Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even when he wore his little hooded jacket, people sometimes recognized him as Dabi.

The vast majority of people didn't. Would walk right by him on the sidewalk with no idea they were walking by a villain. It was different when it came to heroes or wannabe villains, however. The ones who had reason to look closer, who actively searched for trouble.

It was annoying.

A pair of white sneakers came to a stop before Dabi. He subtly looked up, trying to keep his face hidden within his hood.

"You're Dabi from the League of Villains, right?" The man asked in a friendly, though oddly empty, tone.

Not for the first time, Dabi wished his face wasn't so distinctive.

The man before him was unremarkable, save for a stupid green-and-purple coat and a beak-like mask.

"What's it to you?" Dabi returned. He scanned the street for any bystanders, hoping no one had heard his alias being used.

The man shrugged languidly and the purple fur of his coat engulfed half his head. "I just want to set up a meeting with your organization, that's all." Then he said, "If you're worried about being overheard, we could talk elsewhere."

Dabi frowned. The guy seemed too at-ease. Was it carelessness? Overconfidence? Whatever it was, Dabi didn't like it. But he still led the way to a small alley, keeping his senses open in case the man decided to attack from behind.

Although it had been the other's idea, the new location would be to Dabi's advantage. No one to witness him using his flames. And, since it was broad daylight, his hero contact probably wouldn't even notice the blue flames from the sky.

"Alright, talk," Dabi said, turning to face the man. "What makes you think you're worthy of the League?"

The man sighed, his gold eyes drifting away from Dabi. "This place is filthy." Using the tip of one shoe, he moved an empty can to the side. "Couldn't we have gone somewhere cleaner?"

Dabi had had enough of the man's dismissive attitude. The guy was only wasting his time. He would end this now. "Smart wannabe villains don't ignore me." Dabi lunged, activating his quirk as he thrust his hand toward the man's face. "You're never meeting the League."

The blue flames covering his fingers abruptly cut out. He didn't have time to wonder what happened, a gloved hand shooting out to grab his wrist.

Dabi tugged, but the grip held strong, the effort only causing his scarred skin to hurt and the seams to pull. Dabi settled for glaring into the face in front of him.

"My name is Kai Chisaki, of the Shie Hassaikai. But you can call me Overhaul."

"A Yakuza thug?" Dabi grit out. "The League doesn't hire others to do our dirty work." Then he had a realization—why his quirk wasn't working; the connection with the Yakuza. "You're the one behind the quirk-effecting drugs."

"Why don't you think things over and reconsider your decision? I'll even give you a little gift to sweeten the deal." Overhaul raised his other hand—this one ungloved. "You'll thank me for this after you wake up." Gold eyes squinted into a grin, though they still looked somehow empty.

A fingernail dug into Dabi's hand, and he screamed. It felt like his insides were exploding.

His mind drifted.

How had his life led up to this...?

Did it start when he was four? Sometimes he still dreamed about witnessing his mother's death. In the last dream, his subconscious had taken on a physical form to taunt him about not saving her. After all, his given name meant 'luminous saving son'.

Or perhaps it started when he'd seen that video about the Hero Killer Stain, and decided to join the League of Villains. They had the resources needed for him to get his revenge.

No... If he had to choose a single turning point that had set him onto this particular path, it would have to be that summer night, two months ago.

When he'd taken Katsuki Bakugo through the portal.

If that night had played out differently, Dabi never would have experienced half of what he had in the following two months.

The bar had materialized around him as Kurogiri's portal closed. Dabi had still been grinning, his hand at the back of Bakugo's neck. The brat hadn't moved a muscle after Mr. Compress released him—either smart enough not to, or too frozen by fear to try.

Shigaraki rose from one of the bar stools, that weird dismembered hand covering his face. "Ah, Katsuki Bakugo," he said and lifted his hands partway, palms up. His body language and tone of voice was awkward, trying to appear kind and non-threatening and not quite succeeding. "I apologize for the rough treatment, but we'll need to tie you up for now—just until we can plead our case and formally recruit you." Shigaraki paused for a moment.

