even Yuko said so. That Dabi probably wouldn’t think twice about killing heroes. Just fucking can’t do it if they’re too young, apparently.

And now the guy has him pinned to the couch with his deadweight shins. Which has given Katsuki plenty of time to think. It’s all he’s been doing over the past two days anyway. Between being drugged, hauled around, sleeping and fighting, of course.

Yuko lets them be for most of the morning, other than getting Katsuki to suck down a meal replacement and his next round of meds, checking in semi-regularly until the villain rises. Meanwhile, Katsuki cycles through reading the sci-fi book and thinking on what he can do about this whole fucked up situation to pass the time.

He’s back to reading when Dabi finally stirs. The villain groans and raises a hand to the back of his neck - probably to work out the kink from sleeping on his face for hours on end.

Fucking sucks, doesn’t it? Katsuki thinks vindictively.

The villain cracks an eye and Katsuki watches with amusement as the villain stares at nothing for approximately ten seconds before heaving an enormous sigh.

“Finally realize all of this is a stupid idea?” The teen greets. Dabi shoots him a glare.

“Not yet, but if you keep that up…” The villain yawns shallowly, drawing up his legs and curling over onto his side, almost dislodging the book Katsuki had propped against him.

“Ah, fuck,” Katsuki grumbles as the pins and needles start up in his legs. “And you called me heavy.”

Dabi kicks him in the ribs with a socked foot. Not hard, but enough for him to grimace. Apparently the villain needed a minute to be fully awake for snappy retorts, so Katsuki turns his eyes back to the book.

There were only a couple pages left in the chapter before they got back to the action. Right now, the story was focusing on the siblings that the main character had left behind.

“Ugh, fucking asshole,” he grumbles aloud after a minute. Dabi looks up.

“What?”

Katsuki snorts in actual amusement, “Not you - this guy in the book.” He shakes it slightly for emphasis.

Dabi arches an eyebrow. “What chapter?”

“One of the one’s back on earth with the siblings. Fucking hate the older brother.”

“Ugh,” Dabi glowers, “That fucker.”

Katsuki, internally, is extremely weirded out.

Are we agreeing on something? He wonders. Are we seriously talking fucking lit together?

Bemused, Katuski continues, “He’s so pissed his younger brother is the perfect one, but he could’ve just fucking worked on getting better. Not being a goddamn psychopath. Can’t stand weaklings like that.”

Dabi lets loose a strangled laugh. “Sure. Or he could have at least tried not taking out his shit on his family.”

“No shit,” Katsuki mutters, flipping the pages uncomfortably with his thumb. That rang a little too close to Dabi’s asshole dad that Yuko had talked about.

Their eyes meet for an awkward second and Dabi rubs at his face tiredly. “Didn’t take you for a book nerd.”

Katsuki feels his jaw tighten slightly, tugging at the bandages still covering his cheeks. Most people didn’t take him for any kind of intelligent.

“Could say the same to you,” he growls, feeling defensive.

Dabi shrugs against the pillows, still not having gotten up. It reminds Katsuki that Dabi had said this was ‘his spot’ and Yuko had confirmed that Dabi lived with her for several months. No wonder the villain was so comfortable.

“Yuko said she’d have lunch ready soon,” Katsuki offers into the silence.

“Mmmhmm,” Dabi acknowledges, yawning again.

They lapse back into quiet, and Katsuki turns back to the book, not really seeing the words anymore.

Sitting there for hours, he hadn’t decided how he felt, knowing more about the villain. Other than the fact he was right - getting to know anything about the guy was a fucking terrible idea.

It isn’t often he finds himself wishing for support outside of just his parents - and even that was getting less frequent - but he can’t deny that he’d like it if All Might were here. Or Aizawa-sensei. This shit is just… too far beyond what he’s learned to deal with.

Again, Katsuki wishes he could pinch the bridge of his nose. He feels a headache forming behind his eyes from his thoughts going in circles.

Things were so much simpler when you could just blast the problem.

“Hey kid,” Dabi prods, breaking the newest thought circle.

“What?” Katsuki prompts when the villain doesn’t continue. Dabi’s not even looking at him.

“Got a question for you,” the villain says. Katsuki gives him a flat look, despite being otherwise ignored.

“You gonna spit it out?”

Dabi exhales loudly. “Why do you want to be a hero?”

To win, like All Might, is his immediate first thought. But he hesitates, Yuko’s words ringing in his ears.

“Kasai’s father was someone who would watch his own children suffer to get to the top. His ambition to defeat the Number One was terrifying.”

Katsuki chews on the inside of his cheek, eyes distant as he thinks about it. Because he actually sorta wants to answer, he just sucks at this… communication shit.

“When I was a kid,” Katsuki begins, rough voice unusually hesitant. “People always told me shit about how great my quirk was and how great a hero I’d make. Like I didn’t already know it. And it was just… expected.”

Dabi’s hooded look is unimpressed, but Katsuki isn’t finished.

He swallows, trying to put his thoughts in order. It’s all a big tangled mess of expectations, feeling like he had to be great, and a perfectionist streak a mile wide. He usually doesn’t touch on the underlying reasons why - just tells people he wants to be the best and leaves it at that.

Katsuki knows he’d grown a huge ego with the praise and support he’d gotten all the time. Even his parents had gone along with it, getting him training, getting him the best care and support they could afford, showing him off to their circle of influence. Which, in fashion, included people in politics, entertainment, and even the hero industry. Being the only kid in most of those environments meant he got fawned over.

By the time his parents realized their son’s pride had become a problem, it was too late. Trying to tell him “no” or hold him back only made him push forward harder. He was going to prove them wrong. Or die trying.

He knows this about himself, and he hates acknowledging it. Hates thinking that there’s something wrong with him. It’s one of the reasons Deku infuriates him. The fucker never let up - always reminding Katsuki that he had something to prove. Always showing him up by acting like the hero Katsuki tried to be.

Katsuki grimaces, shoving down thoughts of his old friend. Shit like that would just remind him of why he doubted being able to become a hero, not help him explain why he wants to be one.

“But then I saw All Might,” Katsuki presses on, focusing on that inspiring day. “He could do anything. Never failed, never lost. And I figured if I wanted to… live up to expectations, or whatever, I was going to be the best damn hero ever. Like All Might.”

Dabi pinches his lips together and makes a noncommittal noise. A moment later he’s sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees, letting the blanket Yuko’d draped over him fall to the floor.

“So, you’re only in it for the fame, then?” Katsuki can’t fucking imagine why the villain sounds so irritated. “Or is it just because you’re afraid to fail?”

His own irritation rises in response, “I just told you, asshole, I want to be like All Might.”

“Because he wins?” Dabi asks pointedly, turning sharp blue eyes on him. “Maybe Shigaraki was right about you then, if that’s all you’re in it for.”

Katsuki’s jaw jumps as he clenches his teeth. “Hah? You got something in your ears, dumbass? All Might wins, yeah, but he’s also the best hero. You get it?”

Dabi snorts. “Sure, I do. He’s one of the only ones that actually cares about people. Tries to put ‘em first. Probably the only hero I respect in the whole fucked up system. You telling me you’re in this ‘cause you care?”

That strikes uncomfortably close to some of the accusations that’d been thrown at him after the sports festival. Too close to the comparisons he draws when he looks at himself and Deku.

His fists curl instinctively and he tenses for a fight, sending shooting pains through his mangled back. “Go die, asshole. Like you can fucking talk. Did you become a villain because you care so goddamn much?”

“No,” Dabi says cooly. “I became one because the heroes didn’t care enough.”

That muffles some of Katsuki’s growing anger, reminding him again of his talk with Yuko. This was why he didn’t want to know tragic backstory bullshit.

He exhales sharply, leaning his back further into the pillows behind him. The pressure is dull with the painkillers he’s on. Like someone trying to push against a cut through about fifty sponges. Still, it focuses him.

“So that’s it,” he says, turning it around on the villain. “You got hurt, and your solution is to hurt the people who let you get hurt? Sure, that makes a ton of fucking sense.”

Dabi is quiet for a beat, eyeing him with a stony expression.

“Well, when you’ve tried everything else,” he says eventually, letting his lips twist into a cruel smile. “Revenge isn’t a bad goddamn solution.”

Katsuki isn’t quite sure what he can say to that. Because according to Yuko, Dabi had tried. Maybe not everything, but… what was the point after being shut down by the police and being betrayed by the heroes?

It makes Katsuki mad. Because he’s only ever wanted to be a hero - either through other people’s expectations or his own - and heroes weren’t supposed to be the bad guys. They were supposed to make people better.

Irritation has always made him reckless. Even Aizawa-sensei said so. He supposes he can blame that on what comes out his mouth next.

“You haven’t tried to change the hero system from the inside,” he growls, brain way behind his mouth.

“But I can.”

——

Daiki whistles to himself as he approaches Yuko’s house, blithely ignoring Kasai’s grumpy early-morning instructions to meet him down in Yokohama.

As if Daiki would waste an opportunity to carpool with his favorite soot gremlin.

And, okay, he’s way too impatient to check on his friend again. In person. It’d been almost a year and a half, and he knows Kasai isn’t the same person anymore, but…This is the kid that’d become something like a younger brother over the almost six years they’d worked together.

And I’m worried about him, he acknowledges as he puts his car in park in front of Yuko’s house.

He’s not particularly concerned about anyone seeing him. He’d visited Yuko’s house for years since his grandparents were mahjong buddies with her. It’s how they’d met.

He still chuckles at the absolute normal-ness of their meeting. It was so outside the almost typical bizarreness of his day-to-day activities.

She’d been at his grandparents house, where Daiki was living so he could attend university in Tokyo, and she’d mentioned needing some help setting up some new, technologically advanced, medical equipment at her clinic. As grandparents do, Daiki’s had offered his tech services.

He didn’t mind. His quirk made the work as easy as breathing, and Yuko was offering compensation. Considering his side job as an unofficial vigilante watchdog didn’t pay, he was more than happy to do an odd job for a nice little old lady.

Only the little old lady was apparently happy to harbor gunshot victims at her house - as he found out while he was mentally elbows deep in her new medical programs, when some very bullet-ridden vigilantes staggered through her backdoor.

He only had a few moments to realize he recognized Knuckleduster among the ones being dragged in before everything went to hell. Because, despite the big guy’s reputation, he hadn’t even been the worst off. It’d been a hell of a night.

Which led to a hell of a friendship. For years, they’d acted as something of a support duo to the broader vigilante community in Tokyo.

Then Kasai had come along, and gone and made things into something of a revolution. Crime rates, already dropping because of All Might’s formidable presence, hit all time lows. It was inspiring.

And Daiki sorely wishes he could remind Kasai of the good he’d already done. Of all they’d already accomplished because Kasai was too bullheaded to give up.

But that same bullheadedness was working against him here. Which is why Daiki’s kind of okay with taking some decisions out of the punk’s hands. Like when or where Daiki can show up and to whom he can introduce himself.

‘Cause Daiki’s also curious about this Bakugou kid and what it is about him that could tick Kasai off so much. Other than, you know, taking a couple of potshots at the flame user.

Reaching Yuko’s front door, he knocks out a cheery and distinct pattern, letting her know he’d arrived. There’s some cursing from inside, and he can hear the beeping noises letting him know that the alarm is being disarmed. He plasters a grin on his face as the door swings open.

“I told you to meet me in Yokohama,” Kasai seethes at him, black bedhead sticking out everywhere and looking like he’d have dark circles if he didn’t already have dark circles. It’s almost enough to break Daiki’s grin.

“You grew,” he says instead, feigning irritation. “What the hell, am I the short one now?”

Kasai looks at him in disbelief. “Seriously, that’s what you take from this…” - he points at his face - “horror show?”

Daiki feels his heart sinking, but shakes it off. “Best looking horror show I ever saw,” he says firmly, falling back on his old teasing. Kasai had always hated how much he looked like his father. Daiki combatted that by being obnoxiously and pointedly positive about Kasai’s looks, while being ridiculously offended by everything about Endeavor. A not-so-subtle reminder that Kasai wasn’t his dad.

Plus, the expressions on Kasai’s face were hysterical after every compliment.

Not so much anymore, apparently. Kasai had lost a lot of his expressions when he lost the ability to move his face without popping a staple.

So he only gets a raised eyebrow and a sigh as Kasai glances over his shoulder.

“I don’t know if the kid will rat you out,” he says quietly. “You sure you want to do this?”

Daiki shrugs elaborately, “We’re all in this together, man. He knows you and Yuko - might as well get the whole set.” Kasai is still hesitating, so he tacks on, “Besides, the police haven’t caught me yet.”

That seems to dislodge the perpetual stick-in-the-mud that is his friend, and Kasai opens the door wider to let him in.

“Try not to say anything too incriminating,” Kasai hisses as they walk to the kitchen. “The kid’s annoyingly smart.”

“Reminds me of someone I used to know,” Daiki says at normal volume. “If only he hadn’t fallen on his head so many times…” he trails off wistfully. Kasai narrows his eyes at him, seemingly debating between ignoring him and assaulting him.

Daiki, who was hoping to get a rise out of his old friend, is disappointed when Kasai just gestures him ahead into the kitchen. At least, until a really hot finger pokes him in the back, singeing through his grey t-shirt.

“Gah,” he yelps, arching away from the hand at his back and hastening awkwardly into the kitchen. Kasai’s smug snort sounds behind him, and Daiki throws him an aggrieved look.

“Dude, new shirt. Rude. Oh, hey Yuko!” He trails off as the tiny and ancient woman wraps a massive hug around his lower ribs. He hugs her back warmly before his eyes go wide.

“Hey!” He walks himself and Yuko, still hugging, around in a circle to stare at Kasai.“You’ve got way better control! You didn’t even blast me - when did that happen??”

“Recently,” comes a growly voice behind him and Daiki blinks, turning he and Yuko again. The old woman giggles at the ridiculous handling.

“Ah! You must be Bakugou,” he says to the spiky-haired teen at the kitchen table. He waves cheerily.

“And you must be K-Pop,” the teen deadpans back. Daiki pauses as that sinks in, then lets out a genuine laugh. Yuko chuckles as she releases her hold to go check on what appeared to be a late lunch.

“Torrent,” he corrects, still grinning. “Nice to meet you, finally. Kasai keeps telling me there’s another smart person in the house that isn’t Yuko. Makes this old guy proud.”

“You’re not old, you idiot,” Kasai grumbles behind him, shoving past Daiki to help Yuko lift the heavy lid off her ancient rice cooker.

“Says the baby,” Daiki shoots back, falling back on old rapport again. “Though I guess there’s a new ‘kid’ in the house, now.”

That gets two eyebrows raised at him - one from Bakugou and one from Kasai. Eerie, that.

Yuko, bless her, spares him from digging his grave further. “Torrent, could you get the table set? I’m assuming you’re joining us for lunch.”

“I would never turn down a joint Kasai/Yuko lunch,” Daiki declares, snagging plates and utensils. Intense red eyes follow him as he sets the places around the table.

“You another vigilante?” Bakugou asks. Though he says it more like a statement of fact. Daiki nods anyway.

“Sure am, though I’m usually on the support side, rather than the action side,” he confirms, plunking a straw into the water glass in front of the teen. “And you’re training at UA, right? Looking forward to getting back to school? How’s the back holding up?”

Daiki notices the kid go tense, and wonders if everyone had been tiptoeing around the kid’s semi-captive state so far. Or if Kasai had just been his usual tight-lipped, slightly intimidating self the whole time.

“Your healer friend isn’t bad for an old lady,” the teen eventually mutters grudgingly. “Better than the asshole, anyway.” Daiki blinks.

“You wouldn’t happen to be referring to my best and most wonderful friend Kasai, would you?” There’s absolutely nothing threatening in his tone, but Bakugou still gives him a reevaluating look.

“Fuck,” the teen groans, scrunching his face dramatically. “You’re a goddamn clone of shitty hair.”

That takes Daiki aback, and he pats self consciously at his messy brown hair. Sure, he hadn’t combed it that morning after staying up late chatting with Kasai to make sure he made it home without crashing from exhaustion, but… surely it wasn’t that bad?

“Um,” he starts, wondering what to say, when Kasai interrupts.

“Kid has a mouth,” he says blandly, “Just ignore him. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“Oi!” the teen objects hotly, glaring at Kasai. The scarred man just smirks at the teen.

Huh, Daiki thinks, watching the teen sniping at Kasai while the older man set out the rice and fish. And watching Kasai snipe back!

“I’m so proud of you,” Daiki says to his old friend, wiping away a fictional tear. “Making friends again. I feel like we should celebrate this momentous occasion.”

“Sure,” Kasai deadpans, flipping the rice scooper in the air and catching it again to jab at Daiki. “Wanna go for drinks after we kill Shigaraki?”

There is silence for a beat, and Daiki hears Yuko sigh from the kitchen even as he narrows his eyes at Kasai.

“Way to kill a mood, man,” he complains. “And we still might not have to kill him.”

Bakugou opens his mouth, and Kasai points the rice scooper at him next. “Nope, no questions from the peanut gallery.”

“Yeah?” The teen snaps back, “Fuck you, too. What do you mean you might not have to kill hand fucker?” This last is directed at Daiki, who has to shrug when Kasai glares at him accusingly.

“Just depends on how all this goes down,” Daiki hedges. “Biggest determining factor will be how much Shigaraki wants you dead, to be honest.”

The kid seems to digest that for a moment and Yuko takes the lull to bring in the light salad she’d just finished tossing.

“Okay, that’s enough of that for now,” she says, with just a tiny bit of force and an intimidatingly sweet, wrinkly smile. “Let’s eat and then you boys can head out.”

Daiki isn’t very surprised to see both Kasai and Bakugou bite their tongues at the low levels of ‘not in my house’ energy that Yuko is exuding. She had that effect on people. It’s still amusing as all hell to see in person, though.

It does leave the topics of a semi-neutral lunch conversation rather wanting, however, and Daiki feels some of the awkwardness coming through. Who does he talk to? His partner in crime, who he talks to every week? The only question he has for her is about the pork cutlet recipe she’d sent him earlier, since she never seemed to feel the need to include measurements.

Or does he talk to Kasai - Touya - who he hasn’t seen in over a year and has so many questions for he doesn’t even know where to start? Like, god, those staples? How does he take care of them? And his villain jacket! Where did he get it and can he get one for Daiki too? Or would that step on his Image™?

(And the disappearance too, of course. Because obviously Daiki had looked up the case Kasai had referenced. With twenty-three deaths, caused by heroes, it hadn’t been hard to find. But Daiki is still too heart-sick just thinking about it, frankly. No way could he bring it up again so soon.)

Or does he try for curtain number three and talk to the teenager, who, apparently, has the personality and hair of a cactus? But who has also, for all intents and purposes, turned Daiki’s best friend away from villainy temporarily?

So many choices.

“Hey Bakugou,” he starts, passing salad to Kasai, who appeared to be in the process of cutting up fish to feed to the teenager. Freaking softie. “I have a question for you, but you can feel totally free not to answer.”

That appears to get the teen’s attention, as he takes his eyes off of Kasai’s fish-mangling. “What is it?”

“Well, I’ve seen you before,” Daiki says casually, scooping out some rice into his bowl, “at the sports festival - thanks Yuko, this looks delicious. And I was curious about your last match.”

Bakugou pinches his lips, unintentionally thwarting Kasai’s chopsticks trying to feed him fish.

“What about it?” the kid growls defensively. Daiki wonders if maybe he’d hit a sore spot.

“Well,” Daiki says cautiously, observing Kasai go rigid next to him as realization set in, “I just wondered why the Todoroki kid held back in that last match against you. I mean, I’m assuming that’s what made you mad?”

The teen’s mouth falls open slightly in apparent surprise, and Kasai takes the opportunity to shove in a bite of fish. Bakugou glares, but still chews before he answers.

“Fuck if I know what was going on in Half n Half’s weird head,” he grumbles. Daiki almost chokes on his rice at the nickname. “Bastard couldn’t use his fire for some reason. Had some really lame excuse afterward about needing to think about it.”

“Ahh, so the Todoroki kid didn’t have a problem with you, just his fire,” Daiki nods sagely, wondering if Kasai had already asked these questions. Or if the idiot was at least appreciating getting a bit of info on his little brother. “Wonder what that was all about?”

It’s a leading question, Daiki knows. Because getting the Sports Festival cameras to zoom in on the kid’s conversations was a no brainer, and Daiki had long since taught himself how to lipread. He wonders if Bakugou knows that Shouto refused to use his flames just to piss off Endeavor. And if he knows that Endeavor deserved it.

Bakugou meets Daiki’s eyes with a fierce glare. “How the hell would I know?”

He knows, Daiki realizes, not sure why he’s surprised. Is he protecting Shouto from speculation on his family?

Regardless, he reels it back in.

“I mean, congrats on the win, I just would have loved to have seen you guys go all out against each other. Did you at least get a rematch?”

Bakugou scoffs, “That Half n Half bastard kept putting it off. Said we’d face off during the sparring match at camp, but your buddy over here fucked that up.” He tilts his chin up at Kasai and Daiki resigns himself to having no conversations that wouldn’t be stepped on by the elephants in the room.

“Yeah, I know,” he says anyway. “We’re working on fixing that. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you got hurt.” He doesn’t look at his friend. Doesn’t expect him to chip in, honestly. Kasai had never been one for apologies, even as a vigilante. As a villain? Daiki can’t imagine that having changed.

Yuko, however, isn’t a surprise. “We all know what happened to you wasn’t right,” she says fiercely. “And as Torrent said, we’re working on fixing that. In a more literal sense, I’ll be working on that here shortly with another bandage change. But you will heal faster if your body has some energy to work with, so be sure to eat your fill.”

At that reminder, the teen grudgingly opens his mouth for another bite that Kasai holds out. The scarred man himself is rather silent, and Daiki hopes he’s not mad about the whole Shouto line of questioning.

The rest of lunch is a relatively quiet affair, which is wrapped up with Kasai walking back alongside Yuko and Bakugou to help with the bandage changing and leaving Daiki to do the dishes.

He doesn’t mind, honestly. It gives him a moment to reevaluate the situation that he’d only pieced together from phone conversations and police records. Granted, that’s how most of his vigilante work went, when pulling people from traumatic situations. Except this was different. This time, his friend was part of the traumatic situation.

But Bakugou, who seemed to be angry at… ah, most things, didn’t seem to be too pissed at Kasai. Daiki wondered what his grumpy friend had done to warrant such tolerance. It didn’t seem like the kid was scared of Kasai, so it had to be that he trusted the villain somewhat. Either that, or Yuko had gotten to the teen.

I bet money that’s what it is. She should have never been a healer - with the cases she’s able to make for people, she’d have made a hell of a lawyer.

He sets aside another clean plate, stacking it on the drying rack, and lets his thoughts trail back to his friend.

Oh man, Touya. I wish you’d come to me before you got into this shit, he thinks glumly, tugging over the rice cooker to rinse out. Or, hell, I’d have joined the League with you if it gave you better odds.

He can’t say that to Kasai, of course - that’d be too much overlap between the different sections of his life.

Kasai was the most compartmentalized person Daiki knew. Keeping each part of his life completely separate from the other was something he excelled at.

Yuko and Daiki, for example, fell into the ‘good guys, to be protected, not to be bothered unless no other options’ categories. Kasai had told him as much, when Daiki asked why he hadn’t called in the last year.

And his siblings easily fell into a similar set of categories as well. They were in the ‘good, need to be taken care of, better off without me’ boxes in Kasai’s weird mind. Neat, easy to deal with.

Rarely did they ever fall into the ‘abused hero-in-training, stressed young teacher missing her twin, neglected and angry college student’ categories. Since Daiki had promised to watch after Touya’s family, though, he saw just how much Kasai willfully ignored in order to push forward.

