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Aizawa knew the young man in front of him, handcuffed to the table in the interrogation room, was Touya Todoroki. He just wasn't expecting to meet him.
Dabi spent the first hour of his arrest looking bored, unbothered. Aizawa was tasked with watching him while the detective was called away on other work. He sat across from the villain, grading students' papers. Dabi drummed his long, well-manicured nails on the metal of the table.
"You like your kids, Eraser?" He asked out of nowhere.
Aizawa glanced up from his paperwork. "Excuse me?"
"Your kids." Dabi gestured to the stack of essays— as much as he could while still cuffed to the table. "You like 'em? Good group this year?"
His eyes narrowed. The question seemed innocent enough, but he had no clue what sort of vitriol would follow. "Yeah, I do."
"They seem talented." Dabi's fingernail dragged along the table in a metallic scrape. "I wouldn't expect any less from Class 1-A."
Dabi looked at him through hooded eyes, and Aizawa wondered if he was high on something. It wouldn't surprise him.
"You got a favorite?"
"What?"
"A favorite kid," Dabi said.
"I care about my students equally," he replied.
Dabi hummed, as if amused by Aizawa's answer. "Yeah, you don't really seem the type to play favorites. That's cool. Not everybody's like that."
He was about to ask Dabi what the hell he was talking about, when a booming voice came from down the hall. It was hard to tell with all the scarring, but he could have sworn Dabi paled at the sound. He sighed and set down his pen.
"Stay here," he said as he rose from his chair. It scraped loudly against the concrete floor.
Dabi raised his cuffed hands with a roll of his eyes. "I'm a little tied up right now, Eraser."
Aizawa opened the door a crack and peeked out into the hall. Sure enough, Endeavor was arguing loudly with a couple officers who looked laughably small in comparison. Then Endeavor locked eyes with Aizawa and pushed past the officers. Even without his flames, which he'd courteously extinguished before entering the station, Endeavor's stature was looming and unfairly large. Aizawa was not easily intimidated, but Endeavor was fucking huge.
"Eraserhead," Endeavor commanded as he strode toward him. "I need to see my son."
Oh, boy.
"I'm afraid that's not possible." He had slipped through the narrow opening and shut the door behind him. Now he stood on the threshold, blocking the door handle with his body. "He needs to be questioned by the police. Maybe once it's over—"
"I need to see him now."
Endeavor didn't back down quickly. He knew that. He'd prepared for it as soon as he heard Endeavor down the hall. But it was still frustrating.
"I understand you want to talk to him," Aizawa said, hoping his own level-headed tone would somehow transfer to Endeavor. "But that can't happen at this specific moment. When there is time, later, maybe something can be arranged."
"Eraser—"
"Endeavor," Aizawa cut him short. He thought of Dabi on the other side of the door, how he'd paled at the sound of Endeavor's voice. The way he'd swallowed hard enough for Aizawa to catch the slide of his throat. "I think you need to consider the possibility that speaking with your son would not benefit either of you."
Endeavor's brows (or brow— the scar on his face had destroyed one of them) furrowed in frustration. Endeavor was not used to not getting what he wanted. Most people yielded to him.
"He's my son," Endeavor insisted, voice lowering slightly.
"And that is precisely why you have to wait," Aizawa said.
Endeavor was clearly not satisfied, but he took a step back.
"I'll be returning later," he said.
"I'm sure you will." Aizawa watched him stomp back down the hall before returning to the interrogation room— locking the door for good measure.
"Dabi?"
There was more concern in his voice than he intended to show. The villain, previously lounging in his chair without a care in the world, was curled over the interrogation table with his head resting in his arms. He trembled violently, enough to sustain a consistent rattle of the cuffs against the metal loop chaining him to the table.
"Hey, hey." Aizawa approached slowly; this could be a trick, he reminded himself. Dabi always seemed to be two steps ahead. "What's going on, what's wrong?"
Dabi curled in tighter, his fingers knotting into his hair and pulling.
"Hey," Aizawa repeated, and when his hand came down on Dabi's shoulder, Dabi flinched so hard that Aizawa recoiled as if he'd been burned. "Okay, alright, I'm sorry. Can you look at me?"
Dabi continued to shake, with little gasps that rattled in his chest from what Aizawa guessed was years of smoking.
Aizawa turned to the two-way mirror and motioned to the trembling villain.