Dabi couldn't see Bakugo's face, so he couldn't say what expression the brat wore.

Shigaraki continued, "You didn't think we would kidnap you for no reason, did you? I've decided you're a good candidate to join our side—so congratulations. I'm sure you'll fit right in." He waved a hand over a few of the League members, before gesturing to the chair they'd prepared for Bakugo. "You can secure him now."

The muscles of Bakugo's neck shifted beneath Dabi's fingers, the brat's head turning slightly to the side, apparently following Shigaraki's hand.

Dabi wondered how the brat liked the look of that high-backed chair with all the dangling straps. He couldn't help release a little snicker under his breath—

And pain followed. The brat's elbow dug into the base of Dabi's ribs. Dabi instinctively bowed forward, his grip loosening.

He barely noticed as Bakugo wrenched out of his hold.

With an angry yell and bright flash, a large explosion threw Dabi to the floor and covered half the room in smoke.

"I'll never join you losers! No matter what you have to offer—I'll be a hero, like All Might!"

Dabi squinted into the smoke, one hand still covering his aching ribs. He blindly shot a small wave of fire in the direction of the voice—enough to injure, not kill. A few of Toga's knives followed suit.

Dabi wasn't sure what the brat did to make the smoke linger for so long, but it was a smart move. It wasn't an attack, but a smokescreen to cover a possible escape.

"Hey, hey! Someone needs to get him!" Twice shouted, pointing into the smoke. "He's probably hiding!—He's long gone!"

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Magne unwrapping her magnet.

Spinner, like an idiot, rushed head-first into the lingering smoke.

"Spinner, I was going to use my quirk!" Magne whined.

After calling out a warning to Spinner, Mr. Compress ran his fingers through the smoke and punched a spherical hole in the cloud, revealing missing bricks in the wall on the other side. The brat was already gone.

"Find him!" Shigaraki yelled.

The others complied, rushing through the singed opening. Dabi stood carefully and went to follow.

That brat sure had a hard elbow.

"Master, what now?" he heard Shigaraki say softly.

Dabi glanced over his shoulder to see Shigaraki talking to the TV monitor. It was set to sound-only again.

"I don't understand—why wouldn't he want to join us? I was so sure..."

Dabi turned back, and stepped over the bricks to enter the hole.

They wouldn't find him.

Chapter Text

Dabi had been twirling a small blue flame between his fingers as he'd leaned against a brick wall, waiting for the hero to show up.

He'd kept one eye on the night sky, but knew he wouldn't see the pro land. The guy liked making unexpected entrances.

And, as usual, the thump of boots hitting the ground came from a different direction.

"Hero," Dabi said, gazing into the darkness.

"Dabi," the other returned. Black boots slid into the light cast by Dabi's flames, the shadows slowly receding. The hero stopped just within the boundary of light. "What did you find out?"

"Always straight to the point, eh, Eraser?" Dabi said, pulling his lips into a dangerous grin.

Eraserhead just stared at him.

Dabi grew serious, smile fading as his thoughts turned toward the situation. "I talked to the broker I'd mentioned."

He had met with Giran the day before. Having worn his recognizable black trench coat, he'd made sure no one followed him to the building.

Giran was the only one inside, sitting at a dirty booth with a glass in his hand.

Dabi sat across from him.

Putting down his drink, Giran gave Dabi a grin. "I take it the League is planning something new? What do my favorite clients need this time?"

"Just information," Dabi said. "What do you know about quirk-related drugs?"

Giran hummed, scratching his cheek with the barrel of his gun-shaped lighter. "So Shigaraki's interested in those, huh?"

"Nah, not really," Dabi said. As far as he knew, Shigaraki didn't know a thing about the drugs. "But it pays to know what others are up to."

Giran leaned back. "Well, something's brewing. From what I hear, there's two new drugs being distributed across Japan. One a quirk-enhancer, like Trigger. The other... a quirk-eraser. The enhancer only lasts a few minutes; the eraser, a few hours. At least, that's how long the effects last for now. Rumor has it the final products could be permanent."

