v. doubt
Outside, it was musty and tight with the threat of rain. Dusk had come quickly, smoky on the horizon, and with the hum of traffic dying down in the distance, Dabi left the warehouse to find the truck parked and waiting – the only car in the lot. He approached with his hands in his pockets, steps measured and slow, and did his best not betray himself when Satoshi – small and lissome as a praying mantis against the vehicle's immense bulk – slid out from the driver's seat.
"Yo!" he flashed a bright smile, wholly unsuited to the nature of their meeting. "Nice to see you again, Dabi."
He had mittens on, a hoodie too, despite the night's buttery heat. And when he spoke, voice a trill, something sharp and vague stabbed at Dabi's stomach.
He skipped the formalities – "You got the stuff?"
"Of course. Right here in the back. Come see."
Rising onto tiptoe, backs of his ankles bone-white and bone-thin beneath the hem of his pants, Satoshi unlocked the boot of the truck and gestured for Dabi to follow him in. Inside, illuminated by the ashy light, he held out and explained various items – walkie talkies, gas masks, a utility belt with syringes and tubes (now, you see, the needles are retractable and can be thrown from a distance or can be used to stab the target directly; either way, as long as the needle connects – pretty cool, right!). Perhaps he could see Dabi's interest, for he talked for quite some time, demonstrating with mittened hands the workings of such and such a piece of equipment. Occasionally, he met Dabi's eye and held it there – gaze opaque as liquid gold – before looking blithely away to the next of the inventory.
When they reached the end, Dabi stood silent for sometime. He glanced over the contents of the truck, considering, almost pleased. But still, waiting for more. Shigaraki, in making him the leader of the Vanguard's invasion, had indicated that Dabi would be provided with something even bigger than these trinkets and toys. Something better, straight from the personal stores of Shigaraki's boss himself.
Closer than he needed to be, close enough to smell the cigarette smoke on Satoshi's clothes and to notice that Satoshi's brow scarcely reached past his own chin, Dabi said, "And the Nomu?"
"Ah," Satoshi replied, shrugging apologetically. "That's beyond my jurisdiction. Far as I know, Ujiko-san, the doctor Shigaraki told you about, will have the Nomu ready for you at invasion."
"So I don't get to see it first?"
"Nope. Not beyond the docs you've been given."
"Lame."
Smirking boyishly, Satoshi said, "Had you asked nicely, we could have arranged a private viewing."
They unloaded the truck, Satoshi passing Dabi boxes with surprising swiftness, talking all the while about inconsequential things. At one point, his sleeve rose slightly past his wrist, unnoticed by Satoshi himself, and Dabi had to refrain from staring too openly at the inky bruises that made his skin look almost entirely black. Was that why he was wearing mittens? Dabi recalled the bruise that he'd seen between Satoshi's thumb and index finger the night they'd met. Where did one get bruises like that? A quirk thing?
Dabi wondered about it and wondered why he cared.
"Where does a kid like you end up learning to drive a truck?" he asked by way of distraction.
"Oh," Satoshi said genially, "Giran's had me pick up a trick or two. I don't have a license or anything, which probably doesn't come as much of a surprise, but I like to think I make for a pretty mean getaway driver, which, you know," he chuckled at himself, "doesn't really require much paperwork."
"You do much of that? Getaway driving?"
"Sadly not. I'm mainly just a delivery boy."
"Must be boring."
"It's not much, but it's honest work."
"Interesting choice of words."
At this, shutting the back of the truck, Satoshi only laughed. The sound of it had the clear quality of shattering glass, and it made skin on Dabi's neck prickle. Their meeting seemed to be rapidly approaching its end. Objective completed. Inventory in hand, quick and easy. So why did Dabi hesitate to return to the warehouse? Satoshi turned and continued to smile at him, quiet now, keys to the truck ready between his fingers. He seemed to be waiting for something – and with the same sense of anticipation, Dabi felt himself on the verge of speaking. He had nothing in particular to say but likewise felt no urgency to leave, and so they lingered there for some moments in a strange and unwieldy quiet.
When at last Dabi broke the silence, it was without knowing exactly what was coming out of his mouth. "So. Is this the last I'll be seeing of you for a while?"
"For a while, probably."
"Good, good."
"I'll be keeping an eye on the invasion, though. So technically this isn't the last I'll be seeing of you."
"Making sure we don't things fuck up?"
"Just logistics." Fidgeting with the keys, Satoshi became more subdued. He paused thoughtfully, seeming to weigh his next words. And then – "Listen, this is random, but can I ask you something?" He gave Dabi a moment to respond and took the silence as a sign to continue, albeit with some hesitation. "Are you okay with doing this shit to a child? I mean, I know it's not really any of my business, I'm just the middleman here. But it seems... I don't know..." he dropped his gaze, rocked his head from side to side. "It seems like rather a lot, especially for a first gig. I get that Shigaraki wants to make an impression and all. But shit could hit the fan so easily, and the kid, well, he's just a kid."
Dabi felt his eyebrows raise. It seemed a little late to be asking these sorts of questions. Besides which, why would Satoshi be asking him of all people?
The kid, well, he's just a kid. Was it the whisper of genuine human feeling or the audacity of voicing it that surprised Dabi more? Certainly, it annoyed him, the doubt inherent to Satoshi's question. After all, what could possibly have been more suitable to their cause than a child victimised by hero society? Muzzled and shamed at the UA Sports Festival, deemed something to be tamed and dulled to suit the watery needs of society at large rather than be embraced for what he was – powerful, frightening, full of monstrous potential. How could they not have used him, this opportunity, to turn the headlights on to heroism's failure? Even knowing that Bakugo Katsuki was 'just a kid'...
Of course, then again, what would Satoshi care for their cause? After all, he'd already said it himself – he was driven by nothing. Survival. A debt/ Of course he'd doubt. He was just as watery as the rest of them.
A sullen rumble of thunder reverberated between the clouds.
Without answering, Dabi turned away, disillusioned and freed from the peculiar spell of the moment. "If you don't like it, you shouldn't have gotten involved," he said coldly, feeling the weight of Satoshi's gaze on his neck. "Weak-minded people can't be expected to partake in the sort of transformation we're spearheading." And with that, he walked away, insides tightening about themselves when he soon heard the thud of the driver's door closing and the truck starting up to drive away.