To Kasai, Shouto was Endeavor’s success. The golden child. Protected by his standing and safe enough in his chosen field. Daiki remembers Kasai saying, “He’s strong enough to deal with the old bastard, he’ll be fine.”

As if anyone who grew up in that household could be considered fine.

But Shouto was also the kid who kept Touya’s old cell phone and still sometimes called just to listen to his older brother’s voice on the answering machine. Daiki would know, since he still monitored that number. It was rare, nowadays. But still often enough to break Daiki’s heart.

To Kasai, Fuyumi was the cornerstone of the family. Level-headed, intelligent, and capable of bringing peace in the midst of Endeavor’s chaos. Her status as the peacekeeper was the only thing holding up the bastard’s house of cards, and Endeavor knew it. According to Kasai, Enji “wouldn’t spoil free crisis management.”

Fuyumi was never Touya’s twin, who had just as many issues and hurts as Kasai himself did. She was never the young woman who worked herself so hard and repressed her feelings so much that she’d ended up in therapy for an emotional breakdown. Daiki had followed her activity closely after that episode, just to make sure it didn’t take a turn for the worse.

And to Kasai, Natsuo had escaped early on. “Never in the crosshairs of daddy dearest? He was the luckiest of all of us.” With Natsuo’s natural charm and drive, Daiki can almost see why Touya might have thought his younger brother was okay.

But he never saw how lost Natsuo became - how bitter.

Natsuo was the only one Daiki ever saw in person. He hadn’t had anything better to do, and it was Natsuo’s last basketball game of high school. None of the other Todoroki’s had been able to make it, so Daiki watched as Natsuo scored the final free throw that won the game. But when the game finished, and everyone left to go celebrate, Daiki noticed Natsuo missing.

He found the teen, eventually, in the old gym in the neighboring building. Beating his anger and hurt and disappointment into one of the heavy bags.

Daiki still remembers how the middle Todoroki had fumed and raged and eventually broken down. Because whatever Natsuo did… didn’t matter. And it never would.

He still gets heartsick thinking about it. Knowing that Kasai should have been the one to be there for his brother. But also knowing that Kasai wouldn’t allow himself to acknowledge that other path. To acknowledge that his siblings weren’t better off without him.

No, Kasai liked it too simple to allow for that.

Not that he begrudges Kasai his choice to become a vigilante. But if his friend is going the direction he thinks with the whole villain angle, more than just the heroes are going to be hurt by it.

It’s also why he’s hoping they can get out of this situation without a death occurring.

Because if Kasai can use the villains, out the crooked heroes, reveal his identity as his coup de grace, and cause very little in the way of collateral damage, then he and his siblings might walk out of this with a chance for recovery.

What worries Daiki, though, is Kasai’s stubbornness and his tendency toward hardline convictions. His own boxes probably read: “villain, irredeemable, destined to die taking down hero society.”

The thought is nearly enough to make Daiki call this whole thing off. Screw keeping an eye on his friend. Just let Shigaraki throw Kasai out of the League and deal with the inevitable shit storm afterwards.

But the inclusion of Bakugou changes things just enough to give Daiki hope.

It makes Daiki wonder what boxes Bakugou has fallen into other than the general ‘kid who needs help’ one. Knowing Kasai, and having finally met the teen, Daiki is willing to bet Bakugou is challenging Kasai’s neatly organized system. He’s a kid, but he’s not helpless. He’s a hero-in-training, but he isn’t interested in playing nice. He’s got a rude attitude, but he covers for his friends.

It’s a little uncanny how much he reminds me of Touya, Daiki thinks nostalgically, wiping his hands on Yuko’s kitchen towel. Especially at that age.

Maybe, just maybe, the kid’ll be able to remind Kasai of why he used to do this. Possibly even out-stubborn and out-logic him until he just… gives it up.

The thought of Bakugou and Kasai having an epic showdown a là old west movie makes him smile.

“Wipe that weird look off your face.” Kasai’s voice comes from behind him. He’s standing there in his jeans and hoodie, duffel bag holding his villain outfit tossed over his shoulder. Daiki throws the towel at him.

“Ass.”

“Nerd.”

Daiki grins and Kasai rolls his eyes.

“Bakugou taken care of for now?” Daiki asks casually, following Kasai as he turns to walk down the hall to the front door.

“Yuko’s done another round of healing and got him set up with fresh bandages,” Kasai replies, seeming troubled as he pulls on his grimy boots. Daiki pokes him in the back and freaks a little when he feels a staple through his friend’s shirt.

“What?”

“Uh,” Daiki scrambles, wondering if he should ask about Kasai’s mental state or his physical state first. He settles on mental - physical he can address later. “You seem a little… put out?”

Kasai sighs, rubbing a hand down his scarred face.

“Just something stupid the kid said earlier. What else is new. You ready to go?”

Daiki feels a little thrill of hope that Bakugou might already be getting his friend to rethink his options. But he hides it behind a thumbs up and a smile. “Got the rifle packed up and everything.”

Kasai doesn’t smile back - instead he’s looking over Daiki’s shoulder. Then Yuko’s voice sounds from behind him.

“Oh, Torrent,” she calls, causing him to turn. “Could you help me with something really quick before you go?”

Daiki looks at Kasai, who shrugs and leans back against the front door.

“Sure, Yuko,” Daiki says amiably. He saunters down the hall and follows Yuko into the clinic. Bakugou is sitting upright on the table, freshly clad in bright white bandages. His eyes, however, are even brighter.

“What did you mean about not needing to kill Shigaraki?” The kid growls. “Talk fast - I might be able to help.”

Daiki’s eyebrows shoot up, and he glances at Yuko, who nods in unspoken assent. Which she would never do, unless she thought it was safe.

Taking a deep breath, Daiki opens his mouth and talks fast.

——

A few minutes later, thoughts swirling, Daiki meets Kasai back at the front door.

“Yuko okay?” Kasai asks, shouldering his pack. Daiki nods with half-fake cheer.

“Sure is. You forgot to help the kid back into his shirt,” he explains, smirking at Kasai. “Which, I noticed, is one of your old ones. Only you would still have a Funky Monkey Babys t-shirt.”

Kasai groans and pushes Daiki through the front door.

“Let’s just go get this over with,” the flame user mutters, closing the door behind him and shouldering past Daiki toward the motorcycle.

“Sure, right, make it sound so easy,” Daiki huffs, following behind Kasai. “I mean, what could possibly go wrong?”

Kasai glares up at the blazing sun overhead. “I hate it when you say shit like that.”

Chapter Text

Thursday afternoon is hot, humid, miserable and a perfect reflection of Shouta’s current mood. Having to drive was just icing on the melting cake.

Sweat is trickling down his back and under his arms and he feels stifled in his dress clothes - the ones he would be wearing at the press conference scheduled in less than three hours. But he’d needed to be in them most of the day, since he’d left his apartment early to check back in on his students.

Most of them would be released later in the evening, which was a small miracle, given their terrifying encounter with so many classed villains. For Shouta’s part, he’s pretty sure he’ll have nightmares of his students’ distant screams for years to come. His hands tighten on the steering wheel as horror rocks through him again.

The mood at the hospital had been subdued - shocked. Most of the students, Shouta was sure, thought that the heroes would have Bakugou back within a day, no sweat. But here they were, two days later and nothing to show for it. Even the surprising presence of the cheery Hawks wasn’t enough to stave off the depression at the lack of progress.

Won’t be that way for too much longer, he thinks. Four, maybe five hours, and we’ll have an idea of what happened to him.

Shouta is too rational to believe they’ll find him unharmed. Or even alive, if he really thinks about it. Not that he’d tell the students so. And he’d been very careful not to give them false hope. Real hope, either, just to be safe.

He shoots a grim glance at the passenger seat beside him, where Yaoyorozu's locator is resting. That is another thing he’s content not to reveal - not with the possibility of a leak. Though it physically pains him to suspect his own students.

Shouta narrows his eyes at the road ahead of him, thinking back on all that had come from the suspicion running rampart through the teachers. Thinking about All Might’s revelation regarding All For One, One For All, and Midoriya.

At least one teacher ruled out, he thinks in irritation. Two, if you include the fact that Yagi trusted me with this.

It’d been. A lot. To digest. He’d tried to focus on the pieces most pertinent to the current situation. The legendary fight between good and evil could just. Wait.

A super villain was likely pulling the strings on the League. It made sense now, why Tsukauchi was putting together a task force of some of the most impressive heroes to ever exist. They were going into this… practically blind. They’d need all the manpower they could get in the face of the unknown.

For instance: Was the League really only eleven members? Yagi mentioned that All For One was once a leader of… practically an army, at some point. He also said the villain was likely behind the creation of the Nomu. Were there more of those than the two they’d already seen? Would All For One himself be at the villain’s hideout?

So many questions that had no answers. They didn’t even know if Bakugou was still alive.

Though Yagi also said no news was practically the same as good news where All For One was concerned. The villain liked to parade his triumphs out for people to see. If Bakugou hadn’t shown up dead or converted, then he was likely still alive.

Converted, he seethes briefly, remembering the police meeting where Bakugou’s possible defection had been discussed at length. The fucking shamelessness. Like they know that kid at all.

With as little sleep as he’d been running on and the sheer amount of caffeine supplementing his bloodstream, Shouta had come very close to emulating his missing student. If the officer who kept harping on Bakugou’s attitude had been any closer…

It gives me a good idea of the reaction we’ll be getting, though, Shouta thinks, taking a hand from the wheel to rub his eyes again. Can’t fucking wait.

Which is true enough. He’s very ready to have this entire horror show over with. In all his years underground, with as many truly evil crimes he’d seen, he’s never been so stressed or heartsick, knowing his student is in the hands of villains.

And on top of that is the mystery of Bakugou’s kidnapper - the one who’d been leading the “Vanguard Action Squad”. Dabi.

Maybe not so much of a mystery, Shouta thinks, trying not to be overwhelmed with the implications of his and Tsukauchi’s little powwow after All Might dropped his figurative bomb.

“Toshinori,” Tsukauchi had said. “Can you grab the other heroes? We’ll be starting the meeting in ten minutes.”

“Of course, Naomasa.” The hero agreed, giving his colleague a concerned look. Shouta ignored it in favor of staring at his hands in something like stunned silence. Processing.

He heard the door close and raised his eyes when Tsukauchi took a seat across from him, placing the manila “Kasai” folder in between them.

Shouta had forgotten about it. In the face of, you know. That.

“I know it’s probably not a good time, but I wanted to talk with you for a minute about this,” Tsukauchi said, voice calm and reasonable as always. Shouta had to assume he already knew about All Might’s secrets to not be having even a minor existential crisis.

“You were a witness on the last incident listed in here - is that why you went to this file?” Tsukauchi continued, opening the folder to the last entry. The construction site fire.

“It was the only place I could think to start,” Shouta answered after a beat. “It was a crime with blue flame. Not many criminals with that quirk. I didn’t even know a Todoroki was listed as a suspect until today.” He frowned, thinking about it. “Why was he listed as a suspect? The attached file said he was dead by that point.”

Shouta remembered Todoroki-the-younger’s doubt about his brother’s death. But that didn’t explain the police keeping a dead person’s profile on the suspect list.

“That was my doing, actually,” Tsukauchi said wearily. “This was my case, back then. I worked in the Vigilante Investigation division. And I didn’t think he was dead.”

“…Why?”

“Because a kid claiming to be Todoroki Touya came into the precinct maybe… six or seven years ago. I was the one to sit with him while he waited for his appointment. Mind you, this was three months after he’d been reported to the police as ‘dead’… by Endeavor.”

“So, why wasn’t his status changed to ‘alive’?”

“I got the kid to the lead detective at the time - the one who dealt with hero matters,” Tsukauchi answered. “When nothing came from it, I asked around. The detective said it was a kid trying to pull a prank and dismissed it.”

“Hero matters,” Shouta repeated, zeroing in on the unusual designation.

“The kid was bringing abuse allegations against Endeavor,” Tsukauchi said flatly. “It’s not as unusual as you might think - false claims against heroes is something of a racket.”

“But?” Shouta’s stomach dropped at the word ‘abuse.’ Could Todoroki’s facial scar be…?

“The kid had a whole folder with him,” he admitted. “I didn’t see anything but the tabs, but there was medical, family history - even video tapes. It wasn’t the usual, for fake claims.”

“And you didn’t follow up?”

Tsukauchi hung his head. “I did. We fingerprinted him when he came in, and it didn’t match the files we had for Todoroki Touya. Then I got busy and I ended up writing it off.”

Shouta kept the disapproval off his face. “But you felt strongly enough that it might be Touya, still alive, that you added his file to your Kasai investigation?”

Tsukauchi rubbed the back of his neck, chagrined. “Not until a couple years later, when we got a description of the vigilante by one of the victims he saved. The burn scars he had were distinctive enough from when I saw him at the police station to get the gears turning.”

“Burn scars??”

“Nothing on what Dabi apparently has,” Tsukauchi said quickly. “Just… around his neck - I could see some of it. And around his wrists. There might have been more, but he was trying to cover up. But when I went back to look into Touya’s history, just on the off chance it was him running around as a vigilante, I ran into so much red tape I almost lost my job just for touching it.”

“Shit,” Shouta said, rubbing his forehead.

“Yeah, not suspicious at all, right?” Tsukauchi leaned back in his chair, looking several years older than he had before. “My sister was researching vigilantes religiously at the time, so I took my investigation off the grid - paper only, nothing digital. We never got a positive ID on him, but we tagged at least eighteen different incidents we believed he was involved in. Four of those had the same fingerprints as the redheaded kid who showed up at the precinct.”

Shouta felt his blood pressure rising. “So why didn’t you ever go public?”

“He disappeared,” Tsukauchi admitted. “Between one and two years ago. And there wasn’t enough evidence to prove it was actually Touya. Just a bunch of circumstantial incidents and the fact that he’d claimed to be the Todoroki kid. Couldn’t even get a quirk match, until the fire. After that, I gave up trying to prove the Vigilante Kasai was actually the not-so-dead Todoroki Touya.”

“…You thought he died at the construction site fire,” Shouta said, putting the pieces together. After all, it would make sense with the timing and the fact that the fire was blue. The same as Todoroki Touya’s.

“I did, yeah,” Tsukauchi said quietly. “Looks like I might have been wrong.”

“So…” Shouta said slowly, “What we’re dealing with is a possible villain Todoroki, extremely powerful quirk and all. On top of the other villains we already know about.”

“If it all the assumptions check out, then… yeah.” Tsukauchi gave him a humorless smile across the table. “Doesn’t change much, at the end of the day. But it could complicate things. And since you were already on the same page, I wanted you to know the full story.”

“Understood,” Shouta said. Tsukauchi was right - in light of the kidnapping and the super villain’s involvement, the inclusion of a ranked hero’s son going villain wasn’t as ground breaking. But he was also thinking about the Todoroki who sat in his class every day, and how this would affect him.

Whoever said teaching was an easier job than being a hero was full of -

“Shit,” he hisses, breaking from his musings as he notes the traffic up ahead of him. He only has two hours to get to Yokohama, get the tracker to the police, and then drive up for the UA press conference in Tokyo.

Rarely has he felt so frustrated over something as common as traffic, but Shouta feels his temper fraying, badly. Too much going on, too many staggering reveals, not near enough sleep to deal with it all.

He pulls in slowly behind the red tail lights and smacks his hand against the steering wheel. Then he does it again, because it didn’t release nearly enough stress.

Fuck, Bakugou, you better be fucking alive so I can give you detention for the rest of your days at UA.

Then he pulls off the road and sends a voice request to the hero app for an extraction. When it asks if he wants vehicular or speed quirk, he growls, “I don’t give a damn.”

As his car idles on the shoulder, he watches the cars crawling past him going north and tries to organize each new piece of information he’d gotten into neat little files. Coded from most to least important, like he usually does. But frankly, he’s never felt so adrift. It’s all… too big. The kinds of problems All Might usually dealt with. Not someone like Shouta.

All Might’s only human, too, he reminds himself. He can too easily remember his colleague, the Number One Hero, admitting that his time was coming to an end. The expression on Yagi’s face had been… pained determination. But the fact that he was sharing a secret that only a handful of people knew, with Shouta of all people…

He doesn’t expect to survive this, he acknowledges. And that, perhaps more than anything else, gives Shouta an idea of what they’re dealing with. It’s why he’d barely slept, despite his exhaustion.

And he’s trusting me to step up, if something happens.

Shouta closes his eyes and leans back against his headrest. It’s an enormous show of respect on All Might’s part, as little as Shouta feels he deserves it. Just - fuck - yesterday, he’d been calling All Might like an absolute greenhorn, looking for reassurance in talking to Bakugou’s parents. Only for Yagi to turn around and drop this on him.

Not nearly the burden that’s on Midoriya’s shoulder though. Fuck. And I’m supposed to help him with One For All if something happens to All Might.

Exhaling loudly, Shouta pushes aside his uncertainty and fear. It’s not like worrying about potential outcomes will help them at all.

Weariness holds his eyelids down like a physical weight, but he’s not so far gone that he doesn’t notice something blocking the sun. His eyes snap open just before the knuckles rap on his window.

“Ahh, Eraserhead!” Comes the bright voice of Hawks on the other side of the glass. The Winged Hero grins down at him. “Heard you needed a lift?”

Shouta snorts, and grabs the tracker from the passenger seat.

“Let me out,” he says, and pops open the door when Hawks backs up.

“We in a hurry?” Hawks asks conversationally as Shouta circles to the trunk of his old Toyota to grab the gym bag with his hero costume in it. Could never be too careful, with so many heroes going into a fight.

“Uh huh,” Shouta says shortly. Hawks’ grin turns raptorial.

“Alright, then you get the abbreviated version of the Air Hawks safety tutorial,” the Winged Hero quips. “Don’t let go, and don’t throw up on me. You want bridal, bear hug, parachute hold or over the shoulder?”

“Whichever will let me sleep,” Shouta deadpans. Hawks doesn’t take offense, just chuckles as he runs through a quick series of stretches.

“Won’t be much sleep, with the G’s we’ll be pulling. Speaking of which, might want to put on your goggles,” Hawks notes, jumping up and down a few times. Shouta raises an eyebrow. Even among heroes, very few people knew what his hero outfit looked like. And in his experience, the chart topping heroes rarely took note of their underground counterparts. Still, he pulls his goggles from his bag and slips them over his eyes.

Hawks cracks his neck audibly and unfurls his impressive wings. Stepping forward, he hefts Shouta up bridal style, and Shouta barely keeps from stiffening at the close contact.

“No worries, man, we’ll be there before you know it,” Hawks says next to his head. “Now hold on tight.”

That’s all the warning Shouta gets to secure his grip on his gym bag before the massive wings are sweeping down.

They’re thirty feet in the air before Shouta can regret his decision to not give a damn, then they’re catching an air current that takes them even higher.

“Hey Eraserhead!” Hawks calls over the wind. Shouta grunts.

“What?”

“Do you like rollercoasters?” He can hear the laughter in the Winged Hero’s voice.

Shouta definitely fucking regrets this. And he doesn’t even get a chance to answer, before they’re shooting forward like a rocket.

It’s a petty and stupid thing to think with everything that’s been going on, but Shouta goes ahead and promises himself anyway.

I’m never working with ranked heroes again.

——

On the bullet train going north, Shouto takes a deep, steadying breath.

He’d told them. Holy shit.

Around him, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Midoriya, Tokoyami and Iida are all talking in low voices. Speculating on what they might find when they arrive to save Bakugou. Shouto has his doubts that it’ll go as smoothly as Kirishima, at least, is saying. But he suspects it might go better than Iida is positing, at least.

Because he’s pretty sure Bakugou’s alive. And he’s decently sure Dabi will keep him that way.

If I’m right, he thinks, shaking himself at the thoughts that’d been dogging him all day.

Fuyumi and Natsuo had been shocked, when he sat them down and told them the full story. But… not as shocked as he’d thought they would be. He’d only had to say the words “blue fire” for them to look at each other sharply.

So he hadn’t been the only one to doubt Touya’s death.

Which made it both worse and better when he told them about the burns on Touya’s neck. They’d been… horrified. Furious. And guilty.

It was perhaps the longest, most honest conversation they’d had in years, and Shouto found it relieving to a degree.

Also gut wrenching, because he and Kirishima had already made the decision to go after Bakugou. Which made him feel like he was sort of betraying his siblings. Especially after all the comforting hugs and promises of cold soba and pacts to renew their sibling bonding sessions.

But whether it’s Touya or not… we can’t leave our classmate in danger.

Shouto looks out the window, noting city lights becoming brighter in the distance and knowing that they’d be in Kamino Ward, Yokohama in only a few minutes.

And maybe, if I’m right, and we’re insanely lucky… he muses, drumming his fingers on his thigh, …maybe we can rescue more than one person tonight.

——

Toshinori hasn’t felt quite so jittery since his first few years on the hero scene. Even infinitely more prepared, with a team of some of the most accomplished heroes in decades, his heart rate just won’t slow down.

The press conference is in half an hour, and the heroes around him are doing last minute gear checks and warmups. Because the moment the conference ends, they’re hitting the villains headquarters, codename: target alpha, and the Nomu facility, codename: target beta. While Toshinori is heading the target alpha team, Best Jeanist is leading the team against target beta, alongside Gang Orca, Mount Lady and Tiger.

Jeanist hadn’t been thrilled, exactly, not being on the team that was most likely to intercept Bakugou. But even as the kid’s one-time boss, he conceded the point of spreading out the heroes’ strengths. After all, Toshinori already had Endeavor, Edgeshot, Gran Torino, and Kamui Woods with him. That was more than enough for what they knew of the League’s capabilities.

Not that any of their info was perfectly clear - but as far as hostage situations went, they were going in with as much information as they could manage. And Toshinori was beyond ready, anyway. Would have been ready to go in on nothing more than a rumor, if he was being honest with himself.

He had to refrain from tapping an impatient foot against the concrete. It wouldn’t do to show his unease as the Pillar of Peace. Though, sequestered as they were in a nearby warehouse, each of the heroes were dealing with their pre-battle anxiety in different ways.

Endeavor was pacing, scowl ferocious as ever. The concrete melted in his wake, letting Toshinori know just how keyed up he was. Off to the side, Edgeshot looked like he was meditating, the backs of his hands resting lightly on his knees as he sat in seiza.

Kamui Woods was speaking quietly with Naomasa in the corner. Since they both were stationed in Musutafu, Toshinori knew they had a pretty good working relationship. And given that Kamui was the youngest one present, it wasn’t surprising that he’d feel most comfortable with the person he knew best.

On Toshinori’s right, Gran Torino is clasping his cane in front of him, two hands resting on the head as he stares at the door they’d be passing through in only a few short minutes. Focused and intent and showing no signs of distress. Toshinori clenches his crossed arms, wishing he had that kind of composure, but knowing he won’t be around long enough to learn it. One way or another.

“What do you think, Toshinori?” Torino mutters quietly, looking up at him. “Are you ready to face All For One if he’s there?”

Toshinori nods, keeping his voice low as well, “Yes, if it comes to that. I only hope our last fight hurt him as much as it did me.”

Torino snorts indelicately. “True. Still, if he shows up, give him a solid one from me - you hear?”

Toshinori smiles a hard smile. “Of course. For Nana and young Bakugou, too.”

Torino grins back, “Yeah, kid. That’ll do.”

Silence falls between them again, and time ticks closer to the attack.

Only fifteen minutes, now.

Hang in there, young Bakugou, Toshinori pleads. We’re coming for you.

Chapter Text

The alleyway looks much the same as it did in the early hours of the morning. Faked damage from an earth manipulation quirk. A couple of laser beam holes - inspired by Bakugou’s AP Shot - pockmarking the brick walls. Scorch marks, of course, courtesy of Dabi’s flames. It really looked like a fight had taken place.

