ii.

It's humid when he wakes. The air is sweltering and hot and more uncomfortable than it has been in a while; for a second Shutsu thinks he's back in that four-white-walled torture. He isn't though, it didn't smell like dry rot and dead things in there.

It smells like garbage and sewer sludge.

He's in a back ally, somewhere. The walls are stained with bile and urine and other questionable substances.

Shutsu feels like his lungs might blow wide open. There are embers of smoke trapped in his mouth, in his veins, a flicker of something he'd given to a stranger.

A grin breaks out across his face. It's stupid and childish and hasn't smiled like this in years. "Mother trucker dude," He says. The walls across from him do not answer, but he says it again in case they misheard. So that he can understand it himself. Shutsu did it. "I got away. I did it."

Shutsu stumbles up like he's tipsy; he's drunk on relief. It floods through his head and the shot of adrenaline sooths through his skin. His bones feel like they might break and his teeth are so close-held they might shatter each other.

A low, hysterical giggle breaks through his lips. They're dry. He'll pick on them, soon. Eventually, he always does. "I did it. Holy shit."

There's ash on his teeth. "He's gonna kill me."

And once more, if only to reassure himself. "I got away."

Shutsu giggles himself silly. Tripping over his feet and grinning so wide his lips cry red. "I did it."

His throat burns, but he won't stop laughing. He can't.

_

When he can finally see past the haze of immortality, Shutsu prioritizes things in the order he's known for. He's sporadic to the highest degree, but he knows what he needs―while his brother was off doing kami knows what. Murder―getting people to sell their souls to him.

Shutsu knows that, well, revenge never brings the freedom that you think it does. It didn't bring Shutsu catharsis when his brother killed his parents, or made his bullies disappear. Himura-kun and her older brother were both menaces, and the only reason they didn't die at his brothers hand is because they moved out before highschool hit and his brother really rose to power.

When they used to kick his stomach in. He kind of feels like that, right now.

His spine feels like it's falling apart apart. Ribs stretching around his heart, feeble breathes cutting like glass.

Whatever, he has to get things done.

_

The wind breaks on his hands, and when he sleeps he dreams in a different body. He's taller, and stronger, and he's a hero―he is something his brother would hate. Shutsu wakes up grinning every time, it's exhilarating; he dreams of his hair turning to gold and his eyes sparking to electric blue. He dreams of a white cape―he dreams of being so young and proud and in pain. He dreams of being stocky, and shorter, and tying his hair up, up, up. He dreams of being able to grab things with a limb he doesn't have anymore, once he wakes.

He wishes it were real, because his life is bitter, now. He takes the money from people who steal it to begin with. Shutsu tries to give it back but everyone he's ever found no longer wants it (or they're gone―). So he takes the bare minimum for himself and gives them rest to the homeless shelters here. He has to walk through too many nooks and crannies to get to the good homes, but he does it anyway.

He shoves his hands in his pockets whenever he walks down alleyways, so that he doesn't feel the wind on them.

Shutsu pockets the people who don't have enough money, spots them for yen they don't have―he never takes any of it back (the people there don't understand what he's done, what his brother has done, the people he's indirectly killed).

He gives all he can, spills himself into pieces like he did with that girl (boy) in that back alley―except he doesn't have a meta-ability to give anymore.

Shigaraki Shutsu is a man of fleeting touch and radioactive eyes.

_

There's a girl on the corner, she's worried. Glancing from side to side, her finger's twist over each other―she's a child. She looks six. Her hair is brown and her eyes are swirling with light from the tears in them, her hands are trembling now that he looks closer. They're padded.

He walks slow, like she's a frightened animal. He calls out quietly, softly, so much so he's not sure he said it after he does.

"Hey," He spins his fingers together. "hey, do you need help?"

She turns to him, her cheeks are circled pink; like she's embarrassed. She doesn't look very embarrassed though.

"N-no." The girl says. "I'm not talking to a stranger."

She's very serious about it too. Smart kid. Her parents taught her well―she's not well off, he can tell. Because people that are born well off are naive. Always. No matter what they've been told. People that aren't known that they're best listening to any advice. She's poor, and he hates that word. It sounds like what you say about someone who doesn't know. Something you'd call someone naive. Like something you'd call a rich kid― poor girl. Shutsu goes next to her where she's leaned across an old building.

