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Dabi meets you when he’s beaten and bloody. He’s collapsed in an alleyway, bleeding from more places that he really wants to think about, and he’s so, so tired. Staying there seems like the best idea in the world.
He lays there for a while, staring up at the sky, hurting all over. This isn’t exactly a new situation, but it’s an unpleasant one indeed.
Just when he’s thinking about hauling himself to his feet and staggering off to find somewhere decent to hide, Dabi hears footsteps approaching down the alley. Cursing, he tugs his hood closer to his face, praying that whoever it is won’t notice the burns. Won’t notice him. Or worse, won’t see him as an easy target to hurt even more.
Instead, the person gives a little shriek when they get close enough that they can recognize the vaguely human-shaped lump as a person. You drop your bag, take a step back, and blink. Realization dawns on your face.
“Are you okay?” you drop to your knees, asking a question with such an obvious answer that Dabi wants to sneer. You’re about three feet away, which is still way too close, and he’s filled with the urge to squirm away and hide. Protect himself from prying eyes and the inevitable look of disgust when you notice how fucked-up he really is.
“F-Fine,” he gets out through gritted teeth.
“You don’t look fine. Hold on, I can call--”
“No!” That part gets out loud and clear. Dabi winces as soon as it does. The last thing he wants is to attract attention or wind up under any sort of public care. If anyone finds out who he is, he’s in big trouble.
You blink at him again, looking very suspicious. “Okay... no doctor then. But you’re hurt. And I don’t intend to leave you here.”
Fucking great. There’s determination in your voice that Dabi detests the sound of. You’re not going to leave him alone. You’ve obviously noticed the blood on him, but you either haven’t picked up on the burns yet or are just hiding your disgust pretty damn well. Telling you to fuck off is probably a good idea. Hiding his face before you remember him is probably also a good choice. Sitting there like an idiot is the worst decision here.
“If you don’t want a doctor... my apartment is just a block or so away.” You’ve gotta be fucking kidding. “You’re hurt, so would you at least get out of the alley here and rest up a bit?"
Dabi stares at you incredulously for a moment or two. You have to be stupid. Either that or so painfully naive that you might as well be. He could be dangerous for all you know. In a lot of ways, he is. But still, you’re sitting there, offering to let some beat-up stranger in an alleyway stay in your home just because he’s bleeding a little. It’s unbelievable.
“Fuck, fine, whatever,” he snaps. At least getting inside is better than waiting here for a Hero to find him and drag him off.
“Thank you.” You smile at him, and Dabi bristles at the sight.
You help him to his feet, let him lean on you while he staggers along by your side. Everything hurts; Dabi’s so skin-and-bones that he bruises and bruises bad. The healthy skin is one thing. Damage to the burns is worse.
Back at your apartment-- a modest-sized place with a homey feel to it--, Dabi crashes on the couch as soon as you let go of him, not really caring if he gets blood on it. You took him in. It’s your problem now. Maybe you’ll think twice about helping him if he pisses you off enough.
As soon as you flick the lights on, Dabi flinches. Your eyes immediately fall onto his face, and yep, there it is, the light of immediate revulsion when someone sees his burns clearly for the first time. Dab resists the urge to look away. He can’t afford to look weak, no matter how much he hates that gaze. He should be used to it by now. No one is ever going to feel any differently about him. He might as well not care anymore.
“Those... might be beyond what I can help with,” you say nervously, dropping to the couch beside him. Dabi glares at you.
“Exactly. And it’s none of your business, either. I’ve got that situation under control, so don’t go asking stupid questions.” Dabi, in reality, does not have that situation under control, but the least he can do is be bitter about it. He doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him over it, not at this point.
“...okay. I’ll believe you. But I do intend to take care of what I can.” You grin at him, wide and way, way happier an expression than anyone should be looking at him with. By all rights, it should be sickening.
From there, you go about patching him up. It’s weird. No one’s exactly touched Dabi nicely in longer than he can remember. And yeah, you messing with his wounds hurts, but your hands are gentle and cool and Dabi is suddenly having a very hard time remembering why he should hate this. You’re willingly touching him. You ask about the burns and are careful any time you have to touch them, but there’s no disgust in your eyes. That alone is the most unfamiliar part of all of this mess.
Dabi was pretty much intending to bail on you as soon as you were out of sight. He shouldn’t want to be here. It’s stupid and dangerous to get close to people, and yet... Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay a night or two. You’ll probably offer him something to eat, which, judging by how much his ribs have been standing out lately, probably isn’t a bad idea.