Dabi had only been aware of the quirk-enhancing one. He knew the League would have no use for it. However, he could see Shigaraki being interested in something that could erase heroes' quirks. Especially if the effects were permanent.

It wouldn't be a bad idea... if nothing were to go wrong.

Giran continued, "If those rumors turn out to be true, it could turn the whole criminal underworld on its head."

That much was obvious. A permanent version of either drug could change the quirk hierarchy. With a permanent quirk-enhancer, even the weakest of wannabe villains would be stronger than Dabi or the others. He couldn't let himself fall down the ranks just yet—not until he achieved his goals. And taking that drug wasn't an option for people with quirks like his. Something like that would probably kill him. Even more reason to get it off the streets. "So, who's producing this stuff?"

Giran shrugged. "None of my suppliers know where it's coming from. Best I can guess is one of the remaining Yakuza groups—they would have the most to gain from that kind of upheaval."

Dabi had left with more information, but no clear answers.

Eraserhead sighed. "There's an ongoing investigation into one of the Yakuza groups, but we haven't found any direct ties."

"Anything else? I've told you everything I know."

Eraserhead studied him for a few seconds, then said, "A little over a week ago, one of my colleagues found a little girl with bandages covering her arms and legs. She's been clinging to him like a koala ever since; refuses to leave his sight."

Dabi wasn't sure where Eraserhead was going with this, but the pro didn't have to be so secretive about the 'colleague' the girl was with. Not like Dabi was going to kidnap some random kid ...again.

"After examining one of the quirk-erasing bullets, the drug was found to contain human blood—matching this girl's."

"Then—" Dabi started.

"The girl was being used for her quirk. However, she's still too scared to tell us anything. Only says 'he' will find her."

Obviously, the 'colleague' was one of the UA teachers. The girl was probably staying on the campus.

It was good news. Without the girl, the drugs would most likely stop being produced.

Dabi felt comfortable.

Amazingly comfortable. He wanted to just stay here smiling to himself forever.

Where was here again?

Opening his eyes, he saw the sun above him, between two walls that stretched up into a bright blue sky. Wispy little white clouds slowly floated by the sun, little tendrils twisting and dissipating into the air.

Oh, yeah... wasn't there some reason people weren't supposed to stare at the sun?

He couldn't really remember.

He turned his head, feeling something gritty at the back of his head he did so, and saw a slate-colored wall with peeling paint. Little bits of dingy white showed through from underneath. There was almost a pattern to the flaking paint.

It sort of resembled a map of the Philippines. Some larger islands, a lot of little islands. If he studied it long enough, he might could put a name to some of them.

The pavement was firm beneath him, and water was seeping into his side. However, it didn't feel bad. The ground was just... supportive, maybe? And the sun was warm.

It was warm, and cozy, and nice.

This was actually more comfortable than the bed at the League's apartment building.

Maybe the kid had been right about a futon on the floor being better than a mattress.

He was content to just stay here for a while.

He turned his eyes back to the sky and watched the clouds drift by. The thin little things curling and gliding like white smoke.

The sun eventually slipped beyond the narrow strip of open sky, and a shadow stretched over the alley. The shade leeched away the warmth. The puddle of water beside him had already soaked into his jacket and shirt, and now the cold fabric sucked at his side.

The pavement mashed painfully against his bones after lying against it for so long. He rolled to his side with a groan and pushed himself up onto one elbow. And stared at the alley from ground level.

Mud was splattered across the asphalt, while leaves, cans, and broken glass sat along the edge.

That guy'd been right. This place was filthy.

He was probably going to get an infection.

Why had he decided it was a good idea to lie on the ground? He'd been upset with that guy for wasting his time, and then he'd wasted it on his own?

Something nearby glinted, and his gaze drifted downward. Was he lying beside some of the broken glass?

It wasn't glass, but metal.

Tiny metal pieces—piles of them—scattered around him. Little rectangular rings. They didn't cover the whole alleyway, but only rested near him.