"My names," He pauses. "Ichi. You don't have to tell me your name."

Her eyes narrow. "You can call me Uraraka."

"Smart kid," He says. "your parents were right. About talking to strangers, I mean."

"They―I was looking for a job." She says. "I got lost."

"That's okay. You're, you're too young to get a job though." He says, he sits next to where she's standing by the wall. "You gotta be at least eleven, else nobody'll trust you."

Her head turns to him. "How do you know?"

"They changed the law fifty years ago, they used to only let fourteen year olds, so most people let thirteen or twelve year olds work as youngest. But it got lowered to thirteen, so now you have to be at least. And you have to look thirteen."

"That's.. but my parents really need it!" She says. "I―I'm gonna get a job so they don't have to work so hard!"

"They won't like that though. Wait till your second year of, uh, middle school. Until then, though," He turns his head to her. "just listen to them. Get good grades and make friends."

"But―I―" She sniffles. "I can help!"

"Your a kid," Shutsu whispers. "and if your parents really need the extra help, do their chores'n stuff, so they can sleep."

"But, they―they keep telling me not to!"

"When someone loves you very much, they don't want you to hurt yourself. They'd get their hands dirty for you―and even when it's okay not to, they want to protect you."

"How do you know, Chi-chan?"

"My brother was like that." Shutsu takes a deep breath in. "His hands were very dirty. I always felt so guilty about it too, but I was very sick as a child. I'm better now."

"Then I'll do that too!" She fumbles. "I'm going to help so they don't have to do anything."

"What?"

"I'm gonna save them! I'm gonna be a hero. So-so they don't have to live―so they can live in a big house in uptown Hosu and they don't have to work anymore―"

Shutsu smiles. "I bet you'll be great."

"Really?" She says. "My quirk isn't even that cool, the only thing I can do is make things float when I touch them."

"Well it's cooler than what I have."

He says. He didn't mean to, but he did, and he's never been one to avoid the consequences of his actions. He isn't a liar.

"What's your quirk then?" She asks, just like he was scared of.

"Don't have one." He says simply.

"What d'ya mean? Everyone has a quirk." She says it like she knows it's fact, and it makes him laugh. Bitter and tired and stupid. Because the world has changed so much; things turned over their heads, it rubs his skin wrong. He feels goosebumps on his arms.

"Not me." He's so tired.

"Well―" She starts, but she's cut off by a voice. It sounds so relieved. Stark against his own voice.

"Ochako!" It calls.

"Kaasan!" Uraraka―or, well, Ochako says. "Kaasan!"

"Ochako! There you are. You had me and your father so worried." Her mother says. "Don't ever do that again."

"It's okay," Ochako mumbles in reassurance. "Chi-chan kept me safe."

"Huh?" Her mother turns to him, realizing his existence. She awkwardly introduces herself, face red: "Oh. Uhm, hi? I'm Uraraka Sora. Thank you for watching my daughter."

"It's, uh, fine." He says back. Just as awkwardly. "Also, you shouldn't give your name out to people who live here. It isn't really safe."

"Of course. Thank you, Chi-san." Uraraka-san says. "Let's go home, Ochako."

They walk away. Shutsu smiles and ducks his head, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, even if it's humid out.

_

It's midwinter the first time it happens.

(Or, well, this isn't technically the first time, but it's the first time in this timeline.)

There's another kid, he's seventeen, or so he says. He kinda looks like someone, he thinks. He's small, smaller than Shutsu ever was; his bones look hollowed out, outlined over his skin. It's rumpled under bandages Shutsu is sure he stole. The kid doesn't say anything; he just follows the promise of food.

(People do crazy things when they're hungry, starvation makes you do things you'd never do otherwise.)

He makes a too large portion of rice, onigiri, and a portion of sumire ramen he got from the convince store. The kid doesn't look at him through his ashy hair.

"So, umh." Shutsu starts. "What's your name?"

"I'm―" The boy says. His voice is cracked, the corner of his lip breaks, it wells red. He wipes it with his sleeve, even though it's dirty. "―I don't have one. Not anymore."

"Then, well." Shutsu places they food down. "Who are you?"