Of course the League’s perimeter camera hadn’t seen any of Dabi’s hard work, mocking up his ‘set’ for possible inspection. Daiki had easily set the camera to an hour long loop, showing nothing more interesting than a breeze passing through and a few bugs scuttling around.

In the next ten minutes, it would show a fight between Dabi and a couple of passing vigilantes. Just on the off chance any of the League members were actually paying attention to security. The dummy Bakugou, meanwhile, would be trussed up and leaning against the wall within the camera’s view, but shadowed from the alleyway entrance. Giving them even more options, if they needed them.

None of the League knew of Shigaraki’s demand to bring back the kid, from what Dabi could tell. He’d texted around, asking random enough questions about upcoming stuff, and none of them had asked about his expected return. He’d even taken a risk and asked Kurogiri if the man needed anything from the liquor store, since Dabi was planning to go in the next couple of days.

No questions about the kid. No curiosity about why Dabi couldn’t get the list when he returned to the bar. Just a list of beers they were running low on.

With that as settled as it could be, Dabi only had the waiting left. A couple streets from the alleyway, Daiki was waiting with one finger on his sniper rifle trigger and one finger mentally in the video feed. Whatever response Shigaraki gave, they’d have some kind of answer for… theoretically.

Dabi is surprisingly calm, now that it’s come down to the wire. It’s always been that way for him, to an extent. Once a decision is made, he sees it through whatever the cost.

This plan might cost him his place in the League. Or it might just cost him another death to see in his nightmares. Whichever is the case, he’s ready for it.

His phone gives a quiet buzz - the signal from Daiki that they’re down to two minutes before he starts the video. Three minutes after that, Dabi needs to make his call. From there, it’ll be up to Torrent’s prodigious skills to keep what Shigaraki sees consistent.

Oddly, in this moment of calm before the proverbial storm, Dabi wonders if this makes him more of a villain than Shigaraki. After all, the hand man only wanted to humble him. Maybe throw him out of the League as a rival. And in return, Dabi is ready to kill him.

It’s too late now… the flame villain muses, idly knocking alley gunk off his boot. But he shouldn’t have involved the brat. Wouldn’t have cared if it was only me.

Dabi takes his place, leaning heavily against one of the overturned garbage bins. His leg gives a real twinge as he draws up a knee to rest his blood soaked arm on. Again, he has to thank Bakugou’s reaction time - all he’d needed was a little bit of scraping (that Yuko definitely wouldn’t approve of) to freshen up his wounds. And voila, results of a fight.

Across the alley, in the shadows, is the bundle that is Bakugou’s marker. Dabi eyes it for a moment before tilting his head back to stare at the darkening sky above him. The smell of rotten trash washes over him as he pulls in breath after steady breath. At his back, the warm bricks press against the staples running along his ribs and down to his lower back.

At nearly eight o’clock, his phone buzzes again. He pulls it from his pocket and dials Shigaraki’s number.

——

At his desk, Tomura pauses his game immediately when his phone vibrates. It’s the caller ID he’s waited all day to see and he smirks as he watches it ring.

Wonder what he’s come up with, Tomura muses, carefully holding back one finger as he feels the phone vibrate in his hand. Did the brat ‘escape’? Or did he actually bring Bakugou back to me?

On the final ring, Tomura taps the ‘answer’ button.

“You’ve got an item for me, I hope,” he says, trying to emulate his sensei’s expectant drawl while he pulls one foot up onto his old office chair.

“Yeah yeah, I got your little prize.” Dabi’s as disrespectful as ever - but definitely not as smooth. Tomura straightens in his seat when he hears a labored cough.

“Trouble?” Tomura asks, wondering what Dabi’s angle could be. Playing sick to avoid coming?

“You could say that,” the flame villain sighs, blowing static onto the line. “Got the brat, and we’re not too far away - actually waving at your damn camera right now. Way to stay on fucking guard, by the way. We got ambushed by a couple vigilantes.”

Tomura feels his eyebrows shoot up, and he scratches his neck in agitation.

Vigilantes attacking one of their own? Maybe because he turned villain…?

“Oh?” He says, buying himself time to bring up the security system. “What do you want, a pat on the back?”

“No thanks, seen how that turns out,” comes the sarcastic reply. Tomura flicks through the different camera views before he sees, to his surprise, Dabi. And the brat.

They’re a couple of blocks away, in one of the alleyways they used less frequently… but it was the direction Dabi usually took to return to his apartment.

“What do you want, then?” Tomura asks, watching as Dabi tilts his head back with the phone held up to his ear. The shift allows the decay villain to see streaks of what appeared to be blood webbing across the back of Dabi’s hand.

“Got hit in the leg,” Dabi says into the phone, and Tomura can see the other villain rubbing at his left thigh. “Can’t support the kid anymore.” Dabi tosses a ball of fire in irritation at the brat’s feet, the flames highlighting Bakugou’s prone and unconscious form. Tomura finds himself surprised.

Maybe we were wrong, he thinks, studying the scene and taking in the destruction around Dabi. Using his controller for a remote, he toggles the view back by about ten minutes.

Flames flash across the camera view and a laser beam plows into the bricks mere inches over Dabi’s head as the flame villain ducks. At the end of the alley, Tomura can see another vigilante throwing wads of concrete at Dabi like they’re snowballs.

“Huh,” he says to himself, scratching more vigorously at his neck. He watches the fight progress and does, indeed, see Dabi take an energy beam to the leg.

“Hey, handyman.” Dabi’s voice again, calling from the other side. “Not exactly safe for me to just stick around out here. Make the call. Either I limp my ass back there myself without the kid or you come out and help.”

Ahhh, there it is, the decay villain thinks. His weakness.

“Now Dabi, we can’t just let the kid walk back to the authorities,” Tomura says with feigned disinterest, wondering what Dabi would do. It’s thrilling, if he’s being honest. Actually getting to play the kinds of mind games he sees his sensei perform so easily.

“Wasn’t suggesting I let the kid walk away,” comes Dabi’s answer. On the video, his free hand lights up with flames.

Again, Tomura finds himself surprised. “You’d kill him?”

“Isn’t that what you were planning to do?”

Was it what Tomura had planned? Maybe when the brat had pissed him off the night he arrived at the bar… But he hadn’t really thought about it after that. He’d just wanted to see what Dabi would do. If he was actually going to betray the League. Perhaps if he saw Bakugou in person again, that urge to off the brat would return. Or maybe Tomura would be lenient and just go with Dabi’s idea to use the kid as bait. Depending on whether the flame villain and the brat had learned their places.

Only one way to find out.

“No… no,” the decay villain muses aloud. “I’ll come help you. Can’t leave a member of the League and our live bait in need, you know?”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Oh, now that’s new. Tomura smirks, liking the sound of it.

Grabbing his sneakers, the decay villain leaves his room and heads for the door leading to the streets. A couple of the League members are on the couch watching the UA press conference happening on TV. He pauses slightly, watching Eraserhead bowing to the reporters and viewers, and smiles vindictively. He’d been right - the teachers were begging for forgiveness already. If only Bakugou could see it.

He will, he thinks. I’ll have him watch it when they do the replays. Who knows, maybe he’ll change his mind and we’ll have him on our side like sensei wanted.

Tomura passes the chair Bakugou had been strapped to and reevaluates his odds. The destroyed t-shirt the brat had been wearing is still draped across the seat.

Or maybe not. If it comes down to it, I might let Dabi set the kid on fire in front of All Might. Yeah, that’d be good. Just gotta find some way to make it unskippable for the fucking Pillar of Peace.

With that thought in mind, Tomura opens the door into the streets and steps out into the dark.

——

Hidden on the warehouse roof behind the League hideout, Daiki catches the decay villain in his crosshairs as soon as Shigaraki steps out the back door. Faded blue hair and a scarred face are covered quickly as the villain pulls up his hood and slouches into the alleyway behind the bar. Timing-wise, Daiki can keep the leader of the League in his sights for about twenty seconds.

Not a lot of time to make a last minute decision, all told.

Kasai would kill me, he thinks bleakly, tracking the unhurried gait of Shigaraki, counting down his time in the back of his head. Everything is actually going exactly the way he planned it. That never happens.

…17 …16 …15 ….

It’s a gamble, because Shigaraki might lose his cool. Might still blame Kasai. But then, the decay villain hadn’t sounded very pissy on the phone call Daiki had just eavesdropped on. Only curious.

… 11 … 10 … 9 ….

Concrete digs uncomfortably into Daiki’s knees and sweat trails down his spine under his t-shirt. His hands, however, remain steady as stone, following his target. Shigaraki is at the end of the block, about to turn the corner.

… 4 … 3 … 2 …

Shit. If this doesn’t work, Kasai can still do it his way.

… 1

Daiki pulls the trigger.

——

Beside him, Dabi’s phone buzzes once, letting him know that Daiki had taken the shot. It’s the only indication that anything had happened, as the silencer Daiki used was black ops grade.

For a moment, Dabi doesn’t move. His back rests rigidly against the bricks behind him and his leg pulses painfully alongside his heart. The throbbing reminds him of why this was necessary and why this should never have happened.

Shigaraki is dead. And Dabi is responsible for it.

His stomach rolls and his mind blanks at the reality of it. The only part of the plan remaining is to grab Shigaraki’s body and cremate it, hiding the evidence. With the assassination order that Daiki had fabricated and Shigaraki’s own unsociability working in their favor, Dabi could easily return to the hideout sometime in the next few days with an excuse about Bakugou getting away. The rest of the League could then inform him about their missing leader. By the time they realized Shigaraki wasn’t just missing, but dead, Dabi would already have positioned himself to take over leadership.

It’d worked out perfectly. So why did Dabi feel so sick?

The asshole probably would have killed the kid if I’d actually brought him back, Dabi reminds himself, leaning his forehead against his raised knee. Don’t forget what he did to start all this shit.

Still, other memories start trickling back in that fall outside the ‘psycho, child abuser’ box that Shigaraki had fallen so hard into. Like the weirdo version of their leader who treated them all to pizza when he won his online tournament. Or the time Dabi had spied their fearsome decay user setting out leftovers for a stray dog. Even the desperate need for approval Shigaraki had for his sensei was… pitiable, at times.

Irritated, he shoves those thoughts away, pushing them back into the corner of his mind that harbored more and more repressed thoughts by the day.

On the ground next to him, his phone buzzes again. This time signaling a text. Dabi frowns at it.

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Don’t freak out.

- But

- I think I missed

——

“You had one job,” comes Kasai’s furious voice over the phone. Daiki winces, rifle scope still aimed at the corner Shigaraki had pulled himself around.

“Technically, I hit him,” Daiki admits, “I just don’t think I killed him.”

He knows he didn’t. He’d aimed high in the right shoulder, taking out Shigaraki’s collarbone. It probably hurt like an actual bitch, but it definitely wasn’t fatal.

“But this can still work - and you won’t even have to kill him!” Daiki hurries to add when the line goes ominously silent. “Just go grab Shigaraki and help him back to the hideout. I’ll edit in Bakugou waking up and getting away. Then it’s technically Shigaraki’s fault for the kid escaping.”

The silence continues, and Daiki can feel sweat trailing down his temples. His heart hammers hard against his ribcage. Then Kasai sighs on the other side of the phone and Daiki feels like he can breathe again.

“Don’t think I don’t know you planned this,” Kasai grunts, and Daiki can hear him getting to his feet. “I’m not a good person anymore, Daiki. You can’t change that.”

Daiki’s brow folds in pain at that. Sure, he knows, but he’s gotta try what he can - for Touya’s siblings’ sake, if not for Touya himself.

“Eternal optimist, man - can’t help it. And this way, All For One isn’t so suspicious and Shigaraki owes you one.”

The line is quiet for another beat before Kasai replies, “Fair enough. Let’s hope this fucking works.”

“Fingers crossed, man.” Daiki knows his relief is showing through, but he doesn’t care. “Better hustle though, Shigaraki is still kind of mobile.”

“On it.”

——

Dabi ends the call and shoves his phone in his pocket, taking just a moment to draw in another deep breath.

“Goddamn soft asshole,” he whispers to himself on the exhale, not sure if he’s talking to himself or Daiki. Because he can’t help the tiny bit of relief he feels.

This way will be harder, he’s sure. Just killing Shigaraki tied up a lot more loose ends - including the psycho’s fixation on the UA students and his rivalry with Dabi. But not killing him… fuck, it doesn’t even make sense to Dabi why it feels easier to breathe.

Clenching his fist, he shoves his knuckles into the ground, forcing himself up and forcing himself to focus. He doesn’t have much time if he’s going to pull off Daiki’s version of their plan.

Or… the brat’s version, Dabi thinks, narrowing his eyes as he limps out of the alley. Between Daiki and Bakugou, he’s not sure which of them decided to change things up.

This is why I don’t tell people shit, he grouses mentally.

In the side street that leads to the back entry of the League hideout, he spies his erstwhile leader. Shigaraki has his back up against the grimy bricks and is clutching at his shoulder in very apparent pain. That twinge of discomfort zings through Dabi again.

He swallows against it. Acting time.

“Fucking hell,” he pitches his voice to carry from his end of the alley. Shigaraki’s head comes up.

“You,” the decay villain seethes. Shigaraki’s breath catches, but he staggers forward a step with murder in his eyes. Dabi holds up one hand in a universal peace gesture and keeps his other hand braced against the alley wall, taking weight off his bleeding leg.

“Woah, shit - not me, handyman,” the flame villain lies, waving his free hand. He limps closer. “I heard a gunshot” - another lie - “and figured something happened. What the hell Shigaraki?”

The leader of the League continues to glare, but Dabi notices from years of practice that the decay villain’s skin is chalky white - a sure sign he's losing blood fast.

Fuck, Daiki. Couldn’t have made the change of plans easy, could you?

“Did you see who got you?” Dabi asks, stepping closer yet again. Cautiously, because Shigaraki still looks furious.

“No, of course fucking not,” the villain snarls. “I don’t have 360 view radius and whoever shot me hit from behind.” At that moment, the villain tries to take a step forward and his knees buckle.

“Shit!” Dabi hisses, lunging in to catch him. They both go down as Dabi’s bad leg folds.

Hot blood streaks Dabi’s t-shirt as Shigaraki’s damaged shoulder sags into his solar plexus. Way too much blood to survive for much longer.

“You’re bleeding too much,” Dabi growls down at the shaggy head he’d awkwardly caught against his bicep. Shigaraki’s only reply is a long litany of filthy curses. The flame villain would be impressed if he weren’t now afraid that Shigaraki would die despite Daiki’s attempts to keep him alive. If Dabi got their leader inside only for him to kick the fucking bucket, Dabi would have a lot more to answer for.

“C’mon, boss, work with me here,” the flame villain urges, shifting up into a kneeling position. His own leg spasms with the effort and Dabi sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Why th’fuck are you helping me?” Shigaraki’s voice comes out hoarse and angry. Dabi reflects that the hand man is the second person in as many days to ask him that question.

“I don’t know, maybe because Kurogiri would warp me into a thousand tiny pieces if I didn’t?” he shoots back, trying to get Shigaraki to sit up on his knees, at least. With how limp the leader feels, it’s probably only a matter of minutes before he’s out cold.

“…knew you didn’t like me…” it’s barely a whisper, but with how close Dabi’s having to hold Shigaraki just to keep him upright, the flame villain hears it anyway.

Oh, Dabi thinks, somewhat stunned. Did… does he want to be… friends?

It takes ten seconds that they don’t really have for that to sink in for the flame villain, as Shigaraki’s boxes rewrite themselves again to add ‘friendless’ and ‘possibly lonely’.

Well. Shit.

Ruthlessly, he shoves down the brief flash of sympathy.

Shigaraki nearly killed a kid. Shigaraki would probably do it again if given the chance. Shigaraki can be replaced, if it comes down to it.

“C’mon, man,” he insists. “Need to get you inside and get this fucking bleeding stopped.” They’re finally both on their knees, with Dabi holding the decay villain upright. Painfully, Dabi hauls himself fully to his feet and extends out his good hand.

“You with me?”

The decay villain looks at Dabi’s hand, then past him, searching for something. “Where’s the brat?”

Alarms ring inside Dabi’s head, but his voice remains remarkably steady, “Left him behind to find you. Good fucking thing I did, too - the shooter might come back to finish the job. We gotta go.”

Shigaraki assesses him with a pained red eye. “You left him behind…?” Then he seems to gather himself. “The shooter was behind the hideout. Whoever it is s’probably still watching the alley.”

Standing over Shigaraki, hand extended at the vulnerable leader of the League that Dabi so badly needs… the coldly logical voice in the back of his head speaks up.

You could destroy him, right here, right now, that voice coaxes, and he actually feels his palm heat up reflexively at the thought. He’s useless to you. He’ll make it harder for you - and he’s dangerous. Kill him and leave, like you planned to do. No one but Daiki will know what happened.

The temptation is strong. Whatever chance Daiki was trying to give him to take the high road… it’s not not nearly as foolproof as this would be.

Red eyes are watching him, uncertainty plain in them. The shade is so similar to Bakugou’s that Dabi wonders for a nonsensical moment if they’re distantly related. Funny, though, how the reminder of the kid’s involvement is actually what stays his hand.

Dabi hardens his expression, “I can give us cover. Let’s get going before they relocate and pop us off here like goddamn sitting ducks.”

The decay villain gives a shaky nod and reaches up, clasping Dabi’s hand with his uninjured one - making sure one pinky sticks out.

Dabi releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and heaves Shigaraki upright, pulling the other villain’s arm over his shoulder.

Putting on a show of scoping out the alleyway, Dabi readjusts his grip on Shigaraki and sends out a swath of blue flames with his free hand, giving them a shield as they stumble toward the back of the bar.

Then Dabi sucks in a breath of too-hot air and kicks open the door of the villain’s hideout.

——

The line goes dead, and it’s calm for several minutes as Kasai presumably makes his way to where Shigaraki had fallen. Daiki watches through his sight until Kasai pokes his head around the corner, apparently scoping the area. Then he sends out a wash of blue fire, effectively shielding the two of them from view. Daiki barely catches the tail end of them staggering through the back door of the hideout together.

He releases another breath, and touches the computer key next to him, sending the video he’d created with Bakugou’s escape. With the kid alive, there was no reason for Shigaraki to actually die.

A gamble, but it looked like it had paid off. Bakugou had been right, in that little last minute powwow in Yuko’s clinic. Injuring Shigaraki had just about the same chance of success as killing him did. Even painted Dabi in the light of a rescuer, in the end.

Kasai was right - the kid’s scarily smart, Daiki muses shakily, unscrewing the suppressor from the end of his rifle. And any chance I can give Kasai to come back… I’m taking it.

Quickly, he packs up his gun and turns to put away his computer, only to pause at the bright red, flashing indicator going off in the corner.

One of the security cameras he’d hijacked was picking up movement.

Alarmed, he taps the icon for the camera. The bottom of his stomach drops out.

Heroes and police - scores of them, pouring out of warehouses. Converging on the hideout Kasai had just entered.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Daiki chants, scrambling with sweaty palms for his phone and dialing Kasai.

It rings to voicemail.

He tries again, spying All Might, Endeavor, and Edgeshot making their way to the front of the forces. Three of the top five pro heroes. Here. Now.

He dials again. No answer. Sweat is pouring down his back.

“C’mon, c’mon, Kasai. Answer your fucking phone.”

Police circle the building, cutting off exits from any conceivable side. Daiki spies two helicopters orbiting in a wide loop. Blades noiseless in the distance, but unmistakably prepared to stop an aerial escape.

Daiki closes his eyes, clenching his cellphone tight in his hands. Then he pulls up his one, stupid, favorite program on his computer. Plugging in Kasai’s phone number, he sends the emergency signal they’d worked out so many years ago. The one that meant ‘heroes incoming’.

Below his own rooftop position, he can finally hear the sound of the police pouring into the alley between him and the back of the League hideout. Before too long, his hiding place will become completely untenable.

In his hands, the phone rings to silence again. Kasai still hasn’t left the building.

Horrified, helpless, he watches the camera feed as the heroes walk up to the front entrance of the hideout, and blow the wall in.

——

Shigaraki is muttering curses under his breath from the couch as Dabi pulls over the first aid kit that Kurogiri had tossed his way. A bar cloth sees itself reborn as a stopgap for bleeding as Dabi bears down on Shigaraki’s shoulder.

Bones shift under his hand and Shigaraki makes a mindless grab at Dabi’s wrist. Fortunately, Twice catches the decay user’s arm before he unintentionally amputates Dabi’s hand.

“Fuck,” Shigaraki wheezes when Dabi presses down harder. The flame villain’s face is grim and concentrated.

“Kurogiri,” he calls. “Gonna need a sedative. Bone’s sticking out - gotta reset it.”

“What the hell happened?!” Spinner’s rattled voice comes from somewhere behind Dabi, who is busy trying to find the source of the copious amounts of blood squirting all over his hands.

“Twice,” he says, ignoring the question and his leader’s continued cursing and thrashing. “Hold his head down.”

“Ooohhh, look at all this blood! How could you guys start something like this without me??”

That’s Toga, being all psychotic in the background. Dabi blocks her out too.

The sedative is laid down beside him by a misty hand. Dabi glances up to meet narrowed, luminescent eyes.

“What happened to Shigaraki Tomura?” Kurogiri demands, cultured voice ice cold. Dabi scowls.

“I have no fucking idea. Found him like this when he didn’t show up.”

“You were meeting with him?”

Warm blood pools under Dabi’s hands and he feels his irritation rising. “You wanna play twenty questions? Or you wanna help me keep him alive?”

Shigaraki groans in pain and Dabi turns his attention back to the decay villain’s injury.

Bullet or bone probably nicked an artery, the flame villain thinks, wiping away the constantly refilling pool of blood. Dammit Daiki, I’m going to kill you if we make it out of this alive.

As if in response to his thoughts, his phone begins vibrating in his pocket. Dabi ignores it. He has no time for his friend’s explanations now - he’s found the source of the bleeding.

It’s extremely unhygienic, but Dabi figures antibiotics can take care of anything he’s carrying on his hands. Besides, no germs are gonna be surviving the heat he generates.

Pinching two fingers together in a tiny, makeshift clamp, he finds the artery that’s pumping out blood like a broken pipe and starts searing.

Shigaraki screams, then clenches his teeth down hard, biting back further sounds of pain. Dabi would commend him for his apparent pain tolerance if he weren’t scoping out the injury for further leaks.

But other than the regular bleeding of a back-to-front puncture wound, he doesn’t see anything to indicate fatal damage. Daiki had placed his shot pretty well, despite the nicked artery.

Sighing, Dabi pushes back momentarily from the gory scene.

“Kurogiri, can you take care of the sedative? Need to wash my hands off before I reset his collarbone.” And he needs to get a second to catch his breath. Reevaluate the situation.

The warp gate villain assesses him, blocking his path away from the couch.

His phone starts buzzing again in his pocket, and Dabi feels his anxiety tick up a notch - Daiki wouldn’t call twice unless it was important.

“Fucking let him do his shit,” comes Shigaraki’s strained voice from the couch. Then he devolves into a coughing fit and Kurogiri steps forward to kneel beside his charge.

Dabi strides away swiftly, getting out of the crowded room and hustling to the bathroom. The only place even remotely private in the entire building, located as it was at the end of the hall.

He’s almost to the door when Compress steps out, wiping his hand on an old towel. He tilts his head at Dabi.

“What’s going on? Sounded like a madhouse out there.”

Dabi’s phone rings again before he can answer, and it’s the low trilling warning of heroes incoming. His blood goes cold.

“Shit,” he hisses, whipping around to stare back the way he came. Through the open doorway leading into the bar area, he can see the far wall. So he witnesses the moment the wall explodes, and All Might himself steps through.

Chapter Text

The scene Toshinori steps into is not one he had anticipated at all. In fact, if asked, he would have listed ‘villains gathered around their injured leader in apparent tizzy’ as possibly the last scenario he would have guessed.

