Dabi - Part 1

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He just wanted some goddamn potato chips. 

Some goddamn fucking barbeque fucking Lays potato goddamn chips. 

But no, nothing in his life can go smoothly, can it? 

So now he's sitting in a dark alley in a heap of his once-fitting clothes. 

"Fuckin' goddamn piece of shit fuckin'--" Dabi mumbled as he looked down at his body. He cringed at the sound of his voice. So high pitched. He sounded like a girl. It didn't have that cool rasp that his adult voice had due to a it of literal frying of his vocal chords. Now he sounded like a little Christian choir boy. 

Ugh.

He accidentally runs into one crackhead having a bad trip and everything goes to shit. 

This is literally the last thing he would ever want to happen to him for a myriad of reasons.

1) It's fucking obnoxious to have to deal with.

2) It ruins his amazing plans about revealing his true identity and the cool air of mystery he's built for himself over these years.

3) He can feel everything now. 

That last one might be the worst. He's destroyed his nerve endings almost a decade ago and it really did help him use his quirk without feeling the damage it does to his body. He almost forgot what cold rain or scratchy fabric felt like against his arms and neck.

Which, that's another thing, it's fucking raining. 

Because of course it is. 

With an annoyed grunt, he managed to push himself up and gather up his clothes enough to shuffle somewhere and try and figure out just how far back that crackhead rewound his body. 

In the alleyway, he eventually found a window. He begrudgingly pulled over a wooden crate to stand on.

He climbed up and looked into the eyes of boy long dead. 

It sent a chill down his spine.

Which, that's another sensation he's forgotten about.

He leaned in towards the window and pulled at his hair some. 

Okay.

So judging by the decent distribution of white nearly covering the entirety of the left side of his head, he's guessing his body is about 7-ish, give or take. 

Of course he had to be reverted back to when his hair was, frankly, most distinct. Of course it couldn't have been when it was all red or white so he could more easily fly under the radar. 

And now a bunch of rain is running down his fa--

Oh.

4) His tear ducts are back.

Goddammit.

Stop that! Stop!

But he just couldn't get them to stop, no matter how many times he wiped them away.

This is one thing he never missed. The whole easy to cry bullshit. When he was little, it seemed like every strong emotion was met with tears. 

Happy? 

Tears.

Sad?

Tears.

Frustrated?

Tears.

Never being able to live up to the one and only thing he ever wanted in life, to make Father proud of him?

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