"Can we get a blanket in here?" He asked.
He was confident there was at least one person on the other side watching, a suspicion that was confirmed when there was a knock at the door a few minutes later. A nervous, young-looking intern held a shock blanket out to him, which he took with a nod, and closed the door again.
Aizawa had seen panic attacks before— seen and experienced them. But something about this felt different.
"Dabi," he said, careful to keep his tone gentle. "I have a blanket, okay? You're shivering. It'll help."
He draped it over Dabi's too-thin shoulders and was awash with relief when Dabi responded to it, pulling the fabric tighter around himself.
"There you go, you're okay." Aizawa didn't really think about what he did next; his hand simply found the curve of Dabi's spine, rested there, palm flat against the shock blanket.
"Is he still here?" A voice, one that was aggressively not Dabi's, floated up in a tiny mumble.
"Uh, no." Aizawa assumed that Dabi was talking about his father. "No, I sent him away. He's gone. And the door is locked."
Dabi slowly unfolded, drawing his legs up to his chest instead as he leaned back from the table. His brow furrowed at the cuffs, and he yanked on them slightly, as if he'd forgotten his circumstances. His face was bloody with tears.
"Dabi—"
This triggered a frantic shake of Dabi's head, white hair swishing back and forth.
"'S not my name," he said. "'S not, it's not my name."
What, Aizawa thought, the fuck was going on?
"What's your name, then?"
"I'm Touya," he said, as if it was both obvious and extremely embarrassing to admit.
Oh.
“Okay, Touya.” He knelt down next to him, making himself less of a towering figure in the room and more of a nurturing one. “Can you answer a few questions for me?”
Touya nodded and sniffled. Aizawa made a mental note to get tissues once things settled down.
“How old are you?”
Touya’s lower lip wobbled. “I don't know,” he whispered. “I just—” he sucked in a wavering breath. “I just feel small.”
“That's okay,” he reassured him, even though his own heart was hammering with uncertainty. “It's okay to feel small.” He rubbed Touya’s back a little before moving forward with his next question. “Was hearing your dad out there what made you so upset?”
Touya nodded. More bloody tears spilled over his cheeks.
“He's gonna hurt me,” he whimpered, and shrunk into his chair. “For what Dabi did.”
“He won't hurt you,” Aizawa said, firm but not overbearing. “No one here will let that happen. I won't let that happen.”
Touya shivered again, and Aizawa adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. He was pulled by the urge to uncuff him, but he knew he'd have to explain that choice to the detective and whoever was watching on the cameras. And this situation, whatever it was, seemed to be very, very private.
“I'm not supposed to be here,” Touya said. “He doesn't— he's upset.”
“Who?”
“Dabi.”
Okay. Aizawa was starting to put the pieces together.
“I'll talk to Dabi when he comes back,” he promised. “You don't have to worry about him.”
Touya relaxed a little at that.
“Have you ever come out before, Touya?”
He nodded. The tears seemed to be slowing. “We were with, um…” Touya moved his arm to wipe his eyes, remembered the restraints, and instead ducked his head to wipe one side of his face on his shoulder. A staple in his cheek caught on the fabric, making Touya wince as he drew away. “The guy with the wings? He had blond hair.”
Aizawa’s heart jolted at Touya’s use of we. “His name is Hawks,” he said.
“Hawks,” Touya repeated, testing the name in his mouth and the way it slipped off his tongue. “Dabi knows him. I know him, too, ‘cause I know what Dabi knows. I just— I forget, sometimes.”
“You got a lot of other stuff in your head, huh?” Aizawa guessed, and Touya nodded. “A lot of memories?”
“I remember all of it.” Touya fell back into a whisper, like he was afraid someone else would hear. Like he was expecting to be punished if he was too loud. “I remember, so he doesn't have to.”
“Dabi?”
“Yes.” Then Touya jumped in his seat a little at the sound of too-heavy footsteps outside.
“It's okay,” Aizawa soothed, resting his hand on Touya’s shoulder. “Look at me, hey.”
Touya’s eyes were not like Dabi’s; they were wide, owlish, scared. A child’s.
“He's not out there,” Aizawa said. “And he can't get in here.”
Touya’s gaze continued to flicker between Aizawa and the door, as if anticipating the hulking figure of his father to burst through.
“What would help you right now, Touya? Do you know?”
Touya shook his head. He looked close to tears again.