And anyway, he can always leave if he needs to. If something goes wrong, he could burn the place to the ground. For now, it won’t do any harm to rest for a couple of days. So long as he doesn’t let his guard down.
. . .
A couple of days turns into a week plus a few. Dabi has no idea how or when it happened, but he’s settled in a lot more than he wants to admit.
You gave him your guest room. The sheer oddity of having a real bed to sleep in is weird enough-- having a room to himself is even stranger. You leave him be, for the most part. You go to work for most of the day, and when you come back, Dabi usually just hides. You don’t seem to have a problem with him doing that, which is the weirdest part of all.
The only thing you really insisted on was treating his injuries. After that, you kind of just gave him free rein of the house. You’re either a fucking idiot or way better at reading people than Dabi wants to think about. You’re lucky that he doesn’t actually want to do anything to hurt you.
But. That’s kind of it. Dabi settles in, as much as he hates the thought.
He spends his time holing up in ‘his’ room when you’re home, watching stupid TV when you’re not. He’s bored out of his mind in a lot of ways, but it’s still better than being on the streets and wondering if every day will be the next disaster waiting to happen. There’s something stable about having somewhere consistent to stay, even if he kind of can’t leave. If he lets himself out of your house, Dabi knows that he won’t have the guts to come back and face the fact that he really doesn’t want to leave.
“Are you eating enough?” you ask in one of the rare moments where you’re home and Dabi hasn’t fled to the room he reluctantly thinks of as his. You offer him meals, sure, but he still doesn’t trust himself to get food that you don’t leave by his door. You could always take the offer back, after all. And with Dabi’s high metabolism... it really isn’t enough.
“I’m fine,” he replies without missing a beat. You’ve probably been noticing how skinny he is. He had to change out of his smoke-singed, ratty clothes at some point, and now he’s stuck in a T-shirt and pajama pants that you gave him. It’s all kinds of humiliating. “Why’re you asking?”
“Because I don’t see you eat very often, that’s all. I know I’m not home most of the time, but nothing is ever really missing from the fridge. So... I was wondering if there was anything you need. Or something, in particular, you want me to make. You... you kind of don’t look like you’re taking care of yourself very well.” Kindness. Stupid, unneeded kindness. By all rights, Dabi should ignore you and tell you to fuck off for the trouble.
“Do what you want,” he winds up saying instead, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to look at you after getting it out.
“Okay... then, in that case, I just want to reiterate that you’re welcome to eat anything here that you want to. You need to keep healthy, right? So help yourself. You’re my guest.” Your voice is downright warm.
Dabi lets those words settle. You don’t know him. He’s some stranger that you pulled in off the streets, and yet, you’re acting like he’s your friend. You don’t know who he is, where he’s from, or even what his Quirk is. He doesn’t exactly know yours either, but the point still stands.
But... if you’re going to be an idiot, he might as well take advantage of it. It feels like justifying something, but Dabi can’t afford not to.
“Fuck, fine. But I’m helping you cook and you can’t tell me no. I might as well pull my weight, so don’t fucking argue.” Dabi can feel his cheeks heating up. He kind of wants to hit himself in the head. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about this, none. His head is doing all kinds of stupid things.
All you do is happily agree.
The idea is downright bizarre. Free, regular meals, and all he has to do is help you cook? And even then, it was only because he offered. Dabi sort of hates himself for softening up around you, but at the same time, even he knows it’s smart to play along. After being shit out of luck for so long, taking advantage of someone being nice is only natural, right?
. . .
More time passes. Dabi still can’t bring himself to leave. He’s gone out a couple of times in the now-four weeks he’s been with you, and for some reason, he came back. There has to be something wrong with him.
You’re still insistent about feeding him properly. You say it’s only natural that you want him to be healthy. Dabi thinks that you’re an idiot who’s too nice for your own good. He can’t exactly bring himself to say no to meals that he knows he needs, though, and as of a couple of days ago, he’s pretty sure he’s looking just a tiny bit less bony. He can’t see as much of his ribs, anyway, which is probably a pretty good thing.
Loathe as he is to admit it, he’s actually starting to relax.
It’s still really fucking weird that you seem to be doing all of this entirely selflessly, but Dabi still can’t figure out anything else behind it.
The bad part is that he’s becoming increasingly aware of just how little he deserves all of it. You’re persistently, relentlessly nice, and the longer it goes on, the more Dabi is starting to think that you would have been better off picking someone other than the first crispy fuck you cam across to spoil.
It’s all quickly turning into more than Dabi can take-- the kindness suffocating him on the knowledge that he’s done nothing to earn it. There’s a cost. There’s always, always a cost, and the only thing you seem to want from him is to see him happy and well. The thought hurts on a thousand levels, tugging at the edges of his burns. Dabi wishes he could run away and never come back, but simultaneously wants to shut himself in the room you call his and never have to face the world outside ever again.
