I'm slowly working my way through my own novel and rediscovering my love for writing. That being said, I have yet to tick off all my 'Cliche Fanfiction Tropes' so I'm back with a song fic~
Trigger Warning : Suicidal themes. Child Abuse. Depression. Drug Abuse. MHA Chapter 290+ Spoilers. Completely AU. Based on the 'My R' song.
Disclaimer ~
. . . I wish
He had considered it in the past. This world wasn't going to change. It was a cold, cruel place that preyed on the weak. He had once been one of the victims, but he had managed to slip away. He turned away from it all, and yet, he could never escape it.
That man haunted his dreams. He was reminded of his past every time he looked in the mirror, and saw the blistering purple skin. Even going about his daily life, with the promotion of the heroes which celebrated his abuser, his tormentor, was enough to drive a man insane.
He wasn't there, yet.
No, instead his body was weary. His mind was sluggish. The world around him had long ago stopped caring for him, and now, he was returning the favor. He was just so tired of it all.
The tower he was climbing was famous for a very dark reason. It was sixty-three floors tall, and still under construction. The bad energy it had gathered had started rumors of the place being cursed. Children whispered about spirits tormenting the mind and driving the innocent to do the unthinkable.
As if humans needed a reason to be awful, other than just existing.
The lock that lead to the rooftop was discarded in a melted heap, laying on the floor of the stairwell. It was such a weak attempt in a world full of complex quirks. He was happy that he didn't need to use his own quirk though. Right now, he was in enough pain.
The unspoken rules were simple. Leave your shoes by the door. A note if you had one. Say your prayers, and embrace your fate. The freedom of the fall was the last thing you'd feel.
Until you hit the ground.
He pushed open the door, ignoring the loud creak as damaged hinges protested. Bright sunlight lashed as his sensitive eyes, causing him to squint and cover them. He stood in the doorway, between darkness and light, as he let his body adjust.
It took a few seconds, but finally his eyes relented and he could see. He just happened to be looking at a pair of bright blue sneakers, right by the doorway.
Somebody was already here.
He should have known better. It was a beautiful day, with a light breeze and a speckle of clouds on the horizon. The weather was peaceful, and even in the midst of the busy city, the birds sang their melodies. That's why he was up here after all.
She was there, standing before the tall chainlink fence that was yet another weak attempt to stop people from doing stupid things. In a world of superhero beings, it was a pathetic bandaid over the situation. The girl in front of him was ready to prove it herself.
The patch of fence before her was corroded away, the ends still sizzling and melting at certain points. It created a gap large enough that even his tall, lanky body could fit through.
She was standing in the gap, not quite on the edge. Her small body was wound tight, as one bare hand still gripped onto the melted fence, anchoring her in place.
She was here for the same reason as he was, but unlike him, she was not committed.
She was waiting for a hero to save her.
Somebody to say otherwise.
Instead, she got him.
"Girl," his voice was gravely from misuse and a blast of wind stole his words. His hands flexed, the taunt skin resisting the pull. She didn't react, her back still to him. "Pinky!"
Perhaps it was a cruel thing to call out. To be fair though, she was pink. Very pink. From her long curly hair to all of her skin, it was all pink. Two small yellow horns poked out of her mess of cotton candy curls, which fell to her waist.
At the unexpected call of his voice, her whole body jerked forward. He was expecting that to be the end, but her unyielding grip on the fence kept her on the roof. It only further proved that she was not committed. She was not ready to make this choice and it only served to piss him off.
It was a beautiful day. He had managed to scavenge a meal so his stomach wasn't a cramping ball. He knew the patrols of the local heroes in this part, so nobody would be able to stop him. Nobody could pretend to save him and accidentally succeed. It was a perfect opportunity and she was ruining it. If they jumped together, she would get the attention. A young middle schooler, pretty, unique, probably missed. She would outshine him. The world would take away the one chance he had at being remembered.
Large black and yellow eyes peered over her shoulder, widening impossibly more when she saw a stranger watching her. Their eyes locked as the wind screamed its displeasure. Her small body was rocking on that ledge, her grip on the fence tightening. Of all of her unique features, his eyes strayed to the one strand of braided hair along her right ear. Decorated with butterflies clips, it was clear that somebody cared enough to braid a strip of her wild hair.
"Let's step away from that ledge," the word escaped him without his permission.
The surprise that came across her face was likely reflected on his own as well. Why did he say that? If he was honest, he didn't care either way. He was here to do the same thing. He was not the hero she needed.
Yet, her hesitation and unspoken need to be rescued, echoed in his own forsaken heart.
In an act of defiance, her chin jutted out and her body swayed forward. It was a false threat since her knuckles were white from her tight grip on the fence, keeping her in place. "You can't stop me," she yelled back.
Honestly, he couldn't. There was no way he could cross the rooftop in time to grab her. She was only a head shorter than him, and her body was filled out from a healthy lifestyle, unlike his own lanky form. If she let go of the fence, he wouldn't be able to haul her back up, even if he wanted too.
