The Scars Underneath | Dabi x Male Reader

~¥Chapter Three¥~

Y/N's POV

It's around nine-thirty when I'm finally able to sneak out. Fuyumi and I were able to thoroughly convince my brother that the "rash" I contracted was far too severe to continue our harsh training. In fact, he said that he'd be willing to take me to the doctor tomorrow morning. I'll have to think of another lie for that.

I don't bother with any of the masks or baseball caps. If anyone sees my wings I'm done for anyway. As long as I stick to the shadows, I'll be fine. I only need to stay there long enough to see the Stain supporters speak and sign a few petitions. I'll be home long before midnight.

It's about ten o'clock. Endeavor is out tonight on patrol, working the graveyard shift. My brother has already went to bed, claiming he needed his "beauty sleep". I grab my phone and head towards my bedroom window, making sure my door is locked. Thankfully, this house isn't that old and it hardly makes a sound when I throw the window open. Spreading my wings, I jump out and head towards the big city lights. The riot is in one of the most crowded sectors in Japan, a place where everyone can see what's happening and no one can be ignored.

~•¥•~

Though I figured it would be far more aggressive, most of everyone is peacefully holding signs or striking productive conversations with onlookers. When the occasional douche comes along and starts breaking glass to "prove our point", a lot of the anti-hero rioters try to get them to stop. I'm glad because it shows everyone that we're not some villains trying to go against the law. We're just normal people trying to start a better world for ourselves.

In what feels like the center of the protest I see a small makeshift stage with a couple of microphones placed on it. I settle on a nearby rooftop as a couple of speakers walk out in front of everyone. They talk for a while, trying to spread sincere messages about reclaiming our society. They help explain why relying on heroes is only crippling our lives and the government as a whole. Though I usually find it hard to relate to people or find something I take joy in, I catch myself hanging onto every word. These guest speakers have proof of every consequence caused by the heroes. They care for what's happening and believe we can truly make a difference. It almost makes me feel a spark in my chest.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself."

I whip my head around to find a man, possibly in his early twenties, with light blue hair sticking out from under his black hood. "Mind if I take a seat?" he asks. His voice is muffled by a strange mask in the shape of a hand.

"Sure," I respond, turning back to the crowd.

"I didn't expect to find anyone else up here, since everyone seems to enjoy being a part of the action. Why aren't you down there with the rest of the rioters, Kid?"

I look at him for a moment before responding. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

He scoffs lightly. "Just trying to make conversation."

We sit in silence for a few moments. Eventually, being as skilled as I am at ignoring people, he slips from my mind completely.

"You know," the man says, breaking the silence, "I have my own organization that's trying to end the rein of heroes once and for all. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"

"It's very bold of you to assume I'm not some pro-hero teenager hating on this parade right now. If I'm supposed take your little party seriously, why are you offering your services out to random strangers?" I ask.

"Well, anyone would want the brother of a pro hero on their side, right, Y/N?"

I pause as my breathe hitches in my throat, but before I can respond, there's a violent explosion a few buildings away, blowing out the windows of its neighboring structures. "Well, it looks like your brother-in-law is here. How about we continue this conversation another time?" He hands me a plain white card with nothing but a phone number on it and walks away, quietly jumping to the closest building.

I quickly rise to my feet and head towards the maintenance ladder, if that really was Endeavor who created that detonation, or if there's any chance he would respond to this emergency at all, then there's no way I can risk using my wings. I land harshly against the concrete and start jogging my way back to the house, pulling up my hood as I go. Fire rages in the background while smoke files in from all sides. Soon I can hardly see six feet in front of me. All around are people and running away from the collapsing buildings, screaming and shoving past one another. Thankfully, I find my shirt is soaked in sweat, so I pull in over my nose to avoid choking on the fumes and start sprinting home. People are elbowing me in the sides and I find myself elbowing back. Some fall before my feet and I don't bother with trying to avoid stepping on them. At some point, I knock someone to the ground to make an opening and dive down the alley way next to my street. I yank my shirt back down and start heaving violently as my body tries to rid itself of the toxins. It takes ten minutes for the vomiting to stop and another five to start breathing normally. I check my watch to see that it is almost two in the morning and force myself to my feet, flapping my tired wings and pulling myself through my bedroom window.

"Where the hell were you, Y/N?"