Something about that—about them—was very unsettling. A foreboding feeling he didn't want to explore.

A white business card, too pristine to have been in the alley long, rested just beyond the strange little rings, as though waiting for him. The distraction was welcome. He reached for the card with his free hand, and his jacket sleeve slid up his wrist.

He paused, hand hovering in midair.

Without thought, he started slowly pulling the limb back to him, eyes on the back of his hand as he tried to understand what he was seeing. His eyes weren't focusing right, the shadows were playing tricks on him, his mind was still fuzzy from what must've been some kind of drug, that was all.

He blinked and suddenly remembered the card he'd been reaching for. He picked it up and brought it close enough to read. However, despite the card held between his fingers, he again found himself focusing on his hand. Even up close, something seemed wrong.

His scaring had gone a little past his wrists, right?

His eyes turned to the edge of his jacket sleeve. What would he find if he pushed up that sleeve?

It was too awkward to reach the sleeve when his other arm was beneath him.

As he sat up, more stap—

And he realized... the metal pieces were staples. Closed staples. Ones that hadn't been opened up or removed. As though whatever it was they'd been holding together had just melted out from under them.

More staples fell from his clothes as he sat up, and he jerked back, unexplainably disgusted—fearful?—and not wanting those things touching him. His quirk instinctively activated as he scrambled back, little blue flames randomly appearing over his body. His head banged into the wall behind him, making his vision flash white for an instant. He frantically shook out his shirt and jacket to get rid of the strange staples, brushed off his pants.

Then sat with his back against the wall as he caught his breath, warily eyeing the piles of glittering staples on the ground, half expecting them to attack him.

They didn't move. Just glinted up at him.

What was wrong with him? He was Dabi, a dangerous villain. He couldn't go around scuttling back from harmless, tiny little objects like that. He had a reputation to uphold. 'Dabi' didn't get startled. Or at least, he didn't show it when he did. He was good at hiding his emotions. There wasn't even a reason for him to be that startled over—of all things—staples.

He was fine. Everything was fine.

The business card sat innocently at his side.

One of the staples rested on top of it.

He slowly reached for the card, lifting one side to slide the staple off. The staple landed on the ground without a sound and lay still, and then Dabi picked up the card.

Beside a logo, large letters read, "Shie Hassaikai". In the corner, in fine print, it said, "Kai Chisaki, Secondary Head," followed by a phone number.

And that guy's face flashed before his eyes.

"Why don't you think things over and reconsider your decision?"

Empty golden eyes.

"You can call me Overhaul."

A gloved hand grabbing his wrist.

"I'll give you a little gift."

A fingernail digging into his hand.

And Dabi shoved the card into his pocket.

He searched the alleyway for any sign of Overhaul. Not on the ground waiting for Dabi to notice, not crouching in the shadows, not gazing down from the rooftops. No golden eyes watching him.

Of course Overhaul wasn't still around. It'd been, what, an hour or two?

Wait... What had the guy meant by giving him a 'gift'?

With slightly shaking fingers, Dabi pushed up his jacket sleeve.

There weren't any burns.

Or seams, or staple scars.

He turned his gaze to the staples lying on the ground, winking up at him—closed, like whatever they'd been holding together had just melted out from under them.

A fingernail digging into Dabi's hand.

A scream.

A feeling like his insides were exploding.

His heart raced.

He huffed out a breathless laugh. At least that meant he still had a heart, right? That he was alive?

Right?

He slapped his hands to his face, running his fingers over his skin.

No feeling of burns. No surgical staples. Not even normal piercings.

His breaths were shallow, so thick he choked on them.

He pulled on the neck of his shirt—nothing. Smooth skin. No scars, no burns.

What had that Overhaul guy done to him?

He glanced at the dirty alleyway, and felt sick. He couldn't stay here.

He lurched to his feet, shooting a hand out to catch himself against the wall. He had to go. He pulled the hood of his jacket back up. Stumbling a little, he left the alley, one hand holding his jacket hood low over his face, too low to see ahead of him, bumping into people on the sidewalk. He just needed to go.