"I just told you―" The boy starts, but his throat is dry and he stars coughing. It sounds painful. It sounds familiar. "―I don't have one. I'm dead."

"How did you die?" Shutsu prompts. "If that's all you are."

"I burned alive," He says with a snarl. "he did this."

"Then call yourself Kaso, or Dabi, or Yekeru―"

"Doesn't that mean to save through suffering? Dabi I mean."

"Oh yeah. Double edged sword. Hah, to cremate and save through suffering. I meant it like dabi-ni-fusu and kaso-ni-suru. All that jazz."

"Dabi, then. I'm―I'm Dabi."

"Nice to meet you Dabi, I'm Ichi; with the kanji for one. I have an older brother, his name is Hisashi―but, well, he's dead. What's your quirk. Fire, I'm assuming, or ice - people with ice me―quirks are usually more prone to heat." He mutters. "Is there a thing for that; there's bound to be people out there who conduct in immoral manner for power, right? Experimenting with abilities that could theoretically destroy each other or make the perfect split without drawbacks―"

"They're called quirk marriages," Dabi interrupts him bitterly. "it's when two people join in union to make a quirk. It's a mutual agreement, usually."

"Usually?"

Something like disgust twists in Shutsu's gut.

"My mother.. she was going insane. I wasn't good enough for them and they kept going until―and Father―he didn't give me a chance. I could have been a great hero. Number one―I'd beat All Might and then he'd see, right? If-if I get rid of the number one hero my existence won't be pointless anymore, right?" He looks up to Shutsu with desperate, wild, blue eyes. "Right?"

"No." Shutsu says, and Dabi reels back in a flinch. "Because it doesn't define you. If you can't reach a goal, scrap it. You.. you want your father's love, but I don't think you'll get it. So stop trying to get it.. Dabi, you aren't who you used to be. You aren't the kid who died, whoever he was. You're Dabi now. New life, new you. What do you want with your life?"

"I," Dabi looks like he's holding back tears. "I don't know."

"Well," A grin swirls on Shutsu's lips. "that's a start, isn't it?"

_

He sees the boy sometimes. He tries to help some people, too. But they run because his face is made if metal and scars.

Shutsu smiles every time, gives a thumbs up and mouths I'm proud every time. Dabi sputters, unsure.

(He always smiles back though, it's wiry and he still bleeds at the cornets of his mouth and the scars on his eyes crinkle uncomfortably; like he's trying not to cry.)

_

As it turns out, helping people gives you a sort of reputation.

As much as it hurts his wallet, as much as the crappy cashier job isn't enough, he still helps people.

This, of course, leads him to trouble. As it always does. Fate is a cruel mistress that leads him back and forth between freedom and imprisonment. Life and death cannot decide where he belongs.

As it turns out, helping people and engaging in violence at the same time in vigilantism. So, now the Hero Commission (and that makes his nauseous, because that's the same Institute that tried to hunt his brother down; that's the same place that killed his best friend because his temper gave him teeth) has a price on his head.

UNKNOWN VIGILANTE:

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

¥300000 REWARD

Shutsu has to get better gear if they're sending the police to catch him. So he snoops around―he digs in alleyways and goes online; he digs out rumors and the tidbits from teenagers he takes in―the ones willing to talk.

Things like this? Like the urge to save everyone, anything that comes his way?

It's going to ruin him, but Shutsu has never been one to take his own destruction into account.

_

They call him Giran.

They say that he's one of the most feared people in the underbelly of Japan―second hand only to the devil himself.

So Shutsu pulls what might be the dumbest things he's ever done. He looks for trouble. Literally looks for its. Scours, searches through a rabbit hole and a goose trail. They all stop at dead ends and he doesn't find anything; he keeps looking anyway.

One day, he finds it. Well, him. Giran; infobroker, supplier, right hand man to what is likely the humanized version of evil.

He's tucked in an alleyway, playing on a phone in a bunny-case; smoking a cigarette. He's got tacky glasses and a tackier suit from that same brand his brother loved, back when he was still alive.

"You!" Giran shouts without looking at him. "You've been looking for me, boy wonder?"

Shutsu gives an awkward smile. "Uh, yeah."