Now that he’s gotten one taste of what comfort feels like, it’s getting hard to tear himself away. Living on the streets after knowing what it’s like to have someone like you looking out for him is going to be miserable. And Dabi knows that this won’t last. You’ll kick him out soon enough, and then he’ll be right back to holing up in alleyways and fighting for himself.
And then, Dabi wakes up to one of the days where everything hurts. It’s his stupid, broken body pitching a fit about just how far he’s pushed it, sure, but that doesn’t stop this kind of pain from being one that nothing really fixes. From being the kind that leaves him curled up in bed and praying that someone will just fucking kill him and get it over with. He’s going to be miserable for a while, and that’s all there is to it.
He does exactly that-- lays in bed feeling miserable-- for what’s probably most of a day before you come to check on him. When the door creaks open, Dabi debates the merits of chucking a pillow at you.
“Hey, is everything alright?” you ask. Dabi doesn’t know how he didn’t hear you knock in time to tell you to fuck off, but now he’s stuck with this.
“Fine. Just feeling sort of dead is all.” Dabi forces one hand into the air, giving you the most annoyed, sarcastic thumbs-up he can manage. Maybe you’ll get the message and leave him alone.
Even as Dabi thinks that, a part of him really, really wants you to stay.
“Can I help?” You’ve crossed the room and are now standing beside his bed. Dabi’s aware that he’s in nothing but a sleeveless shirt and shorts, trying to give his overheated body some room to breathe. He’s also aware of just how much of his burns you’re seeing. Dabi suddenly feels worse.
“Y-Yeah.” His voice catches. “Just get out of here and leave me to rot.” Thinking about you trying to take care of him isn’t anything Dabi wants. No, it’s the exact opposite of what he wants... or so he tries to keep thinking.
“...is that what you really want?”
You say it testingly, like you can see right through him and know the opposite. At this point, he’s starting to think that your Quirk might do that.
Dabi grits his teeth and prepares to say something he’ll regret.
“I don’t care. Do whatever you want. If you’re gonna get off on taking care of me, then just do whatever you feel like. Not like you can make this any worse.” He has to roll over not to face you, staring intently at the wall instead. He really, really doesn’t want to think about how much he just let his guard down by saying that, about all the awful ways this could end.
Instead of anything Dabi thinks might happen, you smoothly, easily pick him up, adjusting his body so nothing hurts any worse and holy shit he did not know you were this strong.
He’s too frozen to even cling to you. You carry him out to the living room like his (minimal) weight means nothing, lowering yourself to the couch with him still in your arms. He should be panicking. He should be furious. He should be burning you to a crisp for being this stupid.
Instead, he stays right where he is, not even bothering to struggle. This... well, it’s somehow what he expected of you. You’re not hurting him, so does it really matter? He’s too fucking tired to fight this shit.
Complaining makes sense. Being picked up and manhandled and held in someone’s lap is everything Dabi would normally set people on fire for. With you, though, it just feels sort of nice. Your body is soft, padding his aching joints and permanently-painful burns. No one has touched him in a long, long time-- outside of you patching him up, anyway-- and the sickest part of this whole situation is that it feels sort of nice.
Fuck it. If he’s going to go tame, then he might as well enjoy it. He’s hurting too much to really care how many pieces his pride is going to be in.
So Dabi lets his head drop to your chest, breathing in a smell that for once isn’t smoke and ash. You’ve moved on to rubbing his back, gently enough that it doesn’t agitate the burns but solid enough that it’s almost disturbingly comforting. Just laying there is making everything hurt less.
Sure, he’s heard bullshit about human touch being good for people, making shit heal better, but that’s the kind of thing that applies to people, not patchwork freaks with attitude problems.
It’s not supposed to be the kind of thing he gets.
“Is this okay?” you ask eventually, which kind of just drives in how humiliating this really is. Dabi squirms, trying to think of how to answer.
“I’m not struggling, am I?” he mutters, praying that you won’t make him admit it. Having to say how much he likes this would be torture. Just let him stay where he is and pretend like this isn’t happening.
“Yeah, I guess you’re not.”
You rest your head on top of Dabi’s hair, adjusting your hold on him so he’s a little bit closer, his head resting against the bridge between your shoulder and your chest. You’re all but snuggling him, and as much as Dabi should hate it, all he can think is that the contact feels way too good.
He might be more touch-starved than he thought. Or maybe you’re just getting to him. You have been the one taking care of him.
