Murders in Tokyo |Bakugou x Reader x Dabi||

40||DETONATION

{DABI'S POV}
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LATER THAT NIGHT

I didn't put much effort into cleaning up the blood. The puddle remained down there, and with the door shut she was trapped with the stench and the guilt. I half considered leaving the body down there, too. I had gotten so used to leaving my crimes scenes untouched that disposing of a body quickly got meticulously boring.

I sat with my back to the basement door. I finished wrapping up my arm with bandages before taking a swig of whiskey.

I could hear her sobs.

Maybe this wasn't the right move. I did accomplish something very important, however. I established that she can't go back to the station. Her previous escape attempt would be an anomaly, maybe one day she'll look back on it and wonder what the hell she was thinking.

But how can I establish trust now? Maybe it's not trust I need, but a COMRADORY between us. A partnership per se. Ruling by fear can only last so long, too much fear makes you numb and reckless and I already saw what happened when she hit that point.

The cries were growing in volume and pain. I sighed. If she was going to act like this maybe I should clean up the shards of glass.

With one last swig, I got up and grabbed a broom and dustpan before making my way into the basement.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe her crying with sharp glass in her hand, ready to slit her wrists. Her huddled in the corner, sobbing her guts out, her back to the room and sweatshirt over her nose.

But when I heard the thudding, I realized she had taken a different route.

I entered the room, metallic scent filled the air, and saw her beating the wall with the toilet seat cover. It was bent and with each swing it was getting closer to snapping in half. The wails that filled the air were half curses half grief.

She whipped to look at me. For a second I thought she was crazy enough to attack me, but when our eyes locked she flinched.

Blood coated the front of her sweatshirt and her hair was sticky with it.

"Trying to dig your way out?"

She composed herself long enough to let our a string of curses in my direction. "I always knew you were fucking crazy but that was a new level of fucked!"

I hadn't expected that. I guess I assumed she'd become some weak, cowering girl. A shell of a person I could shape and mold into whoever I pleased. But she was pissed.

My surprise settled under my neutral expression. "Trying to dodge the question?" I approached her and yanked the toilet seat from her hands. She looked ready to pounce in the name of getting the cover back, that or cry. In the end, she did neither.

"You motherfucking piece of shit." This was followed by another string of explicit insults.

I took a step towards her and she flinched. The realization that she was merely hiding her fear with aggression dawned on me. I kept my expression even as I considered what this meant.

She began pacing, her movements were aggressive yet executed with exhaustion. When I heard her muttering to herself I had the thought that I may have gone too far, but then again, it's no fun playing by the rules.

I pulled a rag out from my jacket. "I think it's only fair the person who made the mess clean it up."

Her head whipped to face me. "Made the mess?" She took a half step towards me, obviously meant to appear threatening but all I could think about is how bears fake charge potential threats to scare them away. "You can bullshit me all you want but you'll never convince me that was my fault."

I grinned, silently accepting the challenge.

I tossed the rag towards her. She made no move to catch it and it fluttered to the floor. "Fine. Live with the stench of blood."

"One stupid rag won't be enough to clean it up."

"I know."

As if to prove her point, she tossed the white rag into the pool of blood. The red seeped into it, tainting it until no white remained.

I waited for her to make some smart ass remark, but when I glanced back her, her expression was dazed as she gazed with glossy eyes towards the blood.

I approached slowly, resting a hand on her shoulder. She didn't move.

"Get your hand off me." She turned to meet my eye with a dark glare. "I swear to god I'll snap your arm."

After a second of consideration, I removed my hand.

"You finally went a grew a spine. I'm proud."

She said nothing, but I could see the gears turning behind her eyes. She wanted something.

"Why are you down here? You didn't bring food or anything useful. Just here to be a dick?"

I shrugged, "Thought I'd check on you, curious if you were doing anything too reckless." I gestured to the broken toilet seat cover. "I guess I wasn't too far off."

"I'll bash your head against the fucking wall, how's that for reckless?"

"I guess once you get a taste for killing..."

I don't know what I expected to happen, maybe she would flinch again of pace restlessly. Instead, she lunged at me. Her hand closed around my throat and I felt myself falling backwards. I hit the ground hard, knocking my head on the concrete. Air was forced out of my lungs and for a second I felt the same blind panic I felt last night when she got the jump on me.

I got my bearings and slammed my hands into the crook of her elbows, effectively loosening her grip. With her unbalanced, I hooked my leg around hers and twisted. I was now straddling her waist.

"Let's not start things we can't finish," I warned, catching her wrists as she made a mad grab for my collar.

I need to think. My goal of establishing trust keeps slipping through my fingers as I allow my anger and impulsive nature dictate my actions. What would a friend do in this situation?

My fingers were now slick with the blood that coated her. I sighed. "You're disgusting, there's a shower you can use upstairs."

She showed no new emotion on her face, but I knew she was already considering escape routes. I opened my mouth to remind her of what happened last time she tried to escape, but caught myself. Instead, I hauled her to her feet while keeping a tight grip on her arm.

It wasn't until now that I realized how much weight she had lost. Before she had an athletic sort of build, but now she was bordering on sickly thin.

When I opened the door to the upstairs, I could see her head turning to catalogue every detail. She is probably creating a mental map of all the windows and doors right at this very moment.

I open the bathroom door and shove her inside. "There's no windows, so good luck."

She made no comment, which worried me until I saw the look on her face. I wouldn't call it peaceful, but it was something close to that. I suppose it has been a week or two since she showered last, and now that she's sticky in blood she's desperate for one.

"Towels are in the cupboard above the toilet." I told her before shutting the door. I heard the water beginning to run and the lock turn. I took a seat in front of the door and pondered my next course of action.