But that’s what they have before them, and he’s had too long of a career to let the unexpected sway him.

“Shigaraki Tomura, we are here,” he booms out, as Kamui Woods’ capture branches streak past him to pin the villains in their various positions. Off to the side, he catches Edgeshot spearing Kurogiri just as the branches take hold. And Toshinori can feel his hair flatten from the pressure of Gran Torino jettisoning into the room in search of the flame villain. Just as planned, so far.

Except there is no sign of Bakugou anywhere.

The villains seem caught completely by surprise, and it’s only a muttered, “Holy shit,” from the villain Magne that breaks the momentary silence. That’s when Toshinori steps forward, taking control of the room.

“Where is young Bakugou?” He growls, scanning the room for his missing student. Finding no trace of the boy, he nods to Edgeshot, who lengthens himself out to search the rest of the hideout.

“It’s the number one hero!” The one called Twice stage whispers from the ground near Shigaraki’s feet. Then, in a completely different voice, “The number one numb nut loser.”

“What the hell, how did they find us?” Spinner can be heard saying to Shigaraki from his place pinned to the wall. “You don’t think Dabi…?”

“Shut up,” hisses the leader, never taking his feverish red eyes off of Toshinori.

“Where is he?” Twice pitches in. “We could use some help! We don’t need ‘em.”

“Your dumb wood is picking at my sweater!” Toga whines from behind the couch, trying to stab at the wooden arms wrapped around her torso. Kamui Woods shoots Toshinori an uncertain look.

“Shigaraki…” Toshinori repeats, glaring down at the injured leader of the League. A first aid kit lies propped up on the coffee table and a blood soaked towel is pressed against the villain’s shoulder, indicating a nasty wound.

“…it was you, wasn’t it?” the decay villain asks, voice hoarse with disbelief and anger. “Not very heroic, shooting a guy in the back, you know.”

Toshinori’s brows furrow deeply. “That injury was not our doing.” He pauses, wondering if Shigaraki would need a medic before they interrogated him. But he shakes it off - the decay villain can answer him at least one question. “I will ask you again - where is young Bakugou?”

Shigaraki glares at him hatefully from where he is pinned against the back of the couch. His silence is sullen and telling, and the rest of the League seems to follow his lead, all turning angry scowls on the intruding heroes. Then Toshinori notes that there is no sign of the villains Dabi or Compress, and frowns.

Are they with young Bakugou? Could they have known of our arrival from the traitor?

Kamui Woods is looking questioningly in his direction, but he shakes his head. They would wait for Edgeshot and Torino to report on the rest of the hideout before they made their next move.

Hopefully they will find something -

As soon as he thinks it, Edgeshot yanks back like a snapped rubber band and yells, “Down!”

Blue flames roar down the hallway and pour into the room. Villains and heroes alike are yelling and flinching away from the scorching column of destructive power.

Toshinori leaps away from it too, feeling the oxygen suck down to dangerously low levels as the flames eat through everything in their path - bar, stools, even the walls. Bottles of alcohol explode like grenades going off, adding to the unholy cacophony of destruction.

Hacking hard as his remaining lung works overtime in the thin air, he spares glances at his fellow heroes, assessing their safety levels.

Kamui Woods had almost dropped Magne as he yanked back from the fire that was his only weakness. Fortunately, it appeared he was unscathed. Edgeshot had gotten out in time as well, but where was Gran Torino?

“Overhead,” comes a voice from the ceiling above. Toshinori casts his gaze upward.

Cape smoking and singed, Torino’s eyes are hard as he braces to kick forward. “We almost had him - keep the others busy.”

From the smoking hole in the doorway, Toshinori catches sight of a figure moving. Then he hears laughter, as one of the villains steps forward.

“You assholes sure know how to kick a guy when he’s down,” says Dabi, blue eyes wide and slightly manic as flames lick up his arms. Kamui would never be able to get ahold of him like that.

A whisper of air passes over Toshinori’s head, letting him know Gran Torino is moving again. Only… nothing happens. He loses track of his mentor in the billowing smoke, but the flame villain is still standing.

“Ah, misdirection,” another voice comes from the smoke behind Dabi. The one they’d finally identified as Sako Atsuhiro, or Mr. Compress, steps into the room, holding up a glinting blue marble between two fingers.

Toshinori grinds his teeth.

Enough of this.

He’s moving before any of the villains can react, and the shrinking villain is down for the count, knocked senseless against the hardwood floor with Toshinori’s hand spread across his masked face. The marble containing Gran Torino is gripped carefully in Toshinori’s free hand. He slips it into his belt for safe keeping.

“Where is young Bakugou?” He reiterates forcefully, glaring up at the other newcomer, Dabi. According to their intelligence, the flame user was the last one to be seen with his student.

Dabi’s eyes meet Toshinori’s, his expression intense and conflicted. The whole room appears hold its breath, and the crackle of smoldering floorboards is the only noise. Then Dabi’s expression smooths.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The flame villain drawls, and turns his aim on Toshinori. But the Symbol of Peace is already moving.

The flame villain is slammed against the wall, Toshinori’s arm across his neck. “Do not struggle, Dabi. You are all under arrest. Any attempt to resist will only result in your injury.”

The flame villain’s eyes are alight with something furious - almost unhinged.

“You think you’re the first pro to try and kill me?” he hisses, getting a hand on Toshinori’s wrist. “You fuckers really are all the same.”

Toshinori tenses at the heat and is about to resort to more violent measures when a haggard voice calls out, “Wait!”

——

The look of terror and fury on Dabi’s face is scary for the usually apathetic villain, and it washes away any doubt that Tomura had harbored about Dabi being involved with the attack. No one could look like that if they’d planned for this to happen.

And if that’s true, then Dabi’s on their side for real and about to get creamed like a fucking beginner. Shigaraki can’t even work up the smugness he would have felt over that just an hour ago, because with everything on the line, up against a boss, he knows they need Dabi’s strength. If he wants to get down to the code level, he’d even admit he doesn’t want their resident black-humored asshole to die.

So, what they need is an even playing field. And a minor distraction.

Can’t tell ‘em the brat is nearby. We might need that move later. But that’s not the only play we have.

“If you want the brat back, I’d take a look at your other options,” Tomura’s voice is strained with the pressure the tree bastard is exerting. His shoulder is absolutely howling at him in pain. But he’s not just going to sit back and watch the heroes brutalize his League. Not when they have backup only a call away.

“…He’s just… a minor character. But you mess with us… and we bring all our players to the game!” He hits the call button with a half-numb pinky.

“All Might!” Kamui Woods calls, sending another streak of wood out. Tomura’s phone go tumbling from his hand, but the damage is done.

“Master,” the decay villain gasps out, “Lend us your power!”

“The Nomu…” Tomura hears Spinner wheeze. At his feet Twice lets out a strained whine as the branches wrapped around him tighten reflexively. Tomura grunts too as his arms are squeezed further into his ribs. Between the heroes and the villains, there is a tense moment of silence.

But nothing happens.

Sensei…? Tomura stares at his phone, horror dawning on him. Where are you, sensei?!

——

Dabi doesn’t wait for the rescue that isn’t coming. As soon as All Might opens his mouth to make some condescending remark to Shigaraki, the flame villain is exploding into motion.

Stealing Bakugou’s move, he keeps his hands low and braces his elbows against the wall behind him. The kickback slams his elbows into wall, numbing his arms, but the blast of fire that roars out of his hands is hot enough for All Might to drop him like a sack of rocks. And that’s the only opening Dabi needs to get off a vicious shot at Kamui Woods.

The forest hero curses and kicks back away from the fire shooting his direction, then All Might is barreling into his side, taking him to the floor like an American linebacker. Dabi’s skull bashes into the hardwood with unforgiving force, scattering stars across his vision.

“Enough!” The hero roars, sounding very far away. Dabi’s head lolls, and his vision doubles briefly as he stares at the prone form of Compress.

They’d had no fucking time to plan, in the hallway. In fact, the whole strategy had basically boiled down to Dabi pointing to himself and saying, “red herring,” in the hopes that the book-loving magician would understand. Then he’d been making a mess and causing a goddamn scene. Hoping Compress would know what to do.

At the moment, he can’t tell if the magician is holding up two fingers or four or if Dabi’s just been knocked so stupid he’s seeing what he wants.

Musta been two fingers, he decides as his heart only has time to beat a couple of labored pulses before the weight crushing his side vanishes. Something round and cold nearly plinks him right in the eye. Something else hits him in the collarbone. Another marble? Is he feeling doubles too?

The kid was not fucking joking, he thinks absurdly. He was every bit of five hundred pounds. My ribs.

The other heroes are yelling for All Might, real surprise in their voices at the actual misdirection. Meanwhile, Dabi is plucking the marble out of his hair, where it’d gotten caught. The other rolls down his collar bone into his jacket sleeve, but he’s too distracted to dig for it.

Kamui is snagging Compress in a hold that looks very painful as Dabi pulls himself achingly to his hands and knees, marble clutched in his hand.

“Hey, assholes,” he slurs, trying to get his eyes to focus on all the doubled people in the room. He raises one fist - a parody of All Might’s victory pose.

“Back off, or I melt your precious All Might while he’s…uh, Ball Might.”

From the villain contingent, Twice groans loudly. “Your puns are so beautifully lame. I can’t believe you just said that.”

I can’t believe I did either, Dabi winces. Blood trickles down his forehead, trailing alongside his nose. He reaches his other hand to wipe it, and it’s the only opening the remaining heroes need.

Edgeshot is on him in the time it takes for one drop of blood to hit the floor, narrowed down to the width of a bullet. The ninja hero punches through Dabi’s hands and pins them palm-to-palm to the wall. The force of the blow drags him by his knees across the floor several inches and the marble goes clattering toward the ninja hero.

It takes a solid five-count for the pain to register, but when it does, Dabi’s back bows, bent in a facsimile of prayer.

Oh, fuck, he thinks woozily.

There’s yelling all around him. Heroes scrabbling for the marble containing their precious Pillar of Peace. Villains yelling bloody murder at the heroes. It all fades a bit into the background for Dabi. He blames the probable concussion.

One thing is clear enough though - his efforts to take the heroes down were not enough.

Never enough, he acknowledges bitterly. Even taking All Might out of the picture hadn’t turned the tides. The goddamn heroes still won in the end.

At least I bought enough time for Daiki to get away. It’s the only bright spot in an otherwise perfect clusterfuck.

He’d probably say something stupid, Dabi muses, possibly deliriously. Like, ‘it can’t get any worse’.

But it’s going to, Dabi knows. He’ll end up in jail as practically a nobody, with his story completely suppressed by Endeavor. And even if it does leak, nobody will care enough for it to make a difference.

He can see it playing out in his mind - the police, the crooked heroes, the bought-off politicians and lawyers, working together to keep the status quo. Sweeping it all under the rug. Everything Dabi has fought for, the flames he’s kindled so diligently for years - smothered by the selfish desires of untouchable men.

Actually, you know what? Fuck that.

Dabi knows what he’s thinking is stupid, and that it’ll hurt him more than anyone else. But he’s beyond caring. Heat is building beneath his skin, and smoke pours from his seams.

It’s already starting to hurt. But in the face of the alternative, Dabi is willing to accept a little pain. He always has been.

This one’s for you, dad.

Clenching his teeth, Dabi twists his hands so his fingers are pointing up, and unleashes everything he’s got.

——

Approximately six minutes earlier.

Please don’t do anything stupid, Daiki thinks at Kasai vehemently, fingers flying across his keyboard.

He’s thrown open his backdoor into the police records and is tearing through firewalls, encryptions, and data blockers like they’re tissue paper. He’s gotta find something, somewhere, to get the police away from his friend.

There it is. His face is fixed in a tight grimace as he pulls up a list of alpha level commands. Eyes moving faster than any normal human’s, he finds the ones he needs and then flings his mind into another program, fingers running only fast enough to keep up with the commands he needs to get him the correct frequency.

Then his phone is in his hands and he’s on a direct line to Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa.

“Tsukauchi. Go for information.”

“Priority level alpha, code niner niner charlie,” Daiki rattles off, “New information just came down from the Hero Commission. One of their agents is in the field.”

“Hawks? Yes, we’re already aware,” Tsukauchi says, sounding distracted.

Hawks is here too? Daiki swallows. All of the top five heroes? The League of Villains doesn’t stand a chance.

“Negative,” he shoots back. “Inside agent with the League. Deep cover. Codename: Dabi.”

There’s a beat of silence from the other end, before Tsukauchi reacts. “Understood - send the HC request. I’ll relay to our team leads. But be advised, it might be too late.”

Daiki feels his throat constrict further. “Understood,” he says hoarsely as the line goes dead. Then he’s on his feet, rifle flung over his shoulder as he makes for the stairs. The only way to get Dabi out of this now is to be on the ground, acting as the representative of the Hero Commission, ready to intercept his friend before the police realized they’d been duped.

C’mon Kasai. Hang in there for just a little longer.

Chapter Text

After dropping Aizawa off in Yokohama to deliver his little doohicky, the UA teacher had declined further assistance in getting to Tokyo for his press conference, leaving Hawks to hang with the police. He can’t say he planned it that way, but when the leader of the rescue squad - a detective by the name of Tsukauchi - asked if Hawks would be willing to wait in the wings in case they needed him… well. He couldn’t help but say yes.

Also, he never turned down a person with a good wings pun.

So he watches from a couple of blocks away as the heroes make an absolute mess of the villain’s hideouts. It's probably more enjoyable than it strictly should be, given that he's a hero.

He’d picked his position carefully - a rooftop exactly halfway between targets alpha and beta. A poached pair of binoculars let him see the action up close. So close, in fact, he had to blink spots from his eyes the first time blue flames shot out one side of target alpha.

All Might’s location calms down after that, so he turns the binoculars on the Nomu factory. There’s dust and debris lingering from Mt. Lady’s truly epic axe kick, and he can see Jeanist on the ground - Nomu tied up all around him. Gang Orca is further out, directing curious pedestrians away. Hawks frowns.

Didn’t the civilians have evacuation orders? Or are the police relying on the heroes to keep the fights contained?

Hawks hadn’t gotten a full debrief, thrown as he was on the team at the last second. Still, he starts stretching his shoulders and mentally checks his feathers. If any of the other buildings had people in them… if they became compromised with the factory’s collapse… he’d need to be ready for rescue operations.

Not that he doesn’t understand the enthusiasm going on here. In fact, he’s pretty much all for it, considering he’s got some beef with these particular villains. Picking on kids is just not cool. Picking on Hawks’ one and only intern? Punishable offense. Preferably with extreme prejudice.

Still…. he’s just happy that Tokoyami is safe.

Watching through his binoculars, Hawks makes an exaggerated ‘ooooh’ noise of approval as Jeanist tosses another trussed up Nomu into the clearing made by Mt. Lady.

Nice, he thinks. Get some shots in for your intern, man.

Just as he does a little fist-pump of joy at seeing another monster’s beak snapped shut with a jean-crafted muzzle (which Hawks immediately dubs a ‘juzzle’) he feels his phone buzz.

A brief glance shows that it’s from Kanegai. Something about the kids at the hospital?

He’s about to open the text, just tugging his glove off with his teeth, when his com crackles.

“Hawks? Come in,” Tsukauchi’s tense voice comes over the channel. “We have a situation.”

——

Approximately one minute earlier

Naomasa clicks off the external line to his earpiece and takes a moment to process the overwhelming revelation. Not even he would have guessed something like that.

But Dabi… recruited by the Hero Commission? Todoroki Touya working for the heroes?

It seems fantastical. Something you might see in one of those crazy dramas that cares more about twists than it does about plot or consistency.

In this case though…

It would explain the mismatched fingerprints. The fact that they never caught Kasai - or Touya, rather - on camera. The red tape around Touya’s files. If the boy that Naomasa had thought was a vigilante was actually working deep cover for the Commission?

Everything would be explained. Even the fact that he was too young for such manipulation could be countered by an example like Hawks. The number three hero had been just a child when the Hero Commission found him, after all.

And if Dabi is Touya, then… Naomasa looks over at Endeavor.

He’d known the risk, when putting together his team of assorted heroes. Known he was running the risk of those two meeting. He couldn’t even tell himself that there was no solid proof of Dabi’s identity. Because if he was being honest with himself, he’d believed Dabi was Touya since he’d seen the police sketch.

But it was one thing to plan for Gran Torino to take Dabi out of the fight early and hold Endeavor in reserve, away from the younger fire user. This information, however, changed the game.

He would not send the number two hero up against his son unknowingly - especially not if that son was deep cover. The chances were slim that they’d meet, but he’d rather not risk it.

He opens the channel to Hawks, their wild card, waiting in reserve at a halfway point between targets alpha and beta. Privately, he blesses the the lucky coincidence that the number three was on hand when they needed him.

“Hawks? Come in,” he says quietly. “We have a situation.”

“Yessir? Got a job for me?” The winged hero is eager, if the words tripping over each other are an indication. Naomasa takes a steadying breath.

“Yes - I need you to switch with Endeavor. Something has come up.”

“Alright, sure. It looks like Best Jeanist and his team have everything under control here. Be there in thirty.”

Naomasa’s eyebrows arch. “Minutes?”

“Heh - seconds.”

It takes five of those seconds for Naomasa to comprehend that level of speed. Hawks is at least four city blocks away. Even All Might would struggle to move that fast, nowadays.

“Okay then,” he mutters, shielding his mouth from the officers milling around him. “There’s something I need to ask you. Do you know anything about the Hero Commission’s black ops forces? Or their spies?”

The muffled sound of wind can be heard over Hawks’ line. “I’ve run a few missions with them, but honestly I was just following orders. Don’t know much about the guts of that branch.”

“Alright,” Naomasa sighs privately. “I might need to have you check in on it. But for now you should know that Dabi has been identified with an HC alpha code as being deep cover. I need to tell All Might and Best Jeanist, but I figured I’d com you first.”

“Fair enough!” calls a voice from above Naomasa’s head. He glances up, hair splaying slightly against his forehead from the downdraft coming off Hawks’ massive wings. The number three hero grins at him.

“Gotta say, that’s not something you hear everyday,” Hawks comments casually, curiously. Naomasa barely manages a weak smile.

No, certainly not something you hear everyday, he thinks, turning his attention back to the villain’s hideout. Barely four minutes have passed since the heroes had entered. But it was already longer than their strategists had predicted.

Anxious as he is to know what’s going on in the building though, he has one other task on his list. Sgt. Kato could monitor target alpha alone for another thirty seconds. Lifting his hand to his ear, he coms the number two hero.

“Endeavor, come in.”

“Go.” Comes the growling voice of the flame hero. Over the officer’s heads, Naomasa can see that Endeavor never takes his eyes off of the villain hideout.

“You’re needed over at target beta as back up,” the detective says firmly, tone brooking no argument. Endeavor rears around to glare at him.

“That denim hero has it under control,” he growls.

And indeed, at that moment Best Jeanist broadcasts across the airwaves.

“Nomu storage center, captured and secured.”

Naomasa tunes back into the group frequency briefly. “Any sign of Bakugou or Ragdoll?”

Then, in an instant, chatter begins from target alpha.

“Shit that’s hot!” Toshinori’s voice hisses into the mic. Kamui Woods is right behind him.

“No kidding! Nice shot though, All Might!”

“Alpha, what’s going on? Do you need backup?” Naomasa asks, concerned and stymied. He needs to get Endeavor gone, now.

Kamui Woods answers, “Negative on the backup. Most of the villains secured. All Might just pinned the flame user. No sign of either target, however.”

Best Jeanist’s curt voice answers from his position as well. “…Negative on Bakugou. Ragdoll has been recovered. Her condition is unclear,” he reports. “But there’s someone else…”

“Do you want me back over - ” Hawks’ question breaks off when a crippling, shattering noise screeches across their headsets. It’s a testament to the number three’s control that he doesn’t fall out of the sky - just whips around at the same time as Naomasa, staring at the massive column of smoke rising from target beta.

“Hawks, Endeavor, go now,” he snaps, yelling loudly enough for the number two to hear as well.

To the flame hero’s credit, he takes off at a sprint immediately. Officers dive out of his way as he charges like a volcanic train through their ranks. Hawks, of course, is already gone, with only one violent gust to mark his take off.

Naomasa can feel his grip of the situation slipping.

“Best Jeanist, report,” he calls into the number four’s channel sharply. The line only emits a flatline buzz that indicates it is offline entirely. Nostrils flaring in fear, he switches over to the target beta bandwidth.

“Report from target beta, what is happening?!” Sweat pours down Naomasa’s spine under his bullet proof jacket. In the distance, he can hear sirens begin to wail.

“Some… something… came out of the Nomu factory….” Gang Orca coughs into the line, his usually sonorous voice reduced to a thready wheeze. “Jeanist… grabbed us. Don’t know where… the… aggghhh…. others are…”

That is not good.

“Mount Lady, Tiger, come in - what is your status?”

Static is his only answer, buzzing and crackling ominously. Unlike Best Jeanist’s, their mics are still online. But Tiger and Mount Lady either aren’t responding… or they can’t.

Cold terror lodges itself in Naomasa’s throat, making it hard to breathe. Uncertainty wracks him as the fate of four top heroes remains an enormous question mark. One that might be answerable, by now.

Switching lines once again, he calls into his mic, “Hawks, position?”

Again, ominous silence. This time, he hopes it’s because the hero is too busy saving people to respond. He chews his lip anxiously just as Sgt. Kato turns his way.

“We have a situation inside target alpha,” the sergeant says in clipped tones. His entire body language screams tense.

“I think we have a bigger situation at target beta,” Naomasa returns, cold certainty beginning to creep its way into his mind.

“All Might and Grand Torino have been turned into marbles,” Sgt. Kato says flatly. The detective feels his heart lurch.

“Shit.” The urge to barge in and save his friend is almost overwhelming. But if it’s who he thinks it is over at target beta, they need him far more than even his best friend does. So, a bandaid to cover the alpha cut while he tries to stop the beta bleed out.

To Kato, he rattles off commands, “Send in teams three and four, with one and two as back up. Priority is to support Kamui Woods and Edgeshot and recover All Might and Gran Torino. Get someone up on the roof too - I want eyes everywhere in case they try for a clever escape.”

“I got the roof!” Says a man behind Naomasa. The detective barely flickers an eye over his shoulder, noting the rifle kit and the police vest.

“Do it,” Naomasa barks, and turns the coms back to Endeavor, knowing the flame hero should be close to target beta.

“Endeavor. Report.”

“One block out.” The flame hero’s voice is tight, controlled. “Level 3, code 10 disaster. Level 9 threat.”

Level 3, code 10. Shit.

It was the kind of disaster level for when an enemy bomb was dropped. The kind that affected a significant portion of the city. And the code - that meant civilians present, with fatalities visible.

“Repeat on the threat level?” Naomasa asks numbly, taking in the massive pillar of smoke rising in the distance.

Static fuzzes up Endeavor’s response, but through the crackling he can just barely hear it.

“Upda… threa… ..ow level 10.” Then the line cuts dead completely.

It has to be him, Naomasa realizes in dread, wondering if he’d just sent another hero to his death.

It has to be All For One.

——

The shockwave hits Hawks barely ten seconds after the initial blast, and it catches his wings hard, yanking him back in the air like a pulled parachute. His shoulders ache from the sudden strain, but Hawks grits his teeth and forces himself to concentrate.

Cutting his wings down, he makes his body narrow and uses his telekinesis to propel all of his attached feathers forward like magnets snapping toward the giant ball of iron that was target beta. He accelerates forward at over a hundred miles an hour, but has to pump the breaks almost immediately. Because the sight in front of him doesn’t make any sense.

Target beta is gone.

A huge swath of buildings - completely obliterated down to the foundations. Around him the city sirens have started wailing, but it doesn’t block out the sounds of screaming.

