Dabi x Tomura stories

11. Ashes of tomorrow

Info: angst, death

The night had turned cold, silent, its chill pressing heavily on the ragged remains of what had once been the League of Villains. They'd lost so many in the recent skirmishes, the names too many to remember, just scars and shadows left behind, but the pain remained sharp. War had made ghosts of them all-twisted, worn fragments of themselves that walked, talked, and bled in memories too raw to ever heal.

In the heart of a ruined building, among crumbling walls and shattered glass, Tomura Shigaraki leaned against a cracked window, staring into the rain-soaked streets of the desolate city. His usually defiant red eyes were dim tonight, flickering with a tiredness he'd never let anyone else see. He didn't hear Dabi enter the room; he just felt the soft warmth of his presence, like the embers that were never far from his fingers. Dabi leaned in the doorway, half-smiling, his dark, burned skin barely visible in the shadows.

"You've looked better," Dabi said, his voice flat, but there was a softness underneath. Only Shigaraki knew to look for it. Only Shigaraki knew what lay behind those harsh, charred features.

"What do you want?" Shigaraki asked without turning, keeping his voice as impassive as ever. But he wanted him to stay. Somehow, it was Dabi's presence alone that kept him from falling apart in the silence. Dabi was the last reminder of something that had once been real, back when their war was nothing but a dream-one that seemed so much purer, back then, before all the blood, the loss, the hopelessness.

Dabi moved closer, his footsteps soft on the dust-covered floor. He didn't answer right away, just stood beside him, gazing at the rain-streaked window as if he could see through the veil of storm and darkness. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost tender, but there was a fragility to it that made Shigaraki's chest tighten.

"You know why I'm here," he murmured, barely more than a whisper. Shigaraki could feel the weight of his words, the way they seemed to settle between them like an unspoken promise. Or maybe it was a curse.

"Don't," Shigaraki muttered, looking away. He couldn't meet Dabi's eyes, not tonight, not when his own heart was so raw, when he was barely holding on. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

"I'm not making anything harder," Dabi shot back, his tone sharper, the bitterness cracking through. "You're the one doing that, Tomura. You're the one pretending this doesn't mean anything, that we're just... comrades. That's not who we are anymore, and you know it."

Shigaraki's fists clenched, a shudder rippling through him. He wanted to scream, to tell Dabi to leave, to get out and never come back, but he couldn't do it. Even as he felt himself crumbling, even as his control slipped through his fingers like sand, he couldn't bring himself to push Dabi away.

Because he knew that if he did, he'd never see him again. The war was killing them all, tearing them apart, and every time they went out there, he knew it might be the last. But he couldn't stop fighting, couldn't stop the hate burning in his veins. He'd given too much of himself to this cause, lost too many pieces to ever be whole again.

And yet, there was Dabi, standing there, as if nothing could shatter him.

"Why are you still here?" Shigaraki's voice was little more than a rasp. "Why do you keep coming back? You know there's no future for us, Dabi. We can't... this can't... we're not like that. We can't be anything more than what we are."

Dabi laughed, a sound so bitter it felt like ice in Shigaraki's chest. "You think I don't know that? You think I haven't figured that out by now?" His voice cracked, his eyes gleaming in the faint light, and for a moment, Shigaraki saw the truth he'd hidden so well-the pain, the longing, the broken pieces that mirrored his own.

"I keep coming back because you're all I have left," Dabi whispered, and his voice was so raw, so open, that Shigaraki's heart twisted painfully. "Because in this hell, you're the only thing that makes me feel alive."

A silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, the weight of unspoken words pressing down like a storm ready to break. Shigaraki swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, but the truth lay bare between them, undeniable, like a wound that could never heal.

"You think I don't feel the same?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "You think I don't... hate that we're stuck in this mess? That I don't wish things were different?" His voice broke, a shiver running through him. "But they're not. This is all we have, Dabi. This war. This... empty, endless fight. There's nothing else."

Dabi's gaze softened, and for a moment, he reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered between them. But he pulled back, clenching his fist as if he could force away the need, the pain, the helplessness that seemed to swallow them both whole.

"You're right," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. "This is all we have. And it'll destroy us both in the end, won't it?"

Shigaraki couldn't answer, couldn't find the words to admit the truth they both knew but couldn't say. Instead, he turned away, his gaze falling to the floor, his hands shaking with a fear he couldn't name.

And then, in the corner of the room, he saw Toga, her face pale, her eyes wide with something he couldn't quite place. She looked as broken as they were, her usual cheerfulness gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness that mirrored his own. Twice had been gone for days, another mission, another risk, and the fear in her eyes told him she was already bracing herself for the worst.

"Shigaraki..." Toga whispered, her voice small, almost childlike. "Why are we still doing this? Why are we still... fighting?"

He couldn't answer her. How could he? How could he explain the endless hate that fueled him, the drive that had kept him going even as everything he cared about was stripped away? How could he tell her that the war had taken everything, even his heart, leaving nothing but a hollow shell?

But then Dabi's hand closed over his shoulder, gentle, grounding, and for a moment, he felt something he hadn't felt in years-a flicker of warmth, of hope, of something worth holding onto.

"Maybe... maybe it's time we stopped," Dabi whispered, and Shigaraki's heart jolted, a tremor running through him as the weight of Dabi's words settled in. "Maybe... maybe we don't have to keep fighting."

He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that they could leave, that they could walk away, that there was a world outside the shadows and blood. But he knew better. He knew that for them, there was no escape, no redemption, no happy ending. All they had was each other, and even that was fleeting, slipping away with every passing day.

And then, as if to shatter whatever fragile hope they'd dared to cling to, a scream echoed from the hallway. Toga's face went white, her eyes wide with horror, and Shigaraki's heart dropped, a sickening dread twisting in his stomach.

It was Twice.

They found him lying on the floor, blood pooling around him, his breath shallow, his eyes distant, as if he was already half-gone. He looked up at them, a faint smile crossing his lips, and Shigaraki felt something inside him shatter.

"It's... okay," Twice whispered, his voice weak, trembling. "It's... all going to be okay. Right, boss?"

But Shigaraki couldn't answer. He could only kneel beside him, his hands shaking, his heart breaking as he watched the last piece of his family slip away. And as the light faded from Twice's eyes, he felt something inside him die, leaving nothing but a hollow, aching emptiness.

Dabi's hand was warm on his shoulder, grounding him, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.