"Why?" He says. He spits the cigarette out and grinds it to dust under his shoe. He closes his phone and looks at Shutsu through purple-tinted glasses. "Why would you look for me, pretty boy?"

"I need something, you don't ask questions. You're the best at what you do―and I have money."

"Well why didn't ya start with that, pretty boy?"

"Human expectations toward polite mannerism with strangers, Shigaraki Hitoka."

"Oh? That's a kick it the gut, had to read it back in middle school." He says blowing smoke from between his teeth. "The professor, didn't he die, like two hundred years ago? Someone with a quirk killed'm after he wrote about how they were savages or s'mth'n."

"Yep, that's the one."

Giran blows out a gust of smoke. Last one left from the stub on the ground. It does nothing to untense the atmospheric; it just makes it harder to breathe.

"Anyway, what the fuck do you want?"

"Gear." He doesn't look at Giran. "Elemental proof―bullet proof, allows for agility, black. Jumpsuit."

"Wan' a utility belt an' scarf, too?" He says, there a squidge of humour dipped into his voice.

"No," Shutsu murmurs. "how much'll it cost?"

"Fourty-three thousands yen." He blows out a plume of vapor again. "See ya on the twenty third."

Shutsu nods. Puts it down in his mental calendar; he's got two weeks to get that kind of money. He nods awkwardly. "Uh, where?"

"Here'll do. Midnight should work. See ya, pretty boy."

"See you, Giran."

They both left after that.

Shutsu got home, locked his door, ate dinner, took a shower, and let the panic take him over.

_

He'd taken on several odd jobs to make up for the money he'd need for gear. It's going to be so awesome! Just like the Batman comic's―he'll be a vigilante! Saving everyone under the night, without a quirk!

Everyone knew vigilantes were better than normal heroes. He'd always liked the DC Comics better than Marvel; he liked normal people, fighting, saving the world through jobs or beating people up. As much as Shutsu didn't agree with violence he himself was a rather.. less than pacifist, better than homicidal person.

(As much as he hates it he is, actually, related to his brother. That violent nature is genetic―his mother was always on a short fuse and his father solved things fist first.)

Despite his weak conditions―his body used to fail him, but ever since he gave his quirk to that wo―that man (something in his head whispers), he's been better. It's like his quirk was the root of his sickness. Which wouldn't be entirely implausible, but he's not going into that mess.

Sooner than he knows, two weeks pass (he's a little short, so he digs out money from a little drawer he keeps. He's going to need this). Giran has the suit in a briefcase, which he hands over when Shutsu shows him the money.

Giran counts each bill in the bag and they switch off. He gets the duffel bag and Shutsu gets the suitcase, they leave it at that.

"Oh, and a word of advice, pretty boy?" Giran says. "Don't fuck with Harima's men, the doctors, or 'nyone that works with the Boogeyman."

"Boogeyman?"

"Yeah. You'll know him when you see him―calls'mself All for One. Don't get yourself involved in that shtick. Oh. An' there's this ol' Yakuza comin' back in play, the Shie Hassaikai."

"Thanks Giran." He says. "I'll keep that in mind."

(Something biting holds him. One for all, all for one―)

"Sure thing, pretty boy."

_

"When will you learn?" He says to the rapist he just beat up against the wall. "When will you learn that your actions have consequences?"

"I―I, please-p-please don't kill me!"

"Yeah, please don't kill him." Says a new voice. It's deep and gravely. "It's gonna make the paperwork a pain in the ass. I don't really feel like filing in a new vigilante."

Shutsu turns to the voice. It's a man in a jumpsuit, looser than Shutsu, it has a utility belt and a.. scarf. A floating scarf. Is that apart of that man's quirk? His hair's floating, so, minor telekinesis? Why doesn't he float, like, knives? Wouldn't that be so much more efficient?

"Never thought about that one."

"Oh, shit." He says, and he actually means to say it. "Uh, hi. I'm Chelsea, what's your favorite dinner food?"

Okay, he's going down that hill. Instead of saying that he's already registered as an unknown vigilante and the Hero Public Safety Commission wants his head. Okay.

"What."

"Gotta blast, Bethany isn't going to eat those biscuits herself―"

And Shutsu, ever the mastermind, books it.