Heart in his throat, he cuts through the haze to ground zero - the eye of the hurricane - where the air is clear. Vaguely he hears Tsukauchi calling into his headset, but the scene in the middle of the clearing draws his attention.

In the center, a mere pinprick in the distance, Best Jeanist is on his back. And an ominous figure is literally hovering over the prone hero.

Hawks doesn’t hesitate. He pours on the speed, dust splaying wide in his wake as he rockets forward. From his furiously beating wings, two feathers shoot ahead like precision controlled javelins.

They spear the suited man in both shoulders, but don’t plow the villain back like Hawks had anticipated. In fact, the monster barely budges an inch.

The terror that spikes through Hawks just adds to his adrenaline, forcing him to fly faster than he’s ever moved in his life. And the moment stretches out like an eternity. A Roman frieze sculpture of an avenging angel, descending to strike down the devil.

But in reality, Hawks has a tenth of a second to see the unholy thing in front of him move. Then he’s grabbing his feathers mentally and bracing for impact.

The blast echoes for miles.

——

Alongside the Nomu factory remains, Fumikage’s heart is hammering against his ribs. Dark Shadow - despite the darkness they are clustered in - is shaking with fear. Because the sheer amount of energy - malevolence - permeating the air is unreal. Fumikage thought he knew darkness. Despair.

But this palpable evil steals the breath from his lungs.

Beside him, he can feel Yaoyorozu trembling, her hand covering her mouth and her usually wise eyes mere pinpricks of terror. None of them move an inch, despite the sounds of buildings being leveled behind them. Screams shatter the silence that follows. Like thunder in the wake of lighting - the crack of voices rising in terror, agony, and loss.

It’s horrifying.

Yaoyorozu fumbles for Fumikage’s hand, squeezing it far too tightly. On her other side, he can see her gripping the front of Todoroki’s shirt so hard her knuckles are white. At his own shoulder, Dark Shadow whimpers.

Is this who Bakugou’s been up against? Fumikage thinks frantically, clenching Yaoyorozu’s hand back. He can feel the feathers across his crown spiking out so hard that the quills pinch. What insane power. He would never stand a chance.

Over the sound of the sirens and the people screaming - and gods of darkness, that is sickening - they can hear a deep voice begin speaking.

“Ah, that’s the number four hero for you. I was planning to blast them all straight to hell!” A hearty chuckle follows along with the sound of slow clapping. “But you grabbed them all by their clothes and threw them aside at the last second. Such quick decision making, such technique… such incredible reflexes.”

Each compliment rings with ominous intent. Turning his head ever so slightly, Fumikage can just barely see through a crack in the concrete wall. A tall, suited man is approaching Best Jeanist. The number four hero is sprawled out on his back, alone, in the middle of the carnage.

And it is carnage, that Fumikage can see. The landscape that had previously been clogged with buildings has been completely cleared for several blocks. There’s just… nothing left. Like it’d been obliterated, down to the atoms. Had only one person been responsible for this?

The man is speaking again, standing directly over Jeanist. “Your strength is the product of endless training and a wealth of experience,” the villain says casually. “But I don’t need it.”

He raises a hand, and the threat in that simple gesture makes Fumikage clench his eyes shut.

The sound of an explosion hits a split second before the shockwave does, and Fumikage is not the only one of them to have the breath knocked from his lungs.

He squints open a blurry eye, desperately trying not to cough. But even half blinded by the dust, Fumikage would never be able to mistake those red wings.

Hawks! Hawks-sensei is here!

Chapter Text

Down from one roof and up to another, Daiki thinks as he bounds up another landing two steps at a time. The bag holding his laptop is thumping into his ribs with each step and the strap of his rifle kit digs into his shoulder even through the police vest he’d pilfered from a tranquilized officer.

Bringing tranquilizers was a really freaking good idea, he thinks somewhat ridiculously, shoulder slamming into the roof door. It’s like grandma always says - “It pays to be prepared.”

He skids to a stop at the edge of the roof, eyes trained on the front of the villain hideout, where the heroes would likely be leading out their captured villains any minute now. With a speed his shooting instructor would have been damn proud of, he hauls out his rifle and loads in the next round of tranqs. The only break in his concentration is when he lines up the rifle sight on the front entrance of the building, letting it auto adjust for the new distance.

On his other side, all he has to do is pop open his laptop and lay one hand on top of the keyboard. It’s easier when he physically types in commands, but he can flip through his open programs with just a thought if he concentrates hard enough. Right now, he’s got it open to the police feeds from the ground. Just letting the chatter wash over him as he tries to keep his shit together.

Daiki’s brain is buzzing at about a million miles a minute. Kasai - trapped inside with the villains. A thin cover story fed to the police. Something really fucking bad happening off to the east, if the huge pillar of smoke in his peripherals is anything to go by. Literally everything going to hell in a handbasket.

I should have just let Kasai kill that guy, he thinks furiously. Sweat tickles the corners of his eyes and he blinks it away, pressing his eye closer to the sight. The hole left by the heroes affords him some view into the hideout from this vantage point, and he can see movement inside.

Just outside the hole, two squads of police are approaching cautiously. Daiki can hear someone directing them to recover the heroes and subdue the villains - with force, if necessary.

Fucking hell, Daiki thinks. Kasai’s not bulletproof. A reckless part of him starts seeking out targets on the police reinforcements. At the neck. Under the arms. Backs of the knees. But he knows he’s not fast enough to bring them all down before someone takes him out. Or decides to blame it on the villains.

I’m such an idiot. We would already be on our way back to Yuko’s by now if we’d just done it Kasai’s way, Daiki fumes, gut twisting uncomfortably. And Kasai wouldn’t be fucking outnumbered by heroes and police, again, with no goddamn choices.

Daiki’s so furious with himself for putting his friend back in danger that his hands tremble ever so slightly. It’s almost enough for him to miss the flare of blue flames.

Definitely not enough for him to miss a section of the roof blowing sixty feet into the air, fire trailing behind like some kind of insane reverse comet.

“Holy shit, Touya,” Daiki whispers as he tracks the roof’s assent. The flames are so hot that the concrete crumbles to dust, leaving only a cloud of powdery ash to rain back down.

Quickly, he turns his sight back to the hideout - just in time to see the two squads swarm into the bar. Daiki’s heart hammers. The chances of Kasai coming out of this alive just dropped again. And even claims of Dabi being deep cover wouldn’t quite fly with the kind of resistance Kasai is putting up. Anymore and they’d shoot first and call it ‘friendly fire’ later.

If only I could get him some kind of message.

Daiki freezes, the hand over his computer going rigid.

Maybe…?

Goddamn, that might just work.

——

Edgeshot’s arm is blown clean off, along with part of the wall and a good chunk of roof. Dabi can tell because his hands suddenly fall slack into his lap, bouncing against his already injured thigh. The pain of impact is doubled, between the bloody holes and the second degree burns.

“Ow,” he mutters distantly, staring down at his mangled hands. To his left, he can hear the rest of the room in chaos again. Dabi wishes they’d shut the fuck up and spare his head from its incessant throbbing. His everything from throbbing, if he’s being honest.

As if in vindictive response to his internal complaints, his phone starts ringing with another tinny K-Pop song, adding to the cacophony. Only this time, it’s not playing the warning lines of “you’re in danger”. In fact, it seems to be a piecemeal message made up of the English portions of songs.

“Stop - Get out - You’re a - SPY - Lie! - I’m here - I got you!”

Dabi stares at his pocket, where the music is coming from, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Daiki, what the fuck,” he wheezes softly, but with real confusion. Because what the hell? Was his English that rusty, or was Daiki trying to tell him…?

Actually, he isn’t sure what Daiki’s trying to tell him. His brain is functioning at maybe ten percent capacity. But if he knows his friend, Daiki likely has some completely brilliant and utterly insane plan going on, and the main gist of it is that Dabi needs to go outside?

Did he not notice the fucking shit-load of police and heroes? Dabi wonders vaguely. Also, what the fuck is he still doing here? Does he want to get caught? Even as he thinks it, he notices a portion of said shit-load of police now milling about in the opening left by the heroes. Some of the dozen or so guns, he notes, are pointed at him.

“Hands in the air!”

Dabi thinks about it, staring at his blistered and bleeding hands. The barest movement causes enough pain for the edges of his vision to go black, and that’s saying something, considering his pain tolerance.

He raises defiant blue eyes to glare at the police, just about ready to spit at them, when a wall of blue flames bursts into life right in front of them.

The flame villain squints at the fire, tuning out all the cursing and yelling from the other side.

Huh. That… wasn’t me.

Then a dark shape appears at his side, spiky-haired, stitched at the seams, and grinning in a way Dabi knows to be extremely uncomfortable.

“What’s up Dabi-bro! You look like shit.”

“…Twice?” Dabi croaks, staring at his own mirror image. The voice, however, is coming from the real Twice, hovering just behind the Dabi-clone.

“Nope. Yep! He’s a clone. The stupid tree guy dropped real-me to grab that ninja dude. You didn’t look like you needed help,” Twice supplies while the copy looks on in mild interest, standing guard. The cloner crouches down in front of him.

“The rest are still log-tied - hah, get it? log-tied - by the dumb tree dude,” Twice continues. “Any ideas? Toga-chan needs help. Fuck those other guys though.”

Dabi blinks, trying to get his thoughts back in order. Meanwhile, the copy casually shoots off another blast of blisteringly hot fire at the police, who appear to be chucking fire retardant grenades everywhere. Like those would work against Dabi’s level of heat.

“Okay, okay,” Dabi mutters. We have Twice, who is ridiculously overpowered, despite what most people think. Who else do we have?

“Is anyone else free?” He asks, turning his eyes back on the rest of the League. Fires are everywhere, and Kamui Woods seems to have his hands full - literally - with one bleeding hero in one branch, and the rest of the League held tight in the other. The police are stymied at the front of the room by the copy’s flames. Dabi and Twice are at the back of the room, closest to the rest of the League.

“It’s just you and me, buddy,” Twice says, flicking a thumbs up from one hand and a middle finger from the other. “We’re doomed.”

“Tch, maybe,” Dabi mutters, weighing their options. Then his eyes land on one of their unconscious compatriots, and he pauses.

“Or maybe not,” the flame villain says in a rush. This is it - it has to be. Their way outside. They can actually fucking escape this shitty situation. And then he can find out what the ever living fuck Daiki is doing.

“Twice, how much did you train with Kurogiri?”

——

Watching Dabi blast the arm off of a hero is one part terrifying and at least four parts satisfying as hell. Tomura would have actually offered a nod of approval if his fucking neck wasn’t locked up in agony from the bullet hole in his shoulder.

So, it’s through a kind of pain-fueled haze that he watches Kamui Woods drop Twice, of all people, to catch the staggering Edgeshot. The forest hero is frantically calling for backup and a medic even as he wraps a wooden tourniquet around the little nub of arm remaining at the ninja hero’s bicep.

Twice sits up from his place at Tomura’s feet, shaking out his arms dramatically, and looks up at Tomura, making a shushing motion with his hand. Then he’s up and creeping with surprising stealth over to where Dabi is kneeling.

Tomura can’t say he blames the cloner for going to Dabi, even if it does gall him to admit it. But the flame user had been the one fighting back this whole time, while the actual leader sat uselessly on a fucking couch.

Even the scrubs can tell who the real team lead is, he thinks bleakly.

He can still feel his consciousness fading in and out. And it makes him sick to think that he could be so useless as to pass out when things were going to shit and they had no fucking backup.

Tomura swallows tightly and his throat itches almost as much as his shoulder throbs.

Sensei abandoned us, he thinks nauseously. Gave up because I was too much of a failure. But I can’t just quit - I’ll prove that we’re worth it. It’s not game over yet.

Cautiously, he flexes his arms, trying to see if the freaking walking tree had loosened up enough for him to get more than a hand free. But no such luck. His squirming actually makes the asshole squeeze tighter, and Tomura can feel the breath being crushed from his lungs. His vision tunnels down to a mere pinprick.

Then, abruptly, he shakes his head.

It’s a terrible idea, really. But the sharp agony from his shoulder grounds him.

At his back, Toga lets out another low whine of protest. Off to Tomura’s right, Spinner is mumbling explicatives as he tries vainly to saw through a branch with one of his Stain knife knockoffs. Across the arm of the couch, Tomura catches the eyes of Magne, who is staring at him over her glasses.

On the other side of the coffee table, Kurogiri, his guardian, is out cold. Still pinned by the ninja hero who’d stabbed Dabi. Near Kurogiri’s prone form, though, is a glinting little ball.

“What’re you thinking?” Magne asks in a whisper. Tomura doesn’t smile, but his lips pull back to show teeth.

“I’m thinking it’s time we used our stats to our advantage,” Tomura breathes back, careful not to draw the attention of the panicking hero. He knows Kamui has the ability to squeeze harder, if he wants. Possibly lethally.

“Magne, you can you use your magnetism without your magnet, right?” Tomura asks, though he’s fairly confident he knows. He might not talk to the League like Dabi does, but he listens.

“Yeah, man. But it’s way smaller range,” Magne replies uncertainly. “Like, inches instead of feet.”

“Perfect,” Tomura smiles. “Toga’s a female behind me, Kurogiri’s a guy in front. Can you use her position to drag him closer? Quick burst of…” - he eyeballs it - “eight inches.”

“Uh, sure,” she says, obviously not getting it. From her angle though, she probably can’t see what Tomura can.

“On my mark,” he whispers. “Spinner? You still play soccer on the weekends?”

“…Yeah? Why?” Spinner asks, keeping his voice low. All four of them jolt, however, when two squads of police pile through the open doorway, guns pointing right at them.

Shit, out of time, Tomura thinks, heart beating furiously against his ribcage. Then a wall of fire comes out of nowhere, cutting the room in half, with the police on the other side. Tomura takes the opportunity while they have it.

“Magne,” he says urgently, “Now.”

Taking her cue, she slides Kurogiri abruptly forward, using Toga as the positive and Kurogiri as the negative charge. The warp villain smacks into the marble lying on the floor, sending it rolling toward Tomura.

The toe of his red sneaker actually catches on the floorboard, almost causing him to miss, but he still manages to kick it over to Spinner.

“Back to me!” he hisses, letting his otherwise useless hand fall open. Light dawns in Spinner’s eyes and he uses the pointed tip of his boot to flick the little ball into the air, catching it in the bend of his toe. He balances on one foot easily, then with a move that speaks of years of practice, he flips the ball into the air.

The reflective surface catches the bright lights of the flames, then the little marble smacks into his palm.

Tomura wraps four fingers around it, and grins.

——

“Okay, you got the plan?” Dabi says, keeping his hands rigid as he struggles to his feet. Twice helps him stand while the clone continues to fend off the police.

Copy Dabi almost looks like he’s having fun, shooting different grenades out of the air like they’re skeet. Flash-bangs, tear gas, fire retardants, knock out gas - none of them stand a chance against 3000 plus degrees of heat. The downside is, the building’s starting to collapse around them. With parts of the wall and ceiling missing and so much on fire still, they have maybe a couple of minutes before the whole thing comes down.

More than enough time, really, if all goes to plan.

I should know better than to think that, Dabi chastises himself briefly. But then Twice is splitting himself again, a wad of goop just falling out of his side like a gross mudslide. In a bare instant, a copy of Kurogiri is towering between them.

“Remember, I haven’t done this much. Misty is a scrooge. So, not totally sure we’ll all come out on the other end? Or that all of our body parts will,” Twice rambles, clutching the sides of his head like he always does when he’s stressed. Dabi acknowledges the explanation with a nod and a tight frown. His eyes are on the rest of the League.

“Compress first,” Dabi whispers. Copy Kurogiri nods and portals over the dozen or so steps to the unconscious villain. If Dabi’s guess is right, the heroes took Compress out after what happened to the Symbol of Peace. That part’s a bit fuzzy to him, but the wooden arm that had been wrapped around Compress is gone, indicating the shrinking villain is well and truly out of it. And apparently Kurogiri’s quirk works better when the person being transported isn’t struggling.

Can’t ask for much less struggling than unconsciousness, he thinks, cutting his eyes over to Kamui. The hero’s attention seems split between watching the villains in his immediate line of sight, fussing over the ninja bastard, and encouraging the struggling police reinforcements. It’d almost be funny if Dabi didn’t know how fucking tenacious these guys were. It was only a matter of time before they figured another way in. Or worked out how to destroy Twice’s clones.

“Done,” Twice says behind Dabi, nodding to his Kurogiri clone. The misty thumbs up is weird, but understandable given the origins of the clone. Then Twice is waggling fingers at him and making his way over to the others. The Dabi clone stays with the original.

“Okay, now to the next phase,” Dabi says, bracing himself.

He steps forward, drawing the forest hero’s attention.

“Hey kindling!” He calls, loudly enough to draw everyone’s attention. Even Shigaraki cranes around painfully to look at him, his red eyes wide.

Kamui’s head dips, narrowed eyes glaring at the flame user. Dabi has to admit the guy has guts, if nothing else - facing down the only quirk guaranteed to do him damage.

“You step any closer, and I won’t be gentle with your friends,” the forest hero says clearly over the sound of crackling flames and police shouts. He flexes his branches for effect.

Dabi raises his mangled hands, keeping his expression blank of the pain it causes him. “Hey, hey,” he chides. “Not very heroic of you. ‘Sides, I just wanna talk.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Twice approaching the back of the couch. The Kurogiri clone is already there, apparently whispering with Toga.

All to plan so far, Dabi thinks in self deprecation. Sure sign it’s about to go to shit.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he continues to the hero. “I don’t roast you, here and now, with my fun twin here” - he fights a cringe at the image of Fuyumi that pops up in his mind, and nods to his clone instead - “and you let those guys go. Sound fair?”

He grins lazily as his clone brings more flames to bear, making the rest of the fires in the room jump in response. When Twice had learned that particular technique of his, Dabi’s not sure. But the intimidation factor is impressive.

“I mean,” he says, casting a quick glance over at the couch, where Shigaraki is listening to Twice speak, eyes locked on Dabi. “Why not give it up? Even I think it’s a little hot in here. Could use some mist, you know?”

To his surprise, the decay villain grins his little psycho grin at him.

“I’d listen to him, if I were you, wood guy,” Shigaraki says, rolling his head indolently back to the hero.

“Especially since you seem to have, ah, lost your marble.”

——

Tomura relishes the look of horror that crosses the forest hero’s face. It feels good after being half strangled by the guy’s limbs over the past several minutes.

He’d barely flashed the marble at Kamui, wary of having it knocked from his hands like Dabi had. Only his pinky sticks out now - a very obvious threat to the little ball containing the Pillar of Peace.

“Well?” he says smugly, as if this had all been planned out from the beginning. Not like he’d just learned Dabi’s insane and possibly ingenious plan mere seconds ago from a whispering Twice.

“Okay,” the forest hero says, voice strained. “Okay - just… don’t kill him. I let you go and you roll the marble over here.”

“Hah, what do you take me for? A freaking greenhorn?” Tomura scoffs. “You get your fucking twigs off us and we leave. Maybe we’ll even let Compress unshrink your Symbol eventually. If we feel like it.”

“Keep talking,” Twice whispers. “Seriously, shut the hell up.”

Tomura doesn’t nod, but tilts his head slightly, blocking the top of the cloner’s head from view. Twice had said to buy him a minute to figure out how to warp so many people, and damned if Tomura wasn’t going to get it for him.

“You can’t seriously think you can beat All Might, right?” Kamui Woods says condescendingly, his own head tilted. Apparently the hero is listening to his own instructions from outside.

Tomura picks up on the insecurity and pounces on it, bringing his final finger within a hair’s breadth of the marble.

“You’d be surprised at what we can do,” he murmurs. The hero stiffens.

“Got it,” Twice whisper yells. Tomura smirks.

“Later noob!” he calls.

Then everything goes black

——

Back in Tokyo, less than ten minutes prior

Shouta enters the Musutafu police precinct in a rush, yanking at his formal tie in irritation. He knows that the hero strike team is already in motion, and he curses the reporters that held him up at the conference just down the street.

Still, there’s an intern waiting for his arrival in the lobby, and they immediately hustle him into a private room set up for him to listen in on the rescue operations.

At over an hour away, there was no question of him making it to the fight before it was over, but Tsukauchi had offered this little reprieve instead. Apparently, having the trust of All Might went a long way with the detective.

Shouta tosses his blazer over the back of one of the chairs and slides into the one with the headphones waiting for him on the table. He doesn’t even notice the intern closing the door softly. Instead, he flicks the little radio switch to on and begins listening intently.

“…mu storage center, captured and secured.” That’s Best Jeanist’s brisk voice. Aizawa feels a brief moment of relief that the Nomu have been neutralized. One encounter with them was more than enough for any lifetime, thanks.

“Any sign of Bakugou or Ragdoll?” And that’s Tsukauchi. Shouta tenses in anticipation of the answer.

Then, frustratingly, All Might’s voice cuts in, followed by Kamui. “Shit that’s hot!”

“No kidding! Nice shot though, All Might!”

“Alpha, what’s going on? Do you need backup?”

“Negative on the backup. Most of the villains secured. All Might just pinned the flame user. No sign of either target, however.”

Shouta closes his eyes, fearing the worst. His grip on the headphones over his ears makes the plastic creak in protest. Where are you Bakugou? he thinks, exhaustion and stress actually causing his shoulders to hitch. How the hell are we supposed to find you now?

Best Jeanist is talking again and Shouta struggles to pull himself together. “…Negative on Bakugou. Ragdoll has been recovered. Her condition is unclear. But there’s someone else…”

A shrieking noise, unlike anything Shouta has ever heard suddenly blares across the airwaves and he yanks the headphones off, cursing in pain.

Heart hammering, he pulls them back on in time hear Tsukauchi ordering Endeavor and Hawks to go - presumably to the source of the noise. Anxiety ratchets up with each hero the detective calls on, only to be met with silence. Finally, Gang Orca delivers his report.

“Some… something… came out of the Nomu factory….Jeanist… grabbed us. Don’t know where… the… aggghhh…. others are…”

All For One, Shouta thinks, finally realizing why All Might had passed on the information he had. Why he thought he might not come out of this fight alive.

Four top heroes, defeated in less than a second, he thinks numbly.

It all went to shit so quickly. They went from everything being completely under control to having half their heroes knocked out of the fight. And there was still no sign of Bakugou anywhere.

He can feel the tension of the situation, the urgency in Tsukauchi’s voice, radiating over the radio waves. It’s absolutely nerve wracking not being on the ground, either amongst the heroes or the police. Being a… spectator to events like this make his blood pressure rise, no matter how much he tries to tell himself that there’s nothing more he can do.

But when Edgeshot is called in as injured, and All Might is called in as out of commission, Shouta comes so close to saying ‘fuck it’ and driving back to Yokohama that he’s actually pulling his keys from his pocket and grabbing his jacket.

Then his phone buzzes. And he almost, almost, doesn’t look at it.

When he does, though, he can feel his heart falling. It’s from Bakugou Mitsuki - the mother of his missing student.

[Text from: Mom of Problem Child #2]

- Any news?

He stares at it for a beat.

Any news? At this point, no news would be better than the news he does have. Which is that Bakugou is nowhere to be found, apparently.

Shouta closes his eyes briefly, then steals himself.

[Text from: Aizawa]

- No. There’s been a complication.

A second after he hits send, his phone starts ringing. Swallowing, he pulls aside one earphone and taps the answer button.

“What do you mean by, ‘complication?’” Bakugou Mitsuki’s voice growls over the phone in a higher-pitched version of her son’s dulcet tones.

“Ma’am,” Shouta greets, stalling. In his other ear, chatter has started up again.

“Repeat, Hawks has engaged the villain at target beta. Police stopped at target alpha by the villains. And… oh shit. Report just came in from one of our helicopters - they said there's a group of kids at target beta?!”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Mrs. Bakugou, I will have to call you back.”