It stays like that for a while, Dabi finally letting himself breathe. His body is relaxing into yours against his will, some pathetic instinct of trust taking over. You’re still rubbing his back. Dabi realizes at some point that one of his hands is lightly clutching at your shirt. He’s bigger than you, but you’re still holding him like he’s small. You’re still letting him settle against you like you actually care about the fucked-up mess that he’s become.
The feeling is almost unbearable. After everything he’s been through, letting his guard down easily should feel like a death sentence. He’s caving to this just because he hurts. Pain is nothing new, but this-- this-- all but cuddling into someone’s chest just because they were brave enough to hold him is something else. It shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good.
Before Dabi can remind himself that he can’t relax, a drowsy feeling settles over him like a wave, pain and exhaustion catching up with him.
Fuck it, he thinks. If you wanted to hurt him, you’d probably have done it already. He’s tired. Just... staying here can’t be so bad. His ego is going to be crushed into a thousand little pieces, but who fucking cares.
Your hold is solid, warm in a way that doesn’t overheat him. He tries not to think about how nice it feels to be this close.
. . .
A couple of weeks even after that, after Dabi’s pride has long since died a drawn-out death, a new problem arises.
It’s after a shower that he realizes it. Dabi is looking in the mirror, staring at his scars with a very familiar sense of disgust. But. Looking a little too closely reveals something that makes him tense up instantly.
Red is starting to show at his roots.
It makes sense. He’s been with you for a month and a half, so his hair has obviously grown out. Fortunately, the wild spikes are enough to hide the worst of it, but by now, the bright, too bright red is getting obvious. And if he doesn’t hide that quick, he’s going to be in trouble.
He can’t exactly ask you for hair dye. That’s just questions waiting to happen-- questions that Dabi really, really can’t afford to answer. He’s been hiding out with you for a while, and you haven’t done anything bad to him, but Dabi still knows that relaxing too much is just going to get him hurt. With his eyes, if you see that red, you’re going to start thinking things that aren’t safe for either of you. Things that’ll change your mind about him.
So Dabi hides out in his room as much as possible. He finds a beanie and wears it constantly, making sure that it’s never off when you’re around. He gets more and more nervous with every passing day. He can’t hide the red forever. He needs to fix it, and fast.
Eventually, he gets ahold of some dye. He kind of does have to shoplift, but compared to a lot of other things Dabi’s done, it’s really not too bad. And anyway, he has bigger problems than this minor shit.
You catch sight of the box that weekend.
“Hair dye? Um... black?” You don’t look too suspicious; just genuinely curious in a way that makes Dabi sort of sick. “That’s tricky to do on your own, so how about I help you? It’d be easier that way, wouldn’t it?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he snaps, then regrets in a second later. “Fuck, I mean... Fuck. ” It’s hard to get the words out. A part of him wants to just tell you already, to not have to hide things for once in his life. The part of him that knows how to survive reminds him that that’s not a safe idea on any front. People knowing is how he gets hurt.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. If you don’t want me to help, that’s just fine. I’ll let you do it yourself.”
Dabi’s resistance quickly burns to ashes.
“...you can do it if you really want to.” He wants you to know. He wants to let his guard down, be safe, not have to worry about someone finding out. He wants to believe that he can trust you.
And anyway, it’s just hair. Sort of incriminating, maybe, but nothing that really gives it away. You can make whatever guesses you want.
“Thank you.” You smile at him. Dabi’s heart feels a little like it’s melting. “I’m really happy that you trust me.”
. . .
You don’t say anything about the hair. It’s back to black in no time, and you don’t seem to care a bit that it was bright red peeking through.
In all reality, you’ve probably figured something out by now. Dabi’s learned that you’re far from as stupid as you look. For once, he doesn’t really care. You’re obviously not doing anything about what you’ve made sense of, and for once-- it might be nice to let himself feel safe.
So things settle down. More time passes. Dabi lets himself eat and sleep and relax, even daring to lean against your side when you’re sitting close to him. You put your hand in his hair a couple of times, downright petting, and Dabi can’t quite bring himself to get mad at you for it. The affection soothes parts of him that he didn’t even know he had. Touch-starvation is a thing, and Dabi is increasingly realizing he has it.
He really does feel like he’s calming down. But apparently, calming down comes with its own unforeseen consequences.
Dabi dreams of fire and massive hands holding him down. He dreams of fingerprints seared into his sides, heat, heat everywhere, the smell of smoke and burnt flesh the only thing he can recognize in the midst of it.