“I want him to stop hurting people,” he whimpered. “I don't like it. He's just, he's so angry. And so sad.”
Aizawa exhaled slowly. He hadn't been trained for this. He didn't know what he was doing. He could be making it worse, for all he knew.
“I think Dabi hurts people because he's so sad,” he said. “But I’m going to make sure he gets some help, and he won't be able to hurt anyone again.”
He reached for the edge of his binding scarf. “Can I wipe your face?” He asked. At Touya’s nod, he dabbed the fabric over his cheeks, bloodied from crying.
“You want water? Juice? I’m guessing you don't take coffee.”
That made Touya laugh— his body shook just a little, and the staples by his mouth strained with a smile.
“Dabi does. I don't like it.” Touya hesitated, then asked, “can I have some water?”
“Of course.” Aizawa turned to the mirror again and echoed the request. The same intern from earlier quickly delivered a cup of tepid water from the office cooler.
“Do you know when the detective is coming back?” Aizawa asked her. She shook her head with a helpless shrug and hurried off.
Aizawa sighed. He’d wanted a timeframe, not for himself, but to know how quickly he needed to coax Dabi back into the driver’s seat of his brain.
Touya took careful sips of the water with his cuffed hands, then set the cup on the table.
“So Dabi knows about you?” Aizawa resumed kneeling next to him, ignoring the ache in his knees.
“Mhm.” Touya fidgeted with his hands, picking at the skin around his nails. “Most of the time I stay inside, but sometimes he can't handle stuff and just goes away for a while.”
“He handled Endeavor during that battle,” Aizawa said. “He fought him. What's different this time?”
Touya’s gaze fixated on the quirk-suppressing cuffs and the chain trapping him to the table.
“We wouldn't be able to fight back, I guess,” Touya answered. “He doesn't like feeling powerless. I don't either. I'm just used to it.”
Aizawa’s pulse raced with heartbreak. “I’m sorry, Touya,” he murmured. “Do you understand why I can't uncuff you? We don't want Dabi to hurt himself, or anyone else.”
“I know.” Touya sounded so surrendered to his fate here, chained to a table in an interrogation room. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what, kiddo?” The term of endearment slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.
“I couldn't stop him.” Touya dug his nails into his knee, where the rip in Dabi’s jeans showed skin. Aizawa rested his hand over his, a gentle encouragement to stop.
“I don't think anyone expects that of you,” he said. “I know I don't.”
Touya sniffled and took a deep breath. “I’m really tired,” he confessed.
“That’s alright. You can put your head down if you want.” Aizawa rubbed his back as he slumped forward, resting his head in his arms again. “Sorry it's not that comfortable.”
“‘S okay,” Touya mumbled. “I'm used to it.”
“Well, I'm still sorry.” He felt Touya’s shivering start up again under his hand. “It's okay if you don't know, but do you think Dabi’s coming back soon?”
Touya nodded into his arms and dug his fingers into the fabric of his jacket sleeves. “I can feel him,” he said, his voice muffled. “My head feels full.”
“Okay.” He continued rubbing slow circles into Touya’s back, hoping it was at least a little comforting. “That's okay. You did very well, Touya. You can rest.”
Touya didn't answer, just continued to shake. Aizawa drew the blanket around him tighter. Touya’s grip on his own sleeves grew stronger until he was white-knuckling the black fabric. Aizawa was tempted to stroke his hair, like he did with Hitoshi when the kid had a migraine, but he resisted. He didn't know how Touya or Dabi would react to it.
A few minutes passed. A low groan slipped out from the villain’s folded arms. Aizawa stopped making circles, but kept his hand where it was.
“Are you with me?”
Another groan, followed by a soft “fuck,” was what Aizawa received as a response.
“Hey, kid.” Aizawa's shoulders sagged with relief. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been until now. “You're alright, welcome back.”
Dabi pushed away from the table and buried his face in his hands.
“Fuck,” he said again. “I didn't—”
“You don't have to explain,” Aizawa cut him short. “Not right now. It's okay.”
Dabi’s breath came out quick and shuddering. “He's not supposed to…” He shook his head. “I didn't mean to let him out, I just—”
“Heard your dad, I know.” Aizawa stayed kneeling, not wanting to scare Dabi while he was still regaining his footing. “Touya explained to me as best he could.”