“The hell you will,” she snarls into the phone. “We’re coming to you. I’m getting information if it kills me, do you hear?”

It’s so fucked up to have a parent listening in when their kid might be discovered dead. When another group of kids might be murdered as they wait. But Shouta is so overwhelmed, all he can say is, “Meet me at Musutafu police station. I’ll send an intern out for you.”

In his ear he hears another report, and any semblance of calm he’d salvaged goes right out the window.

“This is Helo One, from the air. One of the kids has white and red hair. Wasn’t he at the UA Sports Festival?”

Shouta’s heart skips a beat.

My kids. About to be murdered. His head drops into his hands.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Hawks slams into the suited man at well over a hundred miles an hour, wings wrapped around him like a steel canon ball. The force is on par with a meteor strike, cracking the ground beneath the villain’s feet like a glacier in the heat.

Shockwaves blast out from their collision, kicking up dust, and Hawks desperately uses the cover to allow his nervous system a chance to unjangle itself. Because, somehow, the villain is still standing, having caught the strike against crossed forearms as if it were no more than a kiddy punch.

“Ah, the number three hero as well? I suppose I should feel honored,” the suited psycho muses, raising a lazy hand again. Hawks’ danger senses go haywire and he’s moving again before even fully processing the threat.

Feathers snag Jeanist and his team, hauling them out, out, out.

Another trench of devastation plows into the earth where Hawks had been. He can see it from where he’s hovering at twenty meters in the air, sucking oxygen into his overpowered lungs, forcing his pulse down.

Shit, he thinks, circling the black splotch below. Meteor is one of my most powerful attacks, but it didn’t do anything.

In his ear, he can hear continuous chatter from alpha. He pays it very little mind as he continues to circle. The man-villain-monster tracks his progress, stance relaxed as he gazes upwards. Hawks isn’t even sure the guy can see him with the black mask covering his whole face.

C’mon, c’mon - improvisation was your best tested skill. What will work against this guy?

Meteor is out - apparently completely ineffective. Either he needs more force, probably with a gravity assist, or he’ll have to rely on the basic human weaknesses - elements, shish-kebobing, and oxygen deprivation.

My feathers were still able to stab him, Hawks thinks, narrowing down his options. Let’s try for vitals.

No part of him thinks he should be pulling punches. With the casualties already visible, four heroes down, and the rest of the city at risk, Hawks can’t afford to go easy. At this point, it’s all out or nothing at all.

He pulls two of his primaries, feeling the solid core of the quills resting firmly in his palms as he gazes down. The villain still hasn’t moved, like he’s not even the least bit intimidated.

Correction, Hawks realizes. He’s not.

Six more feathers loosen from his back. He covers their release by shooting forward again.

Terrifyingly, the man meets him halfway, clashing against the razor sharp feather swords with nothing more than suited forearms. Hawks grunts at the new impact, but doesn’t falter. Almost faster than the human eye can track, he’s got his feathers free and is slipping them under the space where the villain’s ribs should be, jamming both upward with as much force as he can muster.

They slice through the suit. And halt after that.

Hawks’ narrowed eyes widen slightly. Because that’s not skin or muscle stopping him.

“You’ve realized, I suppose?” The masked man asks in amusement. Hawks doesn’t stick around for the rest of the monologue. Swinging his feet forward, he plants his boots against the villain’s chest and kicks off hard.

The next shockwave emanates from the villain behind him like a ripple in a pond. Except it rolls out in every direction, beating loose dirt into the earth and tearing clouds apart in the sky.

The winged hero is fast, granted, but the wave still catches him in the back. And it sends him tumbling head over feathers into one of the recently decimated buildings.

Someone higher up than Hawks must be looking out for him though, because he crashes through an already smashed window, only catching his bruises and scrapes from hitting the torn up carpet inside.

Winded and aching, he pushes himself upright, then tips over onto his butt - scooching backwards to lean against a broken office desk.

“Okay,” he says aloud, coughing slightly. “New plan. Don’t get near the OP Bond villain.”

“An admirable solution,” an amiable voice agrees from the window. The villain had followed him, crap.

“Any other advice you can give?” Hawks asks lightly, mentally tugging on another dozen feathers. At this rate, the six he’d planted on the villain just wouldn’t cut it.

“Oh you’re actually entertaining,” the villain says in apparent pleasure. “But I’m afraid the only advice I can give you is to stay down.”

At point-blank range, the pressure wave is unavoidable.

If a thousand All Mights simultaneously suplexed him in the chest, Hawks imagines this is what it’d feel like. His head snaps back, cracking against the edge of the desk even as the weakened floor gives out underneath him. He slams through three floors before hitting a stainless steel coffee bar and bouncing off like a particularly bedraggled hacky sack.

Only his feathers hardening at the last second had spared his spine. Otherwise, he’d doubtless be dead right now, rather than sporting a couple of definitely-broken ribs.

Hawks groans into the spilled coffee beans, wings sagging around his neck and shoulders. The cold tile below him presses into his forehead, soothing the sharp ache radiating through his brain from the desk he’d hit.

Always said a desk job would be the death of me, he thinks, taking inventory of his feathers. The dozen he’d let fly in the second pressure wave were tracking the monster-beast-villain-thing back down to street level. The six that were actively hiding on the villain’s back were still holding tight.

Good, he thinks, trying to catch his breath for the next round. Freaking broken ribs are the worst though - there’s no escaping the pain they cause with his kind of quirk.

Suck it up, you damn chicken, Hawks fumes at himself. Pulling his hands up to his sides, he digs his knuckles into the coffee-strewn ground and shoves himself up. Then his feet kip up to his chest, and he’s kicking back into the air, zinging out of the vaulted lobby in a rush of feathers.

In the clearing, the villain is immediately visible. And so is his new opponent.

“Endeavor!” Hawks calls in relief before he can think better of it. Fortunately, the flame hero isn’t distracted. Really fortunately, as it turns out. Because the villain apparently isn’t just a one-trick destruction pony.

He’s a multiple trick destruction pony.

Creepy black extendo-fingers shoot out of the villain’s hands, going straight for the shish-kebob option against Endeavor. And as humorous as it sounds in Hawks’ head, it’s no fucking joke when the flame hero dodges at the very last second and said extendo-fingers pierce through a huge chunk of masonry with no discernible effort.

Avoid those too, Hawks notes, wings beating fiercely as he closes the distance. One gloved finger reaches up to tap his com so he can relay his plan to the number two, but Endeavor’s feed is only giving him static.

“Nothing for it,” he hisses, voice lost to the wind as he sends another feather zinging through the air like a bolo, aiming to lop the villain’s head off. The man-monster doesn’t even turn around to see it - simply catches it with a much bulkier hand.

“Strength times two,” the villain says in a carrying voice, “Resistance times eight. I’m impressed, number three - these projectiles are quite sharp.”

He turns his masked face toward the flame hero, “It’s a shame the same can’t be said of you.”

Hawks’ keen eyes catch Endeavor’s brows drawing down into a fierce scowl, and again the winged hero finds himself shoved back by an invisible force - sudden heat causing a harsh updraft that catches Hawks’ wings. It’s both scalding and tear-inducing, and it prevents Hawks from reaching the number two in time.

“Endeavor!!” Hawks calls again, this time in fear. He can’t get a hand on this guy - !

Scrambling, the winged hero once more uses his telekinesis to augment his speed, yanking his attached feathers forward to make it before -

The flame hero clashes with the man monster, and is tossed back with such perfunctory ease, it’s almost insulting. The crack of shattering concrete has Hawks wincing in sympathy, but then he’s splitting his concentration too much to focus on his personal hero.

Eighteen feathers dig themselves deep into the villain’s jacket, burrowing into the skin underneath. Hawks calls this move the Kingfisher, in a sort of convoluted reference to both the bird and the act of hooking a fish, but the point is that it’s effective at yanking someone off the ground.

Not something he usually uses against someone else who can fly, but hey, it also works as a distraction.

The feathers do their job magnificently. The villain clears the ground at violent speed as Hawks cranks down on his willpower, forcing the hooked feathers higher, faster.

Meanwhile, he hits the ground running, practically skimming the surface as he dashes inside the building Endeavor had been blasted into. He doesn’t even have to go far - the whole lobby is on fire and Endeavor is rising from a pile of rubble looking absolutely pissed. Hawks grins at the sight.

Good, we’re going to need that.

“Endeavor!” he calls, neatly dodging a flaming piece of ceiling crumbling into his path. “Quick, while the psycho dude is distracted - we need a plan.”

“Tch,” the flame hero scoffs, magma-steps scoring deep grooves into the granite flooring as he stalks to the blown open entry-point. “Stay out of my way, winged hero.”

Hawks falls into step beside Endeavor. Or falls into jog, rather - jolting his ribs painfully with each step.

“You haven’t seen it all yet,” he says breathlessly. “Super-speed, super-strength, resilience, those creepy steel fingers, and a massive pressure wave ability. I have no idea how many quirks this guy has, but I don’t think we’ve seen them all.” Hawks pauses to catch his breath, chest aching. Meanwhile, Endeavor purses his lips.

“Where is he?” the flame hero demands, scouring the clearing for the villain.

Hawks winces, pointing up. “Currently? Coming our way. He shredded my feathers like paper mache ‘bout five seconds ago.”

“Weaknesses?” The flame hero snaps, following Hawks’ finger. The black speck is getting bigger, fast.

“Monologuing,” Hawks quips, nerves jittery. “Possibly drowning, but that’s kinda the opposite of what we have.”

Endeavor doesn’t smile, but his lips curl confidently. “I bet he still burns.”

Then the flame hero is hauling back like a fucking spear thrower, and blasting a stream of flames hot enough to make Hawks flinch backward. His skin immediately warms and tightens, like a nasty sunburn, but he pays it no mind, watching the incoming villain like one might watch a nuclear warhead.

This isn’t going to work, Hawks realizes, seeing the villain plow through the far end of the fire-stream without even trying to dodge. He’s coming fast. Too fast - !

It takes five more precious feathers to budge Endeavor, but he manages to get the number two off his feet and out of the way before the next pressure wave hits. And it’s with huge eyes that Hawks sees the building they'd just been standing outside of crushed like a can.

He was holding back, the winged hero thinks fleetingly, wings beating fast toward the far side of the clearing, Endeavor snarling from his feather-hold somewhere behind him.

“We can’t dodge forever!” He calls back to the number two, thinking aloud even as he feels the apprehension at his back. If the villain decides to pursue them, Hawks knows he’s not fast enough to outpace the guy. He’ll catch up eventually.

“Then we stand our ground!” The flame hero barks back, and Hawks has a moment to regret thinking he needed an angry Endeavor. Angry Endeavor, apparently, doesn’t think.

“Look around us!” He yells. “Unless you think you can stand your ground better than a building, we better come up with something else!”

Silence follows for a beat, and the flame hero stops struggling, so Hawks has to assume he’s gotten through. It gives him the chance to focus on his surroundings.

Just in fucking time, because he tilts his head just enough to see something above them.

Thousands of pieces of debris, in chunks as big as cars. Blanketing the black sky like a thunderhead of the apocalypse.

He stole that move from the little gravity girl, Hawks thinks inanely, before adrenaline hits his system in a surge, and he flips into an abrupt, insane dive, hauling Endeavor behind.

Hell, what did that blasty boy do against this?

The number two apparently is thinking along those lines, because Hawks feels a swell of heat behind him.

Oh, right.

“Endeavor - Scorched Earth!” He yells, hoping the number two understands. The ground is rising up to meet them at a terrifying rate, but he has to give the flame hero enough space for this technique. Otherwise any survivors in the entire area won’t be survivors for long.

Scorched Earth is Endeavor’s widest range attack - last measured at over three hundred feet from one side to the other. If he can envelop every last bit of debris and vaporize it, then they’ll only have to worry about smoke inhalation from the civilians still trapped below. Not identifying crushed body parts.

The air heats up again, crisping a few of his feathers. Hawks clenches his teeth, risking a glance behind him. Fire blocks most of his vision, pouring out of Endeavor like a jet booster opened to its widest throttle.

He hears the number two yelling, and the flames start to take on a blueish tinge. The heat rockets up, even as they barrel down. Hawks can just barely see several chunk of debris beginning to crumble, hundreds of feet overhead.

Hawks flares his wings at the last possible second, and his heels strike the earth with jarring impact. Just behind him, the feathers holding Endeavor give out completely - unable to withstand the heat any longer. The flame hero crashes into Hawks’ back, slamming him into the compacted dirt.

Hawks feels his ribs scissoring painfully inside his chest, and prays they don’t puncture anything important.

“Can’t… breathe…” he wheezes, tapping the earth feebly. But Endeavor is already up, fires back at it, trying to clear the air before the debris are dropped. Hawks can just barely see through blurry vision. Endeavor has punched through much of the rubble - and ashy remains are raining down thick and heavy. But it’s not enough.

However the villain did it, there are now thousands of tons of broken cityscape hovering threateningly a couple hundred feet in the air. And the fact that the villain hasn’t dropped it yet shows Hawks that he's rubbing it in. Letting them know that their efforts are futile.

Could really use a miracle right about now, Hawks thinks bleakly.

Then the sky begins to fall.

——

About three minutes earlier, target beta

It’d taken Iida, Yaoyorozu, and Shouto himself to hold Tokoyami back when Hawks got blasted into the side of a building. Personally, Shouto can’t help but be grateful Dark Shadow didn’t jump in too. Holding the bird-boy back had been difficult enough - he’s not sure they could have avoided detection if the demon shadow had decided to object.

Still, Shouto can’t say he blames Tokoyami. It’d be no different for him if it were Aizawa or All Might out there.

Though we could use them, he thinks, swallowing thickly as the villain follows after the winged hero into the decimated building.

“Midoriya,” he hisses, seeing his green-haired classmate holding onto a wide-eyed Kirishima. “What do we do?”

He watches Midoriya’s face harden, and immediately regrets putting the decision on his friend. They’re here for Bakugou - Midoriya’s oldest friend. What if he makes the call to leave and their blond classmate turns up afterward? What if they miss the chance to help?

“We have to think logically,” Iida whispers fiercely, one huge forearm wrapped around Tokoyami’s collarbone. Shouto’s pretty sure he hears his black-clad classmate hiss. “We are no match for the villain out there. Even if Bakugou were here, we would not be able to assist. We are only another target.”

“He’s right,” Yaoyorozu says softly, placing a hand on Shouto’s tense shoulder. “Think about the USJ.”

Shouto flinches a little at that reminder. It’d only been Shigaraki and Kurogiri with their flunkies that day three months ago. And still, several of the students had nearly died. All Might had nearly died, when the Nomu came into play.

“It’s just one guy this time!” Kirishima hisses, smacking an angry fist into the crumbling wall beside them.

“He’s too strong for us,” Midoriya says with absolute conviction, pointing back out to the field through the crack in the concrete. Hawks is flying out of the first floor of the building he’d been smacked into. And someone else has joined the fight.

“Father,” Shouto breathes, watching the super villain send some kind of projectile at Endeavor. He doesn’t even realize he’s lurching forward until the crack is blocked by Iida.

“You can’t,” he whispers, eyes fierce. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to want to help a family member. But if you go out there, you are going to get killed. This person is way more dangerous than Stain.”

As if to prove his point, a loud crack of blasted concrete sounds again from the battlefield, and they turn just in time to see something yank the villain off the field and up into the sky.

“Kingfisher,” Tokoyami breathes, apparently apropos of nothing. They all watch as Hawks sprints into another building. A bare few moments later, both the number three and number two are emerging and staring up at where the villain had reappeared.

Shouto doesn’t know how he feels seeing his father stand proud against the incoming, terrifying force. But he knows his heart is in his throat when the villain cuts through his father’s flames like they’re nothing more than hot air.

He’s so focused on the fight, he doesn’t even hear someone approaching the front of the alley.

“What are you children doing here?!” A harsh, familiar voice calls from behind them. Shouto flinches in surprise, ice forming an immediate defense along his right side. At the opening of the narrow alley, almost swallowed in the shadows, stands Tiger. Their part-time training camp sensei.

“Mr. Tiger, sir!” Midoriya’s whispered voice pipes up.

“I thought the police were crazy when they said that children were here, but…” Tiger trails off furiously, apparently unable to form words for the stupidity before him.

“We weren’t planning to fight!” Yaoyorozu says insistently, though her shoulders bow in shame. Tiger opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by the deafening boom of another building collapsing on the field. The scolding momentarily forgotten, Tiger hustles forward to join them in staring through the crack at the battlefield.

The building Hawks and Endeavor had just exited is nothing more than a pile of dust. Shouto’s heart skips a beat for just a second, but a flash of red and fire in the distance shows that the number two and three had gotten away in time. All of those hiding behind the battered concrete wall let loose a collective sigh of relief.

“Where is Best Jeanist?” Midoriya asks in a rush, filling the temporary lull. “Did you find Ragdoll? Is Gang Orca okay? What about Mt. Lady?”

“Jeanist is working with the others to pull out any survivors while Hawks and Endeavor have that guy occupied,” Tiger relays testily. “Ragdoll is on her way to the hospital in an ambulance. And the only reason I am not with her is because one of the police helicopters saw a group of children hiding out on a battlefield.”

“And Bakugou?” Kirishima presses, but any reply he might have gotten is cut off by Tokoyami’s exclamation of horror.

“Gods, no,” he croaks, and Shouto follows his gaze back out to the massive clearing.

Hawks and his father are on the ground, and Endeavor is aiming an insane amount of firepower at the sky. Shouto squints at the dark night, trying to see what his father is aiming at.

“Oh my gosh,” Yaoyorozu breathes beside them, looking directly overhead. Shouto glances up, and his blood freezes.

What he’d thought were oddly shaped clouds, were in fact the dust-covered forms of broken buildings, cars, and chunks of street. They block out the sky for half a mile in all directions.

Tiger turns to them, face pale. “Move, now.”

“We can’t,” Tokoyami, of all people, snaps. Midoriya looks back and forth between the two of them, obviously conflicted. Only Shouto notices the giant mass of rubble overhead begin to move.

Oh no, he thinks, seeing it pulling together to a center point, piling in on itself like it was being fed into a giant funnel. And at the end of that funnel, directly underneath, are Hawks and his father.

“Tokoyami!” He hisses, pointing out to where his father’s blasts are starting to get larger, wilder. The sign that he is reaching his limit. And who wouldn’t? It isn’t like Endeavor trained to melt down city blocks in his spare time.

“I see them,” Tokoyami says clearly. Behind him, Dark Shadow writhes.

“Mr. Tiger?” Midoriya is suddenly calm. His gaze is steady on the only pro hero in the area.

Tiger clearly sees what they see. And he knows as well as they do that without interference, the number two and three will be dead in less than thirty seconds.

“Can you do it without drawing the villain's attention?” He asks Tokoyami. Shouto knows that Tiger hadn’t worked much with Tokoyami directly. Mostly the teachers had been content to let the boy and raging demon hash it out in that dark cave.

“I cannot promise we will be undetected,” Tokoyami states, eyes never leaving his one-time boss in mortal peril. Overhead, the rubble begins to fall. Too fast to only be assisted by gravity.

Tiger’s dark eyes narrow. “I give you permission to protect the people in danger. Do it, Tokoyami.”

Then Shouto’s classmate closes his eyes and lets his personal demon go.

——

Katsuki is restless, waiting around on the couch for K-Pop and the asshole to get back from their little not-murder mission. At least, he grudgingly hopes it’s a not-murder mission. He guesses it’ll depend on whether or not K-Pop is actually good for his word.

But since they’d left in the late afternoon, and it’s only eight o’clock now, Katsuki knows it’ll be at least another hour before they get back. In fact, if his memory of their insane plan is right, they should actually be calling the hand man right about now.

Idly, he flips another page in Dabi’s old book, forcing himself to focus on the story, though he’s pretty sure he’s guessed how it’s going to end. The kids will end up winning the war for the adults, even if they don’t yet know it themselves. But the victory won’t come until each kid has some kind of breakdown from the stress.

Katsuki scowls, reading through the part about how the badass girl had finally caved after losing half her fleet to the enemy. The adults ripped her a new one, even though she didn’t know that real lives were being lost. She just knew that losing the game meant she could lose her place on the team.

“Shitty adults,” he mutters, feeling himself getting distracted again.

All Might’s not like that, he thinks. Aizawa-sensei isn’t either, even when he’s being a lazy bastard in that damn sleeping bag. They’d never use us for their own shitty gain.

But apparently, that wasn’t the case with all pro heroes. Not with Half n Half bastard’s crazy old man. And not with Dabi’s psycho family, either.

Huh, he thinks, blinking suddenly. Then the thought really begins to sink in and he almost bolts upright, only remembering Yuko’s dire warning at the last second.

“Don’t you go moving about too much, or that five to eight weeks will become five to eight months,” she’d said severely, before heading off to make a light dinner.

So he sits up slowly, using mostly his legs. Three healing sessions had done wonders for the underlying muscles, and Yuko even said that his spine was mostly covered now. But there was no point in ripping everything open again just because he’d had a disturbing thought.

No way, he shakes his head slowly. Todoroki is an only child. He’s the only one listed in all the hero stat books that talk about Endeavor.

But what if Endeavor had a kid that ran away? It might not have been mentioned if the family was ashamed.

He’s a top-ranked hero - it’s insanely fucking hard to keep a story like that private, Katsuki argues with himself. Then, again, that conversation he overheard at the sports festival comes to mind. After all, he’d never heard anything about Todoroki Enji’s wife being hospitalized, despite following the man’s entire career.

What are the fucking chances, though.

His thoughts are interrupted by Yuko entering the living room, with a pensive look on her face.

“Young Bakugou?” She says his name like a question. Katsuki notes for the first time that she addresses him the exact same way All Might does.

“Yeah?” He responds, only a little irked that she’d broken his train of thought. Something about being reminded of his favorite hero actually makes him relax back into the wad of cushions Yuko had stacked behind him.

“Dinner’s ready,” she says. “Spicy curry, since you mentioned you enjoy a little kick to your meals.” She smiles another grandma-y smile, and Katsuki can feel his own eyebrows unknotting from their usual scowl. No wonder Dabi couldn’t put up a fight against her, goddamn.

He nods and she hovers close by as he performs another chair-squat of sorts, rising from the couch only using his legs.

“Ah, to be young again,” Yuko sighs, walking quite close in case he needs a steadying hand. Her own hands, he notices, are wringing themselves with nervous energy. And it’s a testament to how much time he’s spent with Recovery Girl, that he realizes it’s one of his nurse’s tells. Part of him wonders if maybe it’s a family trait.

“You worried about those idiots?” he asks gruffly as they shuffle along slowly down the hall. He’s still trying desperately not to move his pelvis much - especially after talk of it taking longer to heal if he isn’t careful.

“Yes,” Yuko says quietly. “I will probably always worry about them, though. They’re like the grandchildren I never had.”

Oh, he thinks, she isn’t a grandma then.

“But I’m worried about my daughter too,” she confides, ushering Katsuki into what is now ‘his seat’ at the kitchen table. “I just spoke with her on the phone, and she is concerned she might not be able to make it tomorrow.”

“Hah? Fucking why?” Katsuki asks, sharper than he intended. But Yuko pays no mind.

“There is some big hero fight going on, and she’s on call as a backup healer,” Yuko continues, spooning curry into a bowl. “I don’t want to believe in coincidences, but I can’t help but wonder…”

Katsuki swallows, because oh shit.

“Lady, how many bad guys do you think the heroes would have a reason to go after right now?” He asks, blunt and forceful. Yuko frowns.

“I suppose it would be best to know for sure,” she admits, placing the bowl in front of Katsuki. And even if his stomach is rumbling for food, he’s far more interested in this new development.

“How’re you going to do that? Haven’t seen a TV in this place,” he asks. Yuko tsks.