He wakes up hyperventilating, tears and blood streaking down his cheeks. It takes a minute for Dabi to remember where he is, but when he does, some small measure of tension leaves him. Whether his body believes it or not, he’s safe. Whether he can fucking breathe or not, no one with the intent to harm is going to turn a corner and find him vulnerable.
Rolling over, Dabi curls onto his side, tucking his knees to his chest and trying to remember how to breathe. There are still tears dripping down his face, and distantly, he can hear himself making pitiful, choking sobs. It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. He’s clawing at his burns before he can stop himself.
Before long, the door creaks open. Dabi flinches instantly, putting a hand over his mouth to try to stifle the sounds that would have gotten him hit so, so long ago. No matter how much he knows it isn’t true, every part of him is expecting to be forced out of his bed and kicked around until he learns to stop being weak. Until the person doing it gets bored.
Instead, you sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. Dabi bites down on the side of his hand until he tastes blood to hold the sobs in.
“Can I touch you?”
Dabi doesn’t protest. If he could make himself, he thinks he’d probably try to crawl into your lap again and fucking hide until this misery passes. You’d let him. The worst part is that you’d let him.
But pride and terror are powerful things, and instead, Dabi stays right where he is until your hand brushes against his shoulder. It’s way more grounding than it has any right to be, the touch sinking right down into his skin and stilling things that have been coiled tight for years. This is the first time he hasn’t had to wait out a nightmare alone, he realizes. Every other time since then has been finding a dark alleyway corner to curl up in and having his silent moment of panic while praying no one finds him.
You sit there with him for a while, rubbing his shoulder before moving onto petting his hair. Dabi slowly finds the will to breathe properly, even though his smoke-singed lungs still catch. He focuses on the feel of your hand, of the steady, steady pace of your fingers running through his hair.
Eventually, the panic ebbs. Dabi is left lying there trembling, filled with residual terror that’s mercifully nowhere near as intense.
“You’re g-going to pretend like this never happened later, but...” Dabi braces himself to actually say it. “Stay here. Please.” His voice is shaky and pitifully small. Just saying it makes him feel a lot like curling into a little ball and never looking you in the eye again. Even so, he knows he needs it. Or rather, he knows that he can finally have it.
Dabi closes his eyes, trying to pretend like this isn’t happening. Whatever pride he had is shriveling up and dying then and there, and all he can is hope that it’ll be worth it to be taken care of for once.
The feeling of you laying down beside him is relief akin to cold rain steaming off of his overheated skin.
As soon as you’re settled, Dabi can’t stop himself. It’s pathetic. It has to be the nightmare getting to him. He gets his arms around your waist, buries his face in your chest, and hopes to everything good that you won’t feel how wet his cheeks are. What he’s doing already is bad enough. You’re already going to feel him shaking with sobs. Anything more would be--
You hug him right back, cradling his fucked-up body like you don’t care a bit about how much of him is sharp angles and rough, rubbery skin.
It’s not easy to relax. Even with your hands on his back, holding him close, Dabi’s never felt more pathetic in his life. It was just a nightmare. He’s never had to do this before.
Or rather, he might just have never had the chance.
Settled as he is, pressed close enough to hear your heartbeat, Dabi feels more like a scared child than he has in years. Your body is almost too warm to be comfortable, but he needs this like nothing he could put into words. You aren’t mocking him or hurting him, aren’t taking advantage of this moment of weakness that’s quickly becoming more than a ‘moment’. The tears won’t stop, but at least, like this, no one but you can see.
Next to you, Dabi’s acutely aware of how broken his body is. Physically speaking, he’s shot. If it wasn’t for his Quirk, he’d be all but helpless. And right now, he does feel pretty helpless-- somehow, in a way that doesn’t make him want to recoil and protect himself before it’s too late.
Focusing on your breathing, reminding himself that all he can smell is you; not a hint of burnt flesh or stinging smoke. Reminding himself that the only heat here is your presence mixed with his own fuck-up of a body.
Before he’s really thinking about it, he’s snuggling into your chest, chasing comfort in a way that should be making him want to crawl into a hole and die. Instead, the way you hold him a little tighter is exactly what he needs. No one’s ever done this before. No one’s ever had the chance. You’re the first person to bother with his sad excuse of a self in forever. You drug him in off the streets and fed him and fixed him up, and for the life of him, Dabi can’t understand what made you want to bother.
“You can sleep. I’ll be right here to protect you,” you say, sounding so much calmer than you have any right to.
Your words are sickly ironic. There are a thousand things that Dabi has to face before he can rest, and there’s no way you can protect him from all of them. The best you can really do is take pity on him like this.
Dabi can only hope that you won’t give up too easily.