“No, I know that.” Dabi held his own head by the temples, like he was trying to keep it from splitting open. “I don't… I don't go away when he's there, I’m just in the backseat. I know what he said.”
“I see.” Aizawa still hadn't moved his hand. Dabi hadn't asked him to. The shivering was dying back down.
“I'll kill you, if you tell anyone,” Dabi warned.
“You could use the help,” Aizawa replied.
“No, no, I—” Dabi faltered, fists clenching where they rested on the table. “I won't, you can't make me.”
Sure, Aizawa couldn't. But a court judge could. Mandated therapy sounded better than prison to him, but maybe Dabi had different standards.
“Dabi,” he began carefully. “Did Endeavor hurt you? Is that why you have Touya?”
Dabi didn't respond.
“I saw your broadcast,” he went on. “So I know the basics. But—”
“I don't know, okay?” Dabi snapped. “I don't know! He— he keeps everything locked up in a little box and I can't open it.”
Touya had mentioned that; he'd said he remembered so Dabi didn't have to.
“What do you remember?” He asked, trying to be as gentle as he could. These weren't questions the detective would know to ask.
Dabi’s gaze went a little glassy, and for a moment Aizawa feared he'd lost him again, but then—
“I remember feeling lonely,” Dabi said. “No concrete moment, just… whenever I try to think about my childhood, it's like this wave crashes down on me. And a whole lot of pain.”
Aizawa nodded.
“You shouldn't have seen that,” Dabi muttered. “I shouldn't have— I didn't mean to disappear.”
“For what it's worth,” Aizawa said, “I’m sorry I was present for it when you didn't intend to share that with me. But I couldn't leave you in here alone without raising more questions. Do you understand?”
“No, I get it.” Dabi picked at one of the staples in the back of his hand. “And Touya shouldn't be by himself, anyway. He gets scared easy when he's alone.”
“What about you? Do you dislike being alone?”
Dabi snorted. “I’ve been alone for a while, Eraser.”
“Aizawa.”
“What?”
“My name,” he said, “is Aizawa. And that’s not what I asked.”
Dabi’s eyes resembled his father’s, as did his long aquiline nose. But it was clear his round face and long eyelashes were blessings from his mother.
“... I’m safe on my own,” Dabi said eventually. “Doesn’t matter if I like it or not. Touya doesn’t really get that danger comes when other people show up.”
Aizawa nodded in understanding, then rose to his feet and fought the impulse to wince at the creak in his prosthetic leg.
“Will you at least consider telling the detective?”
“You’re not that naive, Eraser,” Dabi said, then corrected himself. “Aizawa.”
“There are people who could help you.” He paused. “I could help you.”
Dabi’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Since when do your people help my people?”
“I’m not on your father’s side,” Aizawa insisted.
“You’re a hero.” Dabi sneered. “You still benefit from our suffering. As long as things are unfair, there’ll be more men like me. And there’ll be more men like you who make money holding our heads under the water.” He rested his hands in front of him on the table, fingers laced. “You’d just end up hurting me like everyone else.”
It was the resignation in Dabi’s tone that made Aizawa’s heart drop into the bowl of his hips.
He didn’t know why it was so important for him to make Dabi understand, but he felt the pull. He thought of Hitoshi and Eri, probably still watching TV like they had been when he’d left, thought of what force could possibly drive him to treat his children the way Endeavor had. He couldn’t think of anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “that you endured so much you feel like you can’t trust anyone.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Dabi snapped.
“I’m not trying to.”
There was a knock on the door. Dabi’s flinch was subtle, but Aizawa had been looking for it. He turned in time to see the detective come through the door, set of keys in hand.
“Thanks for watching him,” she said, tucking her keys back into her pocket. “Did he give you any trouble?”
Aizawa locked eyes with the villain. Dabi’s gaze was narrowed, cold, and if he had any doubts about Touya being real, they had certainly vanished.
But he saw something behind the anger now. A profound grief with no bottom, a grief Dabi didn’t even know how to feel.
“No,” he said, and watched the slightest trace of relief flicker over Dabi’s face. “No trouble at all.”
He sat in the station for a long time, for his own false sense of security that if something went wrong, he could go help. But then the sun began its descent behind the mountains and Hizashi called, telling him to please come home.
When he pulled out of the parking lot, he was struck with an odd but powerful thought: there should have been a long, lanky villain sitting in the passenger seat, coming home with him.