“That’s because TV rots your brain,” she declares, pulling out her smartphone from her apron pocket. “So does this thing, if you allow it,” she adds distastefully. “But I could never say no to Torrent. Anyway - we’ll just message him now to see if he and Kasai are alright. Then we eat our dinner, sound fair?”

Katsuki is practically itching to know what’s going on outside of this serene little haven and nods as enthusiastically as his back will allow. It’s better than saying, ‘fuck yes, get on with it’ like he might to Kirishima.

Yuko slowly types out a message on the large-font messenger app on her phone, and Katsuki tries very hard not to show his impatience. Which gets harder as the minutes roll by after she hits the ‘send’ key.

“Perhaps he and Kasai are riding back now, and he can’t get to his phone?” Yuko says doubtfully. Katsuki snorts.

“Didn’t you say that idiot could manipulate anything digital? And he can’t answer a single text?”

Yuko frowns even harder, apparently thinking about something with great care. Eventually, she puts away the phone.

“Eat, young Bakugou. If we haven’t heard back by the time you’ve finished, then we can call him.”

Katsuki grinds his teeth, feeling his jaw muscle jump against the mostly-healed holes in his face. “And if he doesn’t pick up?”

Yuko’s face is grim.

“Then, I suppose, we assume the worst.”

Chapter Text

Chatter suddenly swamps the police radios from so many directions that Daiki actually has to dial in on the program he’s using and implement a five-second delay just to be able to make sense of what he’s hearing.

Which, actually, doesn’t make it any easier to comprehend, funnily enough.

All Might? Turned into a marble? Well, shit. Maybe the villains will be able to negotiate their way out of this all on their lonesome.

Does it stop Daiki from keeping his sight trained on the entrance where the police are now clustered? No, of course fucking not. But if the villains have a bargaining chip like the Symbol of Peace with them…

Daiki’s stomach clenches at the thought. Taking out the corrupt and crooked heroes is one thing. Threatening someone like All Might, though? Who is the epitome of everything a hero should be?

That’s straying into the kind of villain territory that Daiki is more comfortable fighting against than fighting for.

Come on, Kasai - you’re better than that, no matter what you might believe, Daiki thinks, still sorting through the reports that are coming in waves.

That’s when he hears that the youngest Todoroki has been spotted over at the Nomu facility. Which might be the worst piece of news he’s heard since Kasai up and left in the middle of the night without so much as a word. Daiki takes his eye off target alpha only long enough to glance in the direction of the war zone that is target beta.

If one could age a hundred years just from hearing shitty news, Daiki would be competing with Yuko for the new ‘respectable elder’ title right now.

Hell, Shouto, you’re following in your brother’s footsteps. Which is definitely not a good thing right now, he groans internally. Some part of him that should be concentrating on more important things wonders if this is how Yuko feels all the time.

The next piece of news, however, makes Daiki slump against his rifle in momentary, absolute, relief.

“Repeat, the villains have warped out of target alpha! No visuals on their current location. Immediate medical aid requested for Edgeshot. Gran Torino and All Might are still MIA!”

Daiki heaves in a shuddery breath.

“At least they made it outside,” he mutters, sweat beginning to cool along his back. Pulling the rifle back from the low wall of the roof, he turns his whole attention to his computer, bringing up all the surveillance videos in the area on the off chance that the League is still nearby.

And lo, there they are. Only a couple blocks away, in an alleyway behind a 7-Eleven.

Daiki toggles the view, and winces when Kasai steps into the harsh light of the streetlamp. He looks terrible. Like he needs Yuko, stat.

Alright, so he’s… safe? Daiki thinks, watching the League begin to cheer and hug and high five. Even Kasai’s stance is somewhat relaxed.

He didn’t need me, Daiki realizes. Honestly, I just made things worse by injuring one of their big hitters. Might have even made things more complicated with that undercover story…

The League continues to celebrate and several of the members pat Kasai gingerly on the shoulder. Daiki even sees the lizard-quirk one - Spinner? - unwrap some of his bandages to wind around Kasai’s hands. From this angle, Daiki can’t see what kind of injuries Kasai has, other than the blood running down his face. But…

“He’s safe - they’ve accepted him,” he mutters, fingers tapping a random rhythm on the concrete next to his computer. Even Shigaraki, looking really worse for wear, courtesy of Daiki, nods at the flame user in a show of solidarity. Kasai smirks back.

“Okay! So that’s one Todoroki out of danger!” Daiki declares aloud, closing the laptop and ignoring the lump in his throat. “Time to take care of the other one.”

Pulling out his phone, he sends a brief, silent, message over to his friend.

[Text from: Torrent]

- Police think you’re deep cover

- Use it if you need to

He hesitates, wondering if he should tell Kasai where he’s going. The heroes will be crawling all over beta within ten minutes. And Daiki himself is going to make sure Shouto makes it out as unscathed as a Todoroki can.

Touya would want to know, he thinks, chewing on his lip. But… would Dabi?

He shakes his head violently, instantly dismissing any doubts in his mind, before deliberately typing out a message.

[Text from: Torrent]

- Heading to the big war zone down the street

- Shouto is there.

- STAY WHERE YOU ARE

“Yeah,” Daiki mutters, pocketing his phone, “there’s like a five percent chance he’s gonna listen to me.”

——

A couple blocks away.

In amongst the celebration, Dabi’s world spins in a mix of relief and cranial trauma. Twice clapping him on the back really didn’t help in narrowing down the doubles he was seeing.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Magne says incredulously, leaning against the wall with her hands on her knees. “That was insane - did you guys have that planned?” The question is directed at both Dabi and Shigaraki, who look at each other in something almost like amusement.

“As if! It was totally planned,” Twice answers for them with a victory dance, still high on the fact that warping so many people had actually gone un-botched. Dabi watches with a smirk on his face that won’t go away despite everything else going to shit around them.

From further away, Spinner laughs and gestures at the marble still clutched in the decay villain’s hand, “Nice catch, Shigaraki!”

“It’s all that hand-eye coordination,” Twice chips in, but for once Shigaraki ignores the hand pun and just grins back at Spinner.

“Nice kick.”

Spinner looks visibly startled, but also thrilled. Dabi notes that Twice isn’t the only one high on victory. They’d thwarted the heroes - some of the top ones in the game - and they’d done it on their own. Granted, they weren’t out of danger yet, with the sounds of sirens so close and with so many of them injured.

Which, of course, Toga notes. “Ohhh, Dabi your hands look so deliciously beat up.”

That draws the attention of the others, and Dabi sees more than a few winces of sympathy. Which is actually kind of new, amongst the group of wacked-out criminals.

“Geez,” Spinner mutters, stepping forward and beginning to unwrap some of the Stain-esque bandages from around his forearms. Dabi doesn’t move, startled at the gesture and very unwilling to look down at his throbbing hands. Even as clinical as he is about most of his injuries… his hands are his golden goose. Producing fire after fire without burning like the rest of him.

Until today.

So he stares over Spinner’s shoulder as the lizard man starts binding up the burnt and bleeding things attached to Dabi’s wrists. Behind Spinner, Twice is busy leaning the unconscious Kurogiri and Compress more comfortably against the brick of the alleyway.

Over his own shoulder, Toga is watching in fascination.

“Oohh, wait, I want a picture for my collection!” She chirps, patting at the baggy pockets of her sweater. Dabi tunes her out until the patting becomes frantic.

“Ahhh!! My phone!!” She wails, turning in circles as she continues to shake at the loose folds of her outfit. “That stupid tree-guy made me drop it!”

Dabi catches Shigaraki’s grimace. “We’ll have to leave it,” the leader mutters, looking up. Overhead, ash is beginning to fall, carried on the wind from their hideout.

The atmosphere turns slightly more grim as they each contemplate things they’d left behind. After all, the hideout had been home to most of them.

Most.

“Hey Dabi-bro, don’t you have an apartment close by? We don’t need a place to crash,” Twice pipes up, squatting between their two unconscious members.

Dabi shakes his head and immediately regrets it, staggering slightly until Magne steadies him with a hand on the shoulder. Spinner grips his wrists too, gentle with the newly bandaged hands.

“No - I cleared it out,” the flame villain says half-truthfully. “Brat woke up and saw enough to make staying there dangerous.”

Shigaraki hums, and Dabi privately curses himself for bringing up the kid. Then the decay villain grins.

“You know, normally I’d be pissed that you lost such an important piece, Dabi,” he says slowly, stepping into the middle of their impromptu circle. He raises his clenched fist. “But since the trade-off is the Pillar of Peace, I think we’re square.”

The grin he sends Dabi is slightly unhinged - just a shade too gleeful with a few too many teeth. They almost look gray, set in a face stark-white from blood loss. And internally, a part of Dabi is disturbed by the implications of someone as unstable as Shigaraki having All Might literally in the palm of his hand.

Or maybe he doesn’t, Dabi reflects, feeling an abnormal and annoying pressure against the back of his elbow inside his jacket.

Another part of him is pretty apathetic about the number one hero’s fate. It’s likely the same part of him that’d had such a visceral reaction to having another pro hero pin him by the throat with the intent of killing him.

Fucker deserves what he gets, that part of him whispers. Dabi shoves the conflicting emotions back into that ever-growing corner of unresolved issues in his mind.

“We need to get out of here,” he says instead, stating the obvious. All of them nod in agreement, and look between him and Shigaraki for an answer.

For once, the hand man doesn’t seem to mind the leadership dynamics. Instead, he just tilts his head thoughtfully.

“The Nomu facility isn’t too far from here - we could hide out there until we figure something else out.”

Dabi frowns, “If they knew about the bar… they might also know about the Nomu factory.”

“Yeah, especially since your sensei didn’t answer! What a douche. Full offense,” Twice pitches in. Shigaraki flinches infinitesimally at the observation, face going impossibly whiter.

Dabi too, isn’t exactly thrilled at the reminder. All For One had, for all intents and purposes, left them to their fate. And he wants to know why.

Which reminds me.

“You guys sort this out,” he says, closing his eyes in a brief show of pain. Between the throbbing in his hands, ribs, and skull, it’s really not difficult to show how much he’s hurting. He does draw the line at Spinner trying to help him sit down though.

“I can manage this much,” he grumbles, as the rest of the League groups together to conference over their options.

Distantly, he notes Magne discreetly supporting an unsteady Shigaraki and wonders how much longer the decay villain can stay on his feet. Not that he’s without support, now. Even concussed, Dabi can see that the rest of the League’s body language is much more open to their once aloof leader. Funny, how nearly dying could create such quick bonds between the survivors.

For the leader’s part, Shigaraki looks tired and shitty. But… his guard is down. He’s letting Magne and Toga touch him. He’s letting Spinner unwind more bandages to wrap around his shoulder. He’s allowing Twice to gesture for all of them to sit in a semi-circle, rather than reprimanding the cloner for interrupting.

We shot him, Dabi thinks starkly, sitting against the brick several feet away. And if the League ever finds out, I’m dead.

There’s a whole other swell of emotions that come boiling up to the surface at the thought, but Dabi’s just too tired to deal with them. They’re quickly shown to the corner with the rest of his issues.

I need to talk to Daiki, he decides. Gotta know what he wanted and what’s happening. And… if he’s okay.

Carefully, he reaches into his pocket for his phone, hissing at the pain in his stiff fingers. Somewhere in the back of his head, his inner Yuko is admonishing him for allowing dry bandages to be wrapped around burn wounds.

“You know those blisters will pop, and when they do the bandages will stick.” Even a phantom version of her sounds exasperated with him, and Dabi almost huffs fondly.

Didn’t have a lot of choices, you know. And that’s when he realizes that he’s arguing with an imaginary version of his friend and the reality of how bad his head injury is sets in.

Definitely a concussion, he notes when the bright screen of his phone not only makes him squint, but makes his stomach roll with nausea.

When he gingerly taps on his messenger app, he sees a text already waiting for him. The nausea he feels upon reading it has nothing to do with head injuries.

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Police think you’re deep cover

- Use it if you need to

- Heading to the big war zone down the street

- Shouto is there.

- STAY WHERE YOU ARE

Shouto. In the middle of a war zone? What war zone? And deep cover?? Is that what he’d been trying to tell him with his weird franken-messege?

Stay where you are.

“That…” Dabi searches for the word, and finally opts for one of Bakugou’s favorite epithets, “Asshole.”

How could he tell me to stay here? He fumes, before a loud guffaw from Twice answers that question.

He peels his eyes from his phone to stare at the League, grouped together in a loose powwow on the ground - a gap left for him even though he’s leaned up against the alleyway wall.

Daiki knows, he realizes suddenly. He knows that the plan worked, and he’s trying to make sure I don’t waste the opportunity.

Dabi’s brain throbs against the backs of his eyes, making it hard to concentrate on a strategy. Some kind of loophole that lets him keep the League’s trust and help his friend and little brother.

But nothing miraculously occurs to him. No bright, shining solution. Only a stark choice between the League and the past.

Dabi’s heart hammers against his throat, as he laboriously texts back.

[Text from: Dabi]

- Where? meeT u

Barely ten seconds later Daiki replies.

[Text from: The Nerd]

- Nomu factory

- Don’t come, Kasai

Dabi waits for a moment, letting that sink in. The Nomu factory is a war zone - he can only assume that means the monsters are loose, while his brother is nearby. Instinctively his hands begin to heat, only to remind him that he’s already pushed too far today. His stamina only allows for so much.

But I don’t care.

“Don’t come.” It’d been the same thing Bakugou said to his little green-haired friend. Warning him away from a no-win situation. Is that what Daiki’s doing right now? Going into a no win situation to save a sibling that isn’t even his? He’d asked Daiki to keep an eye on his brothers and sister, but he’d never intended for Daiki to put himself in danger.

But I always knew that he would, he acknowledges grimly. If it came down to it, Daiki would do whatever it took to keep Fuyumi, Natsuo and little Shouto safe. That’s why I trusted him in the first place.

He closes his eyes briefly. Sluggish logic no match for the pain lancing through his heart.

Little Shouto, Dabi thinks, throat going tight. Not so little anymore. He can probably handle himself.

Unless he’s going up against Nomu… hell, even All Might wouldn’t stand a chance against too many of the black Nomu.

Fucking hell. Why are all these kids so damn reckless. Dabi’s fingers clench as much as they can around his phone, and his whole body tenses in pain.

Bakugou’s back and face injuries flash across closed lids, reminding him that one kid has already faced the consequences of his decision. And the next might be his brother.

Screw it. Dabi hits the call button for Daiki's cell. If the League asks, he’s on the phone with one of his pre-villain contacts, trying to find them a place to crash.

It rings and rings and rings. But no bright voice answers. Instead, a generic message sounds, saying that the caller cannot be reached. He tries again. Same result.

Again. “I’m sorry, but the person you are trying to call cannot be reached right now. Please try again later.”

Nausea doesn’t begin to cover the feeling in Dabi’s stomach now. It’s the same feeling he gets when something is about to go terribly, terribly wrong. A low current of terror, coiling through his guts in a way that’s so ingrained he almost doesn’t recognize it.

It’s the crunch of gravel as Endeavor’s car pulls into the drive, and the sound of shoji doors sliding closed to the training dojo. It’s the shrill sirens of the police coming to take his mother away. It’s the look in Shouto’s eyes when Touya is dismissed for the day, but his younger brother is commanded to stay behind.

It’s black fingers digging into his skin, brutally pulling out flames against his will. Making them hotter. Making them burn.

“Hey!” His voice rasps out before he fully processes the decision he’s made. The League, from their little circle conference, all turn to look at him.

That’s when his nausea overwhelms him, and black vomit pours from his mouth.

——

Target beta, several minutes earlier.

After dropping a city block’s worth of buildings on the annoying number two and three heroes, All For One can finally answer the hail that’s been trilling inside his helmet for the past thirty seconds.

“Yes?” He answers icily. He’s already been delayed in responding to Tomura by Hawks’ interference. If this man is wasting his time…

“Sir,” Sgt. Kato says promptly. “I’ve stepped away. There have been several developments here.”

All For One turns his attention toward Kato’s direction, though he hardly needs to. The mix of echo location and infra-red had been an ingenious idea, in lieu of actual eyesight. The fact that it came from Dr. Tsubasa didn’t bother him at all. Only a fool would surround himself with sycophantic idiots. No, All For One preferred his associates to be intelligent, along with being fanatically loyal.

“Indeed. Is Tomura in police custody?”

He isn’t particularly worried if the young man and his League are captured. Between having Kato on the inside and his own ability to teleport people over short distances, the League is actually relatively safe. The biggest concern, as always, is Tomura’s mental state. Because on the one hand, making him more reliant on his ‘sensei’ is never a bad thing. But it doesn’t look good for a leader to need rescuing too often.

“No sir,” the sergeant replies tightly. “The villains have escaped, apparently with a captured All Might and Gran Torino.”

That actually surprises him. “Are you serious?”

Generally, he doesn’t ask his minions to repeat themselves. And in Kato’s case, it’s actually a fruitless exercise, given his quirk. But All For One still finds himself wondering if he’d heard right.

“They used Sako Atsuhiro’s quirk to compress both of them. Police are searching the hideout before it collapses for any relevant information, but haven’t found either hero yet.”

Well, that is certainly something.

“That’s not all,” Kato continues, “Shigaraki Tomura is injured from an apparent gunshot wound - not the police’s doing.”

All For One’s light mood flips like a switch.

“Who’s doing was it?” He hisses, “Find them, and bring them to me.”

“I think I already have,” Kato says, caution in his tone now. “A guy with a rifle showed up, and I didn’t remember him being on any of the teams. I’m watching him right now. Do you want me to bring him immediately?”

The super villain mulls it over, reigning in the pesky irritation that had flared up. “What is he doing?”

“He was watching the front of the bar through his rifle scope for a while, but has switched over to his computer. I can only assume he’s trying to track down Shigaraki Tomura.”

All For One hums, wondering at the motivation for a third party to go after his protege. Perhaps one of Stain’s rabid fans? An old enemy of his own, seeking revenge through All For One’s only protege?

“Detain him,” he decides at last. “Tomura will be safe with me, shortly. But I am highly intrigued by what this person’s interest in him is.”

“Of course. I will update you when the task has been accomplished.”

The villain smiles as the line cuts out, commending himself again for that particular acquisition. Kato was a diamond among rocks, and so few realized it. Especially that quirk - ah, it was so hard to find such perfectly suited quirks in such willing followers.

Now, to bring the strays home, he muses, calling forth his recently acquired teleportation quirk.

One by one, the members of the League appear out of thin air, foul-smelling black masses pouring out around them as they thump into the compacted earth. Several of them are hacking viciously, but all of them appear to be in one piece. And lying on the ground, next to Tomura’s cough-shaken, open hand, is a small, round object. A marble, unless he misses his guess.

Behind his mask, All For One grins.

Hello, old enemy.

Chapter Text

A few minutes earlier in Tokyo.

Assuming the worst, as it turned out, meant Yuko giving up on Dabi’s plan and taking Katsuki back to UA. Which is great, wonderful, peachy - what Katsuki’s been wanting to do for two fucking days.

Unfortunately, it’s not what he wants to do right now.

K-Pop hadn’t picked up when they called him. It’d been complete radio silence over the full five times that they’d tried. Which left a couple of options for what’d happened.

A) He was busy with something. Plausible. Pretty probable, actually, given how many balls were in the air. B) He was busy with something dangerous. Like being caught by the League. Or the police. Hell, a curious bystander who saw his rifle could bring the whole house of cards tumbling down.

Neither option is ideal. And with what Recovery Girl had told her mom about a big hero vs villain fight going on… Katsuki knows the next step is to look at the news. See what they can find out.

It’s a testament to Yuko’s worry that she doesn’t even protest. Just types the name of the news website into her smartphone browser.

The very first image to appear is of an old building on fire. On blue fire.

“Fuck,” Katsuki and Yuko say at the exact same time. They share a look, then Katsuki instructs her to start scrolling.

It’s not pretty. A large force of heroes had descended upon the League of Villains and on a warehouse nearby. A Nomu factory, the news is calling it. Katsuki thinks back to the USJ - to the monster that All Might fought, and his heart rate picks up.

A factory. Mass produced monsters. Dabi hadn’t been joking when he said that Shigaraki could warp a couple dozen of them into a hospital then.

Katsuki grimaces, Goddamnit, can this get any fucking worse?

It could, apparently.

The heroes were there to apprehend the bad guys… and to save Katsuki. Normally, it would have just been embarrassing, maybe even shameful, to have so many people band together to help him when he didn’t need it. A part of him is still mortified to know that ranked heroes and police were fighting to get him back while he was eating spicy curry with a vigilante. To know that All Might was wasting his precious time trying to save a kid that didn’t need saving.

If he could bury his head under a rock and scream into infinity, he’d almost not hate himself. Almost.

But then he reads further.

All Might, taken out of the action. ‘Missing’ is the word the news channel uses. They don’t say how. They don’t say what happened. Only that he entered the League hideout and stopped reporting back to the police outside. The same is said of another hero named Gran Torino. Deku’s boss for the internships.

Katsuki’s old boss is there too. Best Jeanist - who he’d had a strained relationship with at best - was leading the second attack. He’d nearly been murdered by something at the Nomu factory, alongside Gang Orca, Tiger, and Mount Lady. Their status is still unknown, but there are dozens of casualties from whatever hit that area.

Dozens of people. Dead, because of me.

Katsuki swallows, a sick feeling in his guts as Yuko continues to scroll down. There’s a photo of the front of the hideout, where Kamui Woods is supporting a pale Edgeshot. The ninja hero is missing an arm. Blue flames backlight the picture.

I did this, he thinks, throat squeezing tight. I let the bastard go back to them. I made the plan to keep Shigaraki fucking alive. I got kidnapped in the first goddamned place.

Logically, it doesn’t check out. Emotionally..?

His squares his shoulders, sending little spasms of pain all throughout his body. Then, wordlessly, he staggers out of the kitchen and down the hall, making for the front door.

“Young Bakugou, wait right there!” Yuko calls, hurrying after him. Katsuki ignores her, heart slamming against his ribs and heat pouring off his skin. Sparks shoot from his balled fists without him even trying to activate his quirk.

The front door still presents an issue with Katsuki’s limited range of motion. It’s not like he can just twist the handle.

So he lines up his palm, braces his hand against his thigh, and hisses, “AP Shot.”

The handle and a good chunk of the front door blast off with a loud crack, and Katsuki hears Yuko sighing loudly behind him. A hand takes hold of his elbow and it requires absolutely all of his failing willpower not to yank away. To curse, to bite, to scream, to fucking break down in tears because people are dead while he’d been eating goddamn curry.

“What,” he snarls, glaring at Yuko furiously. Her face is grim.

“Shoes first,” she says simply. “Then we get you to UA. Let them know that you’re safe.”

“I’m not going to UA,” Katsuki shoots back. Her fingers tighten on his elbow.

“You are not going to go and interfere with a fight of this magnitude,” she counters, steel creeping into her voice. “At this point, your presence would only exacerbate the problem. And probably get you killed.”

Fucking fine then, he seethes. Instead of voicing his thoughts, he shakes off her grip and shoves his feet into a pair of beat up sneakers. Sneakers that probably belonged to the asshole down south who was maiming heroes.

Katsuki’s stomach jolts like Kaminari had just put a charge through him.

My fault. My fault.

“It isn’t your fault, young Bakugou,” Yuko says quietly from behind him, as if reading his mind. He gives her a hard look, and then she’s pulling on a pair of garden boots herself.

“I’m not letting you go alone, child.” She grabs her keys and purse. “We’ll take the train. Get you to Eraserhead. He should be close by, after the press conference we saw.”

It feels like a low blow, even though it’s not. Go running back to the heroes after everything goes to shit? It’s like a kid rushing to do the chores only when the door slams in the driveway. Too little, too late, and too much of a sour taste in his mouth.

