weary travelers.

YOUR NAME IS LOST, SPELL IT WITH NEW LETTERS

Dabi was never the planing type, he rushed into things it used to have consequences, but―it was something Fuyumi scolded him for back when he was―well, he'd rather not think about it. But when it was too cold, even for him―when being ice-proof did nothing (it felt like he was having a fever). And a white-haired teen that looked suspiciously like Natsuo invited him into a warm bar, he thought about what to say to the three people that were going to be in there.

Dabi had always been cautious, but never a planner. The Bastard always hated him for that, but that's why he did it. Maybe running away from his past was taking a toll on him. Not that he would ever admit to that. Nothing would make him regret running away (not even the scars that marred his skin now that he didn't have burn cream). His bones ache with regret―regret not for what he'd done, but what didn't. (He should have took Shou and 'yumi and Natsu.)

The bar is full of chittering, lively, and comforting sounds. It reminds him of when The Bastard would leave and they would all scramble to watch some silly cartoon. Mom would calm down and Natsuo would tease him because he was taller, and Fuyumi would take a break from work, he and Shouto wouldn't have to train. He missed those days, but that was before he set himself on fire at that stupid, stupid place that The Bastard sent him to. (The boy with a golden smile and eyes to match was kinda cute, though they would never have a relationship, not after he said Endeavor was his favorite. Dumb fuck never looked under the fire-mask.)

(Fire burns and everything hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts. Everything hurts and it won't stop hurting. But he can't stop, if he stops now then Shouto's going to get hurt and Shouto is only five―)

Whatever he wasn't in that hellhole anymore, so there was no point going over the shit that happened. His staples are digging into his skin, but he can hardly feel them under the thick scarring that lines his legs and face, that stitch up his arms. He's a monster, he's a monster an he's going to kill one before he kills himself.

Three people, just like the Natsuo-lookalike said, sit by a countertop in the bar. White-blue ratty hair and crumbling skin, the oldest one is an adult at least. The last two are both either third-years in junior high or first-years in high school.

The girl has permanently flushed cheeks and a heart-shaped face, there is a healthy sign of life around her. Her oak hair frames her face and she jumps up and down with energy (her clothes are ragged and too-well worn). She's bright and her smile is boisterous and wonderful.

The boy is the opposite, sunken eyes and pale skin. Fading scars and bruises wrap around his wrists and ankles. And that's only what Dabi can see. He's sure there are more―this boy has a fire quirk that he can't control, probably. Or he's had excessive contact with an explosive quirk over the years. It's likely the former.

"Yo, I found a new member of the IPS!"

"I didn't agree to join 'n organization, the hell are you saying?"

Natsuo-lookalike stares at him with a raised brow. He thinks for a moment, Dabi realizes, possibly dazed. Then he bursts out into a giggle fit that sounds way too much like the actual Natsuo. Dabi doesn't know what to do, everything is hazing over and it's so loud. It feels like Endeavor is out and now he can finally talk with his siblings―

"It's not an organization, it's the Izuku Protection Squad."

"Th-th-the what-t?"

They ignore the boy who can't control his quirk (that's probably Izuku, he notes), and the adult that desperately needs lotion looks at him.

"Do you solemnly swear to never hurt Izuku Midoriya for your time staying with us?"

Then it hits Dabi like a truck―or a burst of flames that drape around him in deep purple curtains―and he gets it. They're protecting the kid. He doesn't know why, but they are.

"This is Izuku Midoriya, right? What's your quirk kid?"

It was a fire type, most likely. That was where the scorch marks on his hands came from. That's why there's bubbling on his elbow. that's why his ears are warbled and why there is red peeking from the collar of his shirt.

"I- I- I c-c-can a-a-ana-analyze quirks, i-i-it's n-not r-r-really th-that im-impressive."

Who hurt you?

Izuku can see it in the burnt mans' eyes. There is fire under his skin, and it lights up his face and there is tingling on his burns again and then it feels like Kacchan is there and if Kacchan is there someone is going to get hurt and it would be his fault and―

"You're not a big fan of close contact, are ya, kid? Well, whatever, I go by Dabi right now, 's nice to meet you, I guess, Izuku."

"I-i-i-it's n-nice t-t-to meet y-y-you t-to, Dabi."

"Alright, I told you my name, your turn."

The Natsuo-lookalike is not a lookalike.

"Natsuo!" He says.

Dabi flinches, it's almost unnoticeable, but Izuku catches it. Reading people's movements was second nature to him. And there's almost something like fondness in the burnt mans' eyes.

"I'm Ochako!"

"Tomura."

"And you? Bartender?"

"I am Kurogiri."

He couldn't stop the smile from stretching across his freckled cheeks, he saved another person. Isn't that what heroes do?

("You'll never become a hero, you're just a pathetic, worthless, waste of space. You're Deku. Don't you forget it!")

He was finally happy and good and he finally has friends. He wonders what Kacchan would say if he saw him now. Then he lets it go, he grins ear to ear and tries to forget everything, because he didn't have anything good to think about anyway. 

Izuku will never realize it―not now, not ever―but when he smiles, it lights up their lives.

He is there sun, their light. (And yet he feels like he's stealing their sunshine.)

At least now there is a new light―dimmed and fadded, almost past redemption, and maybe in another world the man dressed in fear and burns and stapled scars doesn't get his happy ending; maybe in a different world Izuku is dead and Tomura is still under the thumb of his Sensei. Yet―

Yet, they aren't.

So Izuku smiles and laughs; and he forgets that he's just as broken as he always was, and that his friends aren't discarded puzzle pieces. That the world isn't cruel, that people like Kacchan will always exist, that All Might can't save everyone. That sometimes the heroes lose. That both all villains are bad. That the world is bitter and cruel, and he's spent his entire life falling off bridges and school rooftops.

He just smiles, erasing the blood from his own suicide. Stepping off the ground (maybe this is heaven).