(I can't write summaries 😰)
Shoto, Natsuo, Fuyumi, Rei, Dabi, and the LOV bonding fic.
Dabi hates Shoto, he hates his father, he hates himself. He's going to kill Shoto, he's going to do it, ruin his father's masterpiece. But that's when he realize...
Dabi's seen some shit, done some pretty fucking stupid things in his life. But few were on par with what he just fucking did, and broadcasted, on live, fucking, television. He just 'cremated' his younger brother on live TV. I mean, he knew his flames physically couldn't burn Shoto since his internally stored ice would combat it, but same difference, the public wouldn't know. Now, everyone thinks he killed his own damned brother. Fucking great.
"Shit," hisses Dabi, tossing his cigar to the ground and burning the darts and photos so nobody would know. He darts towards his brother, crouching beside him and hauling the younger boy over his shoulders, wincing as he realizes how limp and cold his body is. He walks out of the alley, a mask and pair of obscure glasses adorning his face and an oversized hoodie pulled partially over his face, covering his arm scarring.
He walks to his apartment, grateful for the dark lighting in the alleys he passes through, with no streetlights to illuminate them. When he reaches his door, he turns the rusting bronze doorknob and heaves Shoto's body through the flaking red door as he dusts off his boots on the doorstep. He walks across the creaking floorboards and takes off his black combat boots before stepping onto the poorly maintained and molding brown carpet. Laying Shoto down on the pealing tan sofa gently, he props his head up on pillow and walks to the kitchen.
Dabi rustles through the highest cabinet in his kitchen, the one filled with all his meds and cigarettes. Sorting through the mess of pill bottles, he finds an antiseptic wipe, numbing cream, a needle with surgical thread, bandages, cotton for padding, pain meds, and surgical tape. He grabbed the items in the crook of his elbow and reached into the freezer to get a pack of ice for Shoto's wounds. He doubted he could use his quirk in this state. The lights in his rundown apartment had gone out years ago, so all he hade to illuminate the dark was his phone and an old flashlight he found in a dumpster like all the other shit in his apartment. The whole place was cluttered and decrepit, but he hardly cared. Kept him alive and away from his father, and frankly that was plenty enough for him.
He pulls up an old barstool he dragged in from the LOV and sits down on it next to Shoto, leaning down to begin stitching up his wounds. He threads the needle carefully and begins sewing up the burns and gashes riddling his brothers body, being careful to avoid prodding the gashes and infecting them. He winces at the amount of blood, bruising, scarring, and cuts covering Shoto's body, but he made sure to keep his hands steady as he patched up his brother.
After Dabi finished stitching Shoto up, he applied surgical tape over each and every one of them, tightly wrapping bandages over the tape and around the boy's arms, neck, legs, and torso, stuffing them with cotton and wiping the excess blood of with antiseptic wipes. He then opened the orange pill bottle of pain meds he snagged off of a drunk store clerk at the local drugstore a few nights ago, shaking out six after glancing at the required amount- doubling it since he knew the kid would be okay, after all he usually takes five times the required and hardly feels pain anymore.
Just as he's about to feed Shoto the pills, the kid jolts upright in a cold sweat and looks around the dark and ominous room he's lying in. His eyes narrow distrustfully as they adjust to the barely lit room. He turns to look and Dabi, eyes widening fearfully when he sees the needle and pills in his hands. He quickly raises his right arm defensively, a bit of ice beginning to trickle over his forearm as he gritted his teeth and flared at Dabi.
"What did you do to me!" Hisses the kid angrily, "where am I? Put the needle down if you don't want a fight!"
"Jesus kid," sighs Dabi in exasperation, "lie down, you're going to end up killing yourself. Your in my apartment, and I didn't fucking do a thing. All I did stitch up your cuts, you got beat up pretty bad, you know that?"
Shoto takes a moment to warily glance down at his bleeding and fragile state, noticing all the carefully wrapped and stitched wounds. It all comes back to him. His father beating him half to death and passing out in the alleyway. He caulks his head to the side and looks at Dabi in confusion, as if trying to squeeze out his ulterior motives just by glaring at him. He lowers his arm slightly and scrutinizes the room around him more carefully, noticing all the bloody antiseptic wipes lying on the floor and all the medical supplies on the floor beside him. Squinting at the pill bottle, he manages to see the pain meds label, having half expected the pills to be some sort of quick acting poison. More than that, however, he finds the slightest bit of worry and relief in Dabi's otherwise angry angled cerulean eyes, his own eyes widening in slight surprise.
When Shoto moves his arm to push himself up, he's hit by a harsh wave of nausea of pain, and he blanches, clasping his hand to his chest.
"Kid, take the meds, they're not poisoned or any of that murderous shit that I do," snarks Dabi, his voice tinged with a familiar concern that Shoto can't quite place, "take as many as you need, won't kill ya."
"Thanks," Shoto replies warily, taking a small hand full of pills and swallowing them. Shoto can tell that the villain tries hiding it, but when he takes the meds some of the tension in Dabi's face and posture relaxes slightly, although Shoto has no clue what could have driven him to care. After all, his bastard father was the one Dabi wanted to kill more than anything else.
"'Course," says Dabi in response, picking at one of the metal staples on his eye, a stress habit, causing a trickle of blood to drop out of what should've been something resembling ghost tear ducts. Shoto stifles a grimace at the thin stream of blood and the now very evidently real staples.
The pain meds are fast acting on their own, but paired with an overdose, being covered in wounds, and his general fatigue and mental stress, Shoto begins to drift of to sleep. He was far too tired to ask Dabi what he was hoping to gain from doing this. Frankly, the man saved him when he was practically had a leg in his grave, so he supposed he could wait to ask.
Dabi thought Shoto was asleep. Bad mistake. He gave a real, genuine, kind smile at the 'sleeping' boy and brushed some of the hair out of his face.
"I'm so sorry Sho," he whispers, resting his head on his clasped hands, "I'm so sorry I didn't see what the old man was doing to you. I was too blinded by jealousy to look out for my own brother, and I'm a fucking idiot. ... Love you Sho."
Dabi heard his phone ring, and he stood up to go pick it up, taking the meds with him.
He felt a hand clasp the ratty black sleeve of his jacket as he turned to go, and he cursed under his breath.
"T-Touya-nii?" Came a whisper from behind him as he grabbed the phone on the table, seeing Shigaraki's number, "don't leave me."
"Dabi," hissed Dabi on the other end of the phone, "I got a gig for you tonight. Got some potential recruits I need you to burn, some old geezers in Yokohama claiming to be ex Yakuza members, not that Chisaki would ever admit association. Probably just some fake assholes to cremate. You can do that, yes?"
Dabi's breath hitches as he glanced back at Shoto who, despite the quiet tears falling down his face, keeps a death grip on his sleeve, his eyes pleading him to stay. Dabi knows he has some explaining to do.
"N-not today, Tomura," stutters Dabi, "I have something to deal with."
A/N: Hoping to add Hawks and the LOV later on, tell me if you have any feedback on my writing I'll take any feedback :)
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