Not that he cared what she did.
"I can't," he agreed. He took a hesitant step forward, and when she didn't react, he took another one.
Years of abuse had taught him to make himself small, and unthreatening. His head was down, his shoulder pulled up. His eyes were downcast, and his expression blank. She was weary of his approach but let him take a few steps closer.
"But it seems to me that you're not as committed as you think you are," his tone was nonjudgemental, merely casual in his observation. "Otherwise those knuckles wouldn't be so white."
There was a moment of silence, as the two watched each other. He was waiting for her decision. Either she would walk away, or she would walk off.
After a beat, she turned to look at him fully. She was still perched too close to the ledge but her body staying to the breeze. She could still take one step back and embrace the end, but now it was different. Her focus was on him, her back to the fatal decision.
For just a second, he thought about taking the choice away from her. He could end it for her, in a flash of blue. It would be relatively painless, and much prettier than her mangled body on the pavement. There would be nothing left, just like she wanted.
His finger twitched, the palms warming in response to his thoughts.
She was here. She had already made the decision, she just wasn't strong enough to finish it. He could be the hero and make that decision for her.
Her unique eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she started wailing.
He was always weak to tears. Especially from young girls. His muscles twitched as the long forgotten instincts to embrace and comfort battered at his mind. His sister use to cry a lot too, and as the older brother, he would hold her and tell her comforting lies.
This wasn't her though, and he was no longer that older brother.
So he just stood there and let her cry.
She was blubbering something. Her words were broken and drowned in her tears but she was talking rapidly, each word releasing the pain she felt inside. He was hardly listening, his focus still on the expansion of open air behind her.
"I thought he loved me."
It was like a splash of cold water down his spine. That was the reason? What a stupid reason to be here! To let a mere boy decide the value of her life, how pathetic.
"You're an idiot if he decides your life," how hypocritical of those words to come from his lips.
Perhaps it was because he wasn't pitying her, or because he lacked compassion but his sharp tone was enough to make her pause. Tears still ran down her pink cheeks but her high-pitch crying had tampered off.
"He was suppose to be the one. My true love," she stubbornly insisted.
"What did he love about you?"
It was a moment of weakness. Her bottom lip trembled, and he didn't think it was possible but her fingers flexed, tightly on the chainlink. "He loved me, everything about me."
"What did he love about you?" The older teen shoved his hands into his jean pockets, slouching into himself even more. The skin on his back resisted the movement, pulling against the staples. He locked eyes on the girl, challenging her to answer.
"He loved how I look, he said it didn't bother him that I was different." Big black and yellow eyes blinked back tears. "He thought my quirk was cool, and wasn't afraid of it." Beneath her palm, he could see the fence melting as she likely produced some kind of acid.
"And what did you love about him?" At her stunned silence, he could feel himself growing irritated. "If he's so great, what did you love about him?"
"He was strong," so were most people with their quirks. "He was handsome too, and he use to never pay attention to other girls."
Use to. The drama of young love. He had a feeling that he knew where this story was going.
"Who was the girl he left you for?" His words were harsh, and immediately her tears started again. She was mumbling about a friend, someone who looked normal. Somebody 'pretty'. It's a shame this boy broke her spirit. The girl was pretty, in a unique way and she had a strong quirk.
'Now you're thinking like him.'
Neither of them noticed that the boy had crept closer. He was closing to distance as she continued to cry and rant. It was a cliche story. A normal teen drama, but she was gentle hearted. The rejection cut deeply, as she believed she was unwanted, unloveable with her looks. Children. They were true bullies in the heart of youth.
"You've probably heard this all before. I just thought," the girl paused to sniff back her tears. "I thought he would be the one."
"He was with you because you were unique and powerful." She flinched away from his words like she had been struck. "I bet he didn't know your favorite color, or any of your hobbies. Only brought you out to places that had lots of people and would get him attention." The roar of crowds. The cold indifference from a figure that was suppose to love and protect, torturing him for a dazzling future filled with false promises. Yet, when a new thing came along, something more powerful and with more potential, he was tossed aside like burning garbage.
"What do you know about love?" The wound had been lanced and like most people in pain, the girl chose to lash back. Admirable really. It was better than the wet blubbering.
It didn't mean it hurt him any less.
What did he know about love? That man never loved him. He was a prize show dog, and when it all failed, he was tossed aside and replaced. His mother may have loved him, but it was hard to tell. She was sick, and her mind wasn't stable. It wasn't her fault, but she often forgot which one he was, and sometimes when she remembered, she despised him. That wasn't the mother's love that everyone spoke about, and in the end, he didn't think there was love left in her heart.
He had siblings. They had looked up to him. He tried to guide them, protect them and defend them. He took several of their beatings. Made them laugh when they wanted to cry. He even dressed up in a princess dress for his little sister, or made a fool of himself to make his youngest brother laugh, when he had cried all night long. Yet, they never helped him. They never asked about him, or defended him. Now, he was gone, and he knew they weren't looking for him. So they didn't love him either.