“I told you,” he begins with a calm he doesn’t feel. “I’m not going back. I stopped Dabi once without even trying. I can do it again.” His lips press into a thin line, pulling at the bandages still taped to his cheeks. “If I go to UA or Aizawa, they won’t let me anywhere near the fight.”

Yuko steps forward, poking him in the chest, “With good reason. Think young Bakugou, if you show up on a battlefield, what happens if the villains get to you first?”

Katsuki laughs, though there’s no mirth in it. He can feel his stamina fading already, even high on pissed-off energy. If the villains got to him first in this condition? He’d be dead meat. He’s realistic enough to know that.

“Your precious friend Kasai will have a choice to make, then,” Katsuki sneers. Kasai. Dabi. He’s so angry at the villain, he sees red at the edges of his vision. It doesn’t matter that logically he’d known Dabi hated heroes and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them.

It’s that he didn’t have the chance to change the asshole’s mind.

It’s that he didn’t actually think the asshole was that bad of an asshole.

It’s that he had a niggling sensation in the back of his brain, telling him that he’d connected the dots on who Dabi really is and just doesn’t want to acknowledge it yet.

Fuck, it’s that Katsuki is still pretty sure that Dabi would choose to help him again, even at the cost of his precious League, and he doesn’t know how to reconcile that with the villain blowing arms off of heroes.

“He might make that choice, or he might not get the chance,” Yuko points out. “I cannot in good conscience let you risk yourself. No one will benefit if you get harmed any further. Think of your teachers, the heroes, even your parents - would any of them want you in that position?”

Katsuki thinks about it. He really does. But the image of Edgeshot clutching his missing arm. The sight of buildings annihilated down to their foundations. The text, “All Might, MIA on the scene - no word yet on what’s happened to the Number One Hero.” It’s all more than he can bear. And more than he can stop. Even if he showed up at UA, and the heroes were notified of his safety, the fight would continue - it was too far gone now for it not to. And even if the heroes stopped, the villains wouldn’t.

Flames had engulfed the villain hideout. They’d cauterized Edgeshot’s arm and held the police at bay. The same flames that Dabi had held back, even when Katsuki had been aiming to do serious damage.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Katsuki concedes, feet carrying him to the door without conscious thought on his part. “But I’m going anyway.”

Even at ninety-three years old, Yuko can still walk faster than Katsuki. It’s a realization that makes his hot blood boil just a little more as she cuts him off. “Young Bakugou, you won’t get more than three blocks in that condition. Not without help.”

His eyes narrow into slits. “Watch me.”

She stands there in a plain blue shirt and practical pants stuffed into gardening boots, the top of her head level with his sternum, and stares him down. The message is very clear: you’ll have to go through me.

Katsuki’s teeth grind, fury making his eye twitch. Then she goes in for the killing blow.

“I have one regret in my life,” she says clearly. “And that is letting a young man go into a dangerous situation without trying to stop him. Dabi was the result of that choice. I will not be making that mistake again, do you understand me?”

He tries to straighten to his full height, and his back spasms in pain. It’s a gruesome reminder of how this whole shitstorm started.

And I’m still alive to feel the fucking pain because of that asshole, some annoying part of his conscience points out.

Katsuki blows his breath out between his bared teeth, fighting for control. There had to be some goddamn way to convince Yuko to let him go.

“If the League has people in the police, someone will notice if I show up in Tokyo when I was supposed to be in Yokohama,” he grits out. “If you want the asshole’s story to be corroborated by me and the police, we have to be there , not here .”

She pinches her lips. “That may well be. And I don’t want to put Kasai in danger, despite what he’s done. But do you really think that ditching me to find him - don’t look at me like that, I know that’s what you were thinking - would really be any safer for either of you? What if you show up and he’s injured? And can’t help?”

It’s a good point , Katsuki has to concede. So he tries a different tact. “And your friend K-Pop? You’re just going to leave him out in the fucking wind?” Yuko winces.

“No, I’m not,” she says quietly. “I will go look for him after I’ve gotten you somewhere safe.” Katsuki seethes.

Then an idea hits him. He’s been looking at this all wrong. Yuko’s not going to let him go because she’s afraid for his safety. But what about everybody else?

“Lady. Yuko,” he says. “A shit ton of people have died because of this fight already.” Her face goes grave immediately, but he doesn’t give her a chance to speak up.

“I’m not a very fucking good hero yet,” he admits. And fuck if it isn’t painful to say out loud. “But I told the asshole I wanted to be like All Might. And that means saving people on top of kicking ass. If there’s a chance to derail this clusterfuck, I can’t not take it.”

She plants her hands on her hips and is silent for a full minute, glaring at the ground as if it’s done her a personal disservice before she sighs gustily and shakes her head.

“You sound just like him,” she mutters. Then her wizened eyes meet his, and there’s a spark in them that even the veil of age can’t mask.

“We find Torrent first, understood?” She says fiercely. “I mean that. We’re not going into this situation without knowing what’s going on, and he’ll probably know best. If it looks bad, we go to the police.”

Katsuki grins down at her.

“Good enough for me.”

——

Rooftop above the police forces, target alpha.

Daiki isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but his immediate impression is: Something Not Good.

It’s the smallest thing, and in any other circumstance, with probably any other background besides ‘paranoid vigilante’, he would have dismissed it. But there’s an… offbeat echo to his police chatter.

Someone’s behind me, is all he has time to think before a sharp coughing noise splits the air.

He drops to the ground, and something catches the light as it shoots by where his body had been. Daiki doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s rolling.

Another coughing noise - a silencer, he recognizes - spits out into the night, and the concrete next to Daiki’s left knee kicks up violently into the air.

Shit, shit, shit, he chants, trying to regain his feet and find a place to hide at the same time. But the roof only has one location that provides any cover, and that’s where the shots are coming from.

Daiki gets a hand on the ground, shoving off so hard he loses the pads of two fingers. But with concrete dust popping up at his heels, he ignores the pain and makes the only choice he really can.

He just hopes he’s remembering the layout correctly.

Body leaned forward in a ridiculous parody of running, trying to regain balance; he hits the edge of the roof without stopping. Something extremely hard and painful hits him in the calf - right below the knee - and he grunts as his other knee cracks into the low wall and he goes tumbling over the side of the roof.

Whoever said they had time to think about their regrets, or see their lives flash before their eyes or any other crap like that, was a fucking liar. Daiki hits the edge of the fire escape that he’d been aiming for, and he hits it hard. Bouncing off the corner with an absolutely punishing clang of elbow-meets-metal.

The ground comes up immediately after for round two.

A solid, unforgiving impact slams into his left hip and shoulder, and his head snaps down with gravity, yanking several muscles in his neck. He wants to groans in pain, body in near-shock from the impact. Unfortunately, he has no air left in his lungs for that nonsense.

Daiki’s heart pounds, and his elbow, calf, knee, and generally everything else throbs like a shadow beat behind it.

Throb-throb, throb-throb, throb-throb.

Oooooowww, oh my god, oooowwwwwww.

His eyes are clenched, and his fucking motor function is shot, but he knows he’s gotta keep moving. He’s too open here for whoever is taking shots at him.

“What a fucking role reversal,” he wheezes with his first breath, rolling slowly over onto his side. His elbow gives a very abrupt and extremely crippling objection to the movement. Daiki ignores it as best he can, hissing imprecations under his breath.

He gets to his good knee and staggers upright, just as that same asthmatic harbinger of fuckery coughs out another round. It slams into the concrete just behind him as he hop-limps to shelter under the fire escape.

Assess your options, he thinks quickly. I’ve only bought a little time - if he tries to come down the steps, I’m trapped. He can shoot me from any point if I try to run. Need tech of some kind - maybe I can reroute a call to him or set the building security alarms off… A thousand options present themselves as he forces a shaky hand into his pocket, yanking out his phone.

His very busted, but somehow still alive phone. Even as he stares at it in stupefaction, the thing buzzes slightly like it’s getting an incoming call. But no screen lights up. Even holding it in his hand, he can tell it’s only a couple of very tenuous electrical impulses that are keeping the thing together. Not near enough to do anything with.

Well, shit, he thinks.

Another loud ‘plink!’ off the railing overhead assures him that his adversary hasn’t forgotten him.

Think, dammit, he snarls to himself. A quick survey of the area gives him very little to work with. A couple of metal trash cans. Some litter. What looks like a single, broken bottle.

It’s the bottle that does it. Reminds him of one of Kasai’s stupider stunts when he’d been about sixteen. He’d just... fucking run at a bunch of guys with it, even though they were all armed in someway or another with far more dangerous weapons.

Let’s just hope my luck holds out using one of the dumbass’s plans.

With that, he snatches up the bottle, snags a round, dented lid off one of the trash cans, and starts hobbling up the stairs toward his attacker.

Narrowing down the approach by using the ladder would definitely be a step towards not getting shot. Hefting the impromptu shield over his head, he makes the first landing. No more shots have been fired yet, but he knows the guy might have seen his ploy and was just waiting for him to drop his guard. Which would probably have to happen if he wanted to use his bottle-turned-weapon with any sort of gusto. As it is, he’s holding it in his rather gimpy arm that’d gotten cracked by the railing.

His calf screams with every jolting step, and he desperately doesn’t want to look down at it to see what he’s sure is a neat, round bullet hole. His only comfort is that it’s probably a flesh wound, or he wouldn’t be walking at all.

Not that this really counts, he thinks, creeping clumsily up another wide rung.

The temptation to peek around the edge of the lid is strong, but Daiki shoves it down alongside his growing apprehension at the radio silence overhead. Instead, he starts making his way up the next landing.

He can’t be too far above me, Daiki thinks. It was only three floors. His next step up is a cautious, wavering thing. One foot planted, the other hovering above the surface it’d just left, toe pointing downward. The alleyway seems unnaturally still in the tension. The only light coming from the flashes of red and blue at the alley mouth that intersected the police staging area.

Daiki’s breath hits the metal of the trash can lid, fogging it slightly from how close he’s holding it to him. He can smell the reek of thousands of nights of trash that’d been piled against the warm tin. His sweaty grip on the bottle shakes a little, knocking the jagged edges against his pant leg.

Another step. Fogging breath. Sharp glass only rebuffed by a worn layer of denim.

“While this is rather funny to watch, I really don’t have time for your ‘knight in dumpster armor’ routine,” a voice says overhead. Very close overhead - maybe only a few steps up.

Daiki releases a shaky laugh despite himself, “You know what they say, be a trash can not a trash can’t.”

And with that, he chucks the lid as hard as he’s able, grinning ferally as it clangs into the guy’s face. Then, while the dark figure above him is still staggering back, he switches the bottle to his functional hand. Another shot is fired, but it goes wide as Daiki lunges up the last couple steps, trips, and stabs the bottle into the guy’s thigh.

Cursing and banging noises follow as they both hit the landing in a heap. The breath exits Daiki’s body again, but it’s totally worth it as his hand leaves the bottle and snags something else far more valuable. He shoves it out of sight immediately.

The guy shoves him off, and Daiki’s elbow slams into the landing’s metal grating painfully. Still, he rolls back up, because the guy is already back on his feet, raring to go.

But while the guy is moving back into a fighting position with precision and training, Daiki is moving with years of vigilantism and a healthy dollop of adrenaline.

The training wins out, but only on a technicality. Daiki ducks low, plowing his shoulder into the guy’s legs and using his good hand to yank at the back of the guy’s knee. They hit the landing again, and Daiki twists to get the guy in a nasty armlock.

But his assailant has a weapon Daiki hadn’t anticipated.

“You can let me go, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Oh,” Daiki says, startled. Then he releases the guy sheepishly. “My bad - you weren’t going to hurt me at all, were you?” Now that he’s looking down at the guy without adrenaline-fueled tunnel vision, he can see that he’s a cop.

“No, of course not,” the guy says in the most reasonable voice Daiki’s ever heard. A voice that couldn’t tell a lie if it tried. “I’m your friend. I’m here to get you to safety.”

“Really?” Daiki asks hopefully. “I could really use some safety after all this shit.”

“Of course. And the safest place we could be is target beta,” the cop says. Daiki nods along. “And on our way, you can tell me what your deal is with Shigaraki Tomura.”

The vigilante grins. The pressure of the cop’s cell phone stuffed in his waistband is all but forgotten.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

----

Target beta, groggy and on the ground.

Dabi’s stomach rolls and spots dance crazily across his vision. His eyes are clenched tight against the pain of vomiting - head pounding and chest seizing as he retches over and over again.

“Is he okay?” Someone asks in the distance. Tears squeeze out the corner of Dabi’s eyes, blurring his already splotchy vision. He can’t see who asked, but it sounded like Magne.

“Probably that knock to the head,” someone else - Twice, he thinks - puts in. “He’s kind of a weak weeny.”

Definitely Twice.

Dabi’s nose stings as bile burns up his esophagus. His knees dig into the hard dirt under him, and only absolute stubborn refusal keeps him from face-planting into the mess he’s made.

A hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing in an almost comforting gesture. Dabi raises his head and his vision is filled with blond hair. For one stupid, concussion-induced moment, he thinks it’s Bakugou, and his stomach lurches in fear.

Then a much higher pitched, slightly feverish voice says, “You look terrible, Dabi. Really, really beat up.”

Toga. Thank fucking god.

“Indeed,” another voice, deeper and less familiar, muses. The flame villain blinks slowly, and the scene around him begins to clarify.

They’re in some kind of construction zone? The ground has been recently cleared and there’s piles of torn up concrete all around them. The League is gathered around in a loose circle, with All For One in the middle. Shigaraki stands unsteadily at his side, with the super villain’s hand resting in an almost fatherly gesture on his uninjured shoulder. Further behind them, dozens of Nomu form a line of protection that would make All Might pause.

Dabi swallows painfully, staring up at the super villain. Foggy thoughts and half-formed plans muddle about in the back of his head, but the first one that makes any sense is: his suit is torn. How did that happen? He’s supposed to be at the lab…

Following that is a realization.

“Where - ?” The question comes out croaked, voice wrecked by the bout of illness. Spinner answers, confirming what he’d already guessed.

“We’re at the Nomu factory,” the lizard man says. “And we’ve finally got some backup.”

Shouto…? Daiki…?

He looks around, vision spinning at even the smallest movement. What he’d thought was a construction zone is, in fact, the middle of downtown. Only a few scattered walls and twisted beams remain of what had been several city blocks.

Dabi’s blood feels cold, and sweat prickles the nape of his neck. The woozy knot that is his stomach turns to water. He doesn’t even notice Twice’s helping hand until the cloner is hauling him to his feet.

“Ugghhh,” he groans, head spinning violently. Distantly, he can hear the League filling All For One in on what’d happened, but it sounds like it’s coming from the end of a long, echoey tunnel.

“…brought in Shiggy… attacked… shot… then All Might… got caught…”

“… worked with Compress… fought off All Might… distraction…”

“… took out Edgeshot… Shigaraki… marble… copied Kurogiri…”

In and out the voices go while Dabi works desperately to stay conscious. Vaguely, he’s reminded of the breathing exercises he used to go through when his quirk burned him. They were the same ones Bakugou tried when Shigaraki melted half his back off.

Bakugou… is safe, Dabi reminds himself shakily. Shouto was supposed to be here. And Daiki.

Another hand reaches out for him, palm across the top of his head, fingers pressing into the soft places above his ears. Dabi opens eyes he didn’t remember closing to see All For One directly in front of him.

“I don’t have a healing quirk,” the villain relates with easy candor. “But this’ll do adequately enough.”

Clarity hits him like a hammer. His thoughts crystalize and his vision sharpens to the point he can count the threads in All For One’s sleeve. He inhales forcefully, lungs bellowing out in a chest that suddenly doesn’t ache.

“Adrenaline booster, along with some mental modifications for clear thought,” All For One continues, almost off-hand. “My own combination.”

“Thanks,” Dabi breathes, while the villain withdraws his hand. Around them, he takes in the scene with almost new eyes. It’s no less disturbing than it had been concussed.

Devastation on a massive scale. Sirens wailing in the distance and choppers circling from a safe orbit. The Nomu factory is half-collapsed to the side, and everything in front of it is fully destroyed. If there had been people here before the action started, they didn’t survive... this.

Him, he thinks. They didn’t survive All For One .

His heart thuds painfully hard, high on adrenaline and intense emotions. This is what he’d wanted. This level of attention, this level of power. All For One and all his quirks, lining up reporters and historians and heroes to take note of their demonstrations. Then to use their new stage to bring down hero society with its own corruption.

They have the stage now. All eyes are on them.

This... can still work, some part of his brain whispers.

The League members look relaxed with a guardian wall of Nomu around them. Dabi stands straighter in response.

“What have I missed?” he asks, voice unnaturally steady. Whatever boost All For One had given him was potent, and his mind was taking in details at an unnatural speed. His pains are gone, and his fractured panic for his brother and Daiki is smoothed into cool realization.

If they are here, then they’re well hidden. Otherwise the super villain would have discovered them already. If they were here during whatever attack had happened…

That, he doesn’t want to think about. But the answer is just as obvious.

They didn’t make it.

His fingers don’t shake as he raises a hand to rub away the drying blood across his forehead. But his soul trembles. A glass house hit with a bludgeon, milliseconds before it shatters.

I made peace with this, Dabi reminds himself.

Those milliseconds stretch into a void of uncertainty. All For One steps into that void with terrifying alacrity.

“We were simply discussing what has happened since your return to the League,” the villain says conversationally. “An eventful evening, it seems. You were returning to the bar with Bakugou Katsuki - is that right?”

Deflect, deflect .

“Sure. Even Shigaraki can confirm that,” Dabi shrugs, tension trying to pull at his neck and shoulders. He forces himself to relax. No one knew how many or what kinds of quirks the super villain had. One misstep around a truth telling quirk would fuck him up worse than being caught out red-handed.

“I see,” All For One remarks. “And you called Tomura outside, where he was shot.”

The League members shift uncomfortably, and Shigaraki looks up at his sensei, eyes questioning. Dabi’s chin raises.

“My leg got blasted bringing in the kid,” he returns cooly, pointing at the hole he’d manufactured in his villain outfit. “Wasn’t going to be able to support the brat’s weight.”

All of this is true. But All For One still tilts his head.

“So you dropped Bakugou in the alleyway and then, when Tomura was shot, you went to help?” The question is stated as a fact, and the air thickens slightly with an almost tangible energy.

“Sensei…” Shigaraki mutters, using his uninjured hand to scratch at his throat. The villain looks odd, face bare of his usual hand, and Dabi never realized how expressive the decay villain was behind his five-fingered mask. Now, the leader of the League almost looks… shame-faced. “Dabi probably saved our collective asses back there. Took out the boss with his and Compress’ plan.” The scratching gets more vigorous until the rest of the League nod their agreement.

“Ah yes,” the villain allows, holding up a glinting ball. “And you were the one who recovered All Might, in the end. Well done, Tomura.” There’s no expression on his masked face, but Dabi gets the impression that the man is smirking behind the pitted metal. He swallows against a suddenly dry throat.

Shigaraki smiles tentatively, still looking more unsure and lost than Dabi’s ever seen him. The other members of the League take their cue from the blue-haired leader, and shift uncomfortably. Even those who don’t normally read emotions well, like Toga and Twice, are holding themselves tense - waiting to see what happens.

“But we’re getting off topic,” All For One says. “After all, there is still one thing tonight that remains a mystery to me.”

Dabi shares an unconscious glance with Shigaraki, who looks just as confused as he feels. What else was there to discuss?

Then it hits him.

“Who shot Tomura?” All For One asks, the question undeniably directed at Dabi.

“I…” He can’t say he doesn’t know. Not while he’s unsure of what quirks All For One has at his disposal. “I didn’t see it happen,” he hedges, voice more unsure than he would like. “Maybe someone who was with the vigilantes?”

“Vigilantes?” All For One’s tone is odd. Amusement? Almost like he’s laughing at a private joke.

Fortunately, Shigaraki picks up the slack. “I saw them - Dabi was fighting against two of them on the way back to the base.”

“You were that close?” The super villain asks, but the blue-haired leader shakes his head.

“No, on the security feeds. They were a couple of blocks away,” he explains. Dabi’s guts tighten as All For One tilts his head curiously.

“Bakugou Katsuki should have been near the bar, then,” he muses. “He must have run very far, very fast to get out of range of my teleportation technique.” The villain turns his attention back to Dabi then.

The flame villain tenses. His quirk roils under his skin as the air thickens once again with implied blame.

But then suddenly, the tension fades. And All For One shrugs elaborately.

“Or I suppose one of the heroes might have found him wandering the streets and spirited him away. It doesn’t really matter, in the end.” He turns to Shigaraki. “We will find the person who shot you. And we will find Bakugou Katsuki.”

Dabi can’t help but flinch at the statement. Unfortunately, Shigaraki catches it.

They lock eyes.

The look on Shigaraki’s face is complicated. Like he was about to smile and someone gut-punched him halfway through. A little more put out than pained, but it’s still there. And Dabi’s heart rate ticks up a notch as the decay villain gives a little shake of his head.

The rest of the group don’t seem to notice the little by-play. And All For One continues his train of thought.

“Fortunately, we have the resources to find both quite easily.” He snaps his fingers, and one of the Nomu looks up. If Dabi’s remembering right, the larger-than-normal sensory organs - nose, eyes, ears, etc - mark this one as a tracker. And going by the wings curled up under its long arms, it’s one of the newer, more powerful models.

“Do any of you have an article that the boy held onto?” All For One asks, “Maybe a set of keys or his phone?”

They each shake their heads, and Dabi refrains from mentioning the fact that Bakugou had practically slept on his back a few times while he was in his villain coat. Shigaraki’s looking at him speculatively again too, but his gaze is broken when Toga abruptly sighs.

“I wanted to get his shirt - the one that Shiggy melted through,” she says plaintively, and Dabi’s pulse jumps at her words. “But I think we left it at the hideout.”

Hell no. Fuck please no.

The super villain tilts his head, and Dabi could swear it was because he heard his heart start slamming against his ribs.

“Oh?” All For One hums. “Describe it.”

Yuko. The kid. He can’t .

“Black,” Twice puts in, “Kinda bright.”

None of the League notices Dabi’s jaw tighten or his breathing increase. But All For One turns in his general direction and he knows that at least one person has put it together. The one person that Dabi had needed. The one who was supposed to make things better .

“It was sitting on the chair in the middle of the room,” Shigaraki adds quietly, carefully not looking at the flame villain. “Assuming it made it through the fight and the fire, it should still be there.”

Dabi’s skull doesn’t hurt anymore, so it leaves only a crystalline mind to zero in on All For One. Trying to figure out why the super villain has pushed this far. Why he’s trying to crack Dabi’s shell to get to the weakness underneath.

Shit, Dabi thinks in dread, one thought derailing all of the others, if I don’t do something, they’re going to fucking die.

All For One nods sharply at the Nomu, and it spreads its furled wings wide. “Go. The bar. Do not let the heroes stop you. Find the person that shirt belonged to and take them to the Doctor.” He turns to the League, as the monster takes to the air behind him. “You will join the Doctor presently.”

The League members look at each other in confusion, and Dabi takes a small, deliberate step backward. No way was he getting warped away now. Not when Shouto and Daiki were still here. Not while Yuko and Bakugou were in danger.

“The… Doctor Tsubasa?” Shigaraki asks, uncertain. All For One inclines his masked head.

“You are injured, as are several of your companions,” he says, voice softening. “We will have the doctor treat each of you. I’d say you’ve earned it, wouldn’t you?”

Shigaraki doesn’t smile, but tension seeps out of him like ink into water. The rest of the League follows his lead again, and the thick air eases around them.

“That sounds great,” Twice says enthusiastically, pointing finger guns at both Dabi and Shigaraki. “Especially since these assholes don’t need it.” Spinner actually laughs, crossing his arms and giving Shigaraki and Dabi a supportive smile.

“Hope the doctor’s a good one,” he muses, glancing at Magne. “Odds on them being shitty patients?”