This wasn't how it was suppose to be. This was not the life he was suppose to be given. His family was suppose to love him. He wasn't suppose to feel pain at the hands of his parents. His siblings were suppose to grow up happily with him. Maybe a few squabbles, over a toy or a meal, but not over who would take the beating or who got the attention of their mother when she had a good day.
A hero had robbed him of this life. Society had turned its back on him, wouldn't even listen if he tried to explain. He was robbed. It was taken from him. He was never even given the chance to try. Why? Why? Why! He was going to be a hero. The Number One Hero, just like that man wanted. He was always trying, but it wasn't enough.
He didn't realize he was ranting himself. Random snippets and words slipping from his lips. The taunt skin on the corner of his lips had ripped away from his stitches, and now blood trailed down his cheek. This pain was nothing. It was nothing compared to what he was robbed of.
The vision was blurry as a few traitorous tears fell down as well. He wasn't crying because he was sad. He was angry. He was grieving. This was a wound that still throbbed with each breath he took. This was why he was here.
A cloth dabbed at his cheek, collecting the tears and blood. The girl had finally left the ledge, and now stood in front of the teenager. She was fearless, especially considering that his palms had ignited while he was lost in thoughts. She was using the edge of her long sleeve shirt to clean him up.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap." Her voice was nearly a whisper, but she was brave enough to look him in the eyes, and he felt the flame die in his palm.
It was a moment of weakness. A moment that he had not allowed himself for a long time now.
"I'm fine." It couldn't be a lie, if even he wasn't sure if it was the truth or not.
"Sure," she hummed quietly. "Thank you for listening to me. It really did help."
Her pink hand had slipped into his own. She didn't flinch when she brushed against his charred, dry skin, and her grip on his palm was surprisingly strong.
She was leading him away from the ledge, away from the opening in the fence that she had made. One step at a time, back to the door, and he let her.
Perhaps, today wasn't the day. He was upset, in pain, and couldn't stop thinking about that man. He didn't feel peaceful anymore, and he didn't feel that call that had brought him up here. Another time. Another day.
He idly stood by as the girl paused to gather her shoes and put them back on. She was moving slowly, obviously lost in her thoughts.
"My name is Mina." Her black and yellow eyes looked up from tying her laces. Was this a peace offering? Did she think they were friends now?
It was obvious she was waiting for his name.
He didn't have a name though. Not anymore. He wasn't the boy from before. The one who dreamed of heroes and had siblings looking up to him. That boy had died in his own rage and blinding flames. There was nothing left, just the ashes of an old person.
"Dabi," the remains of bones and ash.
For some times, there was silence. They began the long journey back into the darkness, descending the stairs back to the ground floor, a feat that this building did not normally witness.
They were nearly down when Mina broke the silence. "Will you be back?"
"Not today." The desire was ruined and too much time had passed. A new sidekick or hero would be on patrol and no doubt jump at the chance of positive media. Another day, another time.
"Oh," Mina had found her salvation, her sign to hesitate but not Dabi. "Well we can exchange phone numbers. You can text me and we can talk. I'll listen like you did for me."
"It's fine Pinky, you won't see me again."A forgotten desire got a hold of Dabi and reached forward and playfully tugged Mina's single braid. Whenever his sister was sad, he use to do the same thing. She would giggle and swat his hand away.
Mina huffed something that wasn't quite a laugh and swatted his hand away, echoing a ghost from his past. Perhaps she misunderstood his words and thought he wouldn't be back to this building. "I'm going to cut my hair," she boldly declared. "He liked it long, but I want it short."
Another day. Another night. He would have to find shelter, perhaps steal some food. Despite being a teenager, most people weren't willing to give him money or food. He didn't blame them, he did look like a villain that would harm somebody. Some days, those were very tempting thoughts.
Mina had continued chattering, trying to fill the oppressive silence. Her fingers had found her braid and was dutifully undoing the knots, letting the butterfly clips fall to the floor. Abandoned, some of them even shattering under Dabi's heavy boots.
The main door was before them. Sunlight filtered in from the broken windows, no bodies beyond its reach. Under that light, they would go their separate ways. Mina was a bright girl who had a weak moment. Maybe she would have jumped, if Dabi had not been there, but it wasn't what she needed.
She had needed an ear, a pillar of strength. Dabi was that, just for a moment. He was the hero, just like he wanted to be as a child. It filled his chest for warmth, the nice kind, that didn't burn his lungs from the inside.
Next time though, he may not be there. That pillar of strength may not find her. It never was there for him, and look at where he was now.
"Pinky," at his soft word, Mina paused and turned to look at him. "Don't let a man," any man, not even that man, "decide your worth."
When they left that building, they went their separate ways. Dabi was meant to be alone, he was used to it. Yet, he hoped she wasn't. She was better than that, better than him. She was meant to be saved.
It was different for Dabi.
As a note, this is a young Dabi, but not the villain Dabi. So his behavior is still very unsure, and he is super depressed. If we follow my outline, this should only be four chapters long. I just need to decide who I will be using for the next verse.