Which Dabi got verbally demolished by a six year old, and the love of his life did absolutely nothing to defend his honour
[Established relationship, Dabi x reader with teleport quirk]
-> Warnings: None! Just for the funsies
It was supposed to be a simple stakeout. A low-profile watch on a potential new League recruit’s apartment building. Dabi was leaning against a graffiti-covered wall in a dingy but relatively quiet residential alley, trying to look as unapproachable as possible. You were perched on a fire escape a level up, binoculars in hand, monitoring the street.
“He’s late,” Dabi grumbled loudly, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his thumb. The tiny blue flame was the only spot of color in the gray afternoon.
“Your face is late,” you quipped back automatically, scanning the rooftops.
He was about to growl a retort when he felt a stare. Not the usual fearful glance or the wide-eyed gawk. This was a slow, deliberate, appraising stare.
There was a kid. A little girl, no older than six, with rosy cheeks, two messy pigtails and a grubby pink backpack. She’d stopped about five feet away and was just… looking at him. Her head was tilted, her expression one of pure, scientific curiosity, like he was a weird bug she’d found.
Dabi stared back, his best “I will turn your toys to ashes” scowl firmly in place.
The kid didn’t blink. She took a step closer instead.
“What,” Dabi said flatly, smoke curling from his lips.
“You got a lot of ouchies,” she announced, her voice clear and matter-of-fact.
Dabi froze. The cigarette almost fell from his mouth. Ouchies? “They’re not ouchies,” he managed, injecting as much steel into his voice as possible. “They’re scars.”
“From ouchies,” she reasoned, nodding sagely. She pointed a chubby finger at his jaw. “Those silver bits look like the staples my mom uses on paper. Do they hurt?”
Somewhere above him, he heard a faint, choked sound. You were trying not to laugh, and failing horribly.
“No,” he lied through gritted teeth.
“Hm.” She didn’t sound convinced. Her eyes traveled down. “Your jacket has holes. Did it get ouchies too?”
“It looks old.” She then peered at his face again. “Your eyes are really blue. Like toilet cleaner. The blue kind.”
From above, there was an unmistakable, high-pitched squeak of laughter hastily disguised as a cough. Dabi shot a glare up at the fire escape, but you were studiously looking at a brick that had suddenly become very interesting.
He turned his death glare back to the kid. “Shouldn’t you be… somewhere? With a parent? Learning not to talk to strangers who look like they have ‘ouchie’ staples?”
“My mom’s getting groceries.” The little girl pointed to a nearby convenience store. “But you’re not a stranger.”
The cigarette froze halfway to his lips. “The hell I’m not.”
She shook her head firmly. “Nuh-uh. Strangers try to be nice or give you candy. You’re just…” She gestured at his general demeanor. “... you’re just there. You’re more like a… public sculpture. With ouchies.”
Dabi was at a complete loss. He could handle heroes, villains, and cops. He could not handle a tiny, brutally logical human who wasn’t the slightest bit afraid of him.
“Your hair is black and white,” she continued, stretching onto her tiptoes and peeking at the white roots poking out from his scalp. “Like a badger. Or a skunk. Did you run out of one color?”
“It’s—” He had no defense for this.
“And you’re smoking. That’s bad for your ouchies. My grandpa smoked and he coughed a lot. Hooonk-shuuu! Like that.” She mimed a dramatic, wheezing cough.
The sound of your laughter was no longer concealed. It was a full, ringing cackle that echoed slightly in the alley. Dabi looked up to see you leaning over the railing, face red, clutching your stomach.
The little girl looked up too, noticing you for the first time. She waved. “Hi! Do you know this big ouchie man?”
You wheezed, wiping a tear. “Yeah, I do. He’s with me.”
“Oh.” The girl looked back at Dabi, then at you, then back at Dabi, her little brain connecting dots. Her eyes went wide with a new, profound understanding. “Ohhhhh. You’re her dad!”
Complete, utter, devastating silence.
Dabi’s brain short-circuited. His cigarette finally did fall from his lips, landing on the pavement in a tiny shower of sparks. He looked, for the first time in his villainous career, utterly destroyed.
You, on the other hand, lost it completely. You let out a sound that was half-sob, half-hysterical shriek of joy, slapping the metal railing of the fire escape. “HA! OH MY GOD! D-DAD! HE’S—HAHAHAHA!”
The little girl, pleased with her deduction, smiled proudly. “My dad has a grumpy face too. But his isn’t stapled.”
Dabi found his voice. It was a high, strained thing. “I. Am not. Her. Dad.”
“Then why are you standing there looking after her?” the girl asked, genuine confusion on her face. “My dad stands like that when he’s waiting for my mom.” She demonstrated, puffing out her little chest and frowning, a perfect imitation of Dabi’s slouch.
You were now doubled over, in physical pain from laughing.
Dabi pinched the bridge of his nose, the metal of his staples cool against his fingers. He was being psychologically dismantled by a first-grader. This was a new low. “Go. Find your mother. Now.”
“Okay,” she said cheerfully, completely unbothered by his tone. She shouldered her backpack. “Bye, Ouchie’s daughter!” she called up to you.
You gave her a wobbly wave, still laughing. “Bye, sweetie! Thanks for the… character analysis!”
The little girl skipped off towards the convenience store happily, leaving Dabi behind to question his life’s choices.
The alley descended into silence again, broken only by your occasional dying giggles. Dabi slowly bent down, picked up his extinguished cigarette, and flicked it into a puddle. He looked up at you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated betrayal.
You teleported down, landing lightly beside him, your face still split in a huge grin. “I mean… she’s not wrong about the badger thing. The coloring is there.”
He glowered. “I will set this entire block on fire.”
“You’d ground me first, Dad? No more teleporting after 9 PM?”
He made a sound of utter exasperation and turned to stalk away down the alley.
You teleported in front of him, still grinning. “Aw, don’t be mad. She thought you were a responsible adult! That’s a compliment!”
He stopped, looking down at you. The indignation was still there, but underneath it, a tiny spark of begrudging amusement. The sheer absurdity of the situation was starting to pierce through his horror. A kid. A literal child, had looked at him, and roasted him with a bright, happy smile.
It was so stupid it was almost profound.
A snort escaped him. Then another. Against his will, a low, rough chuckle rumbled in his chest. He shook his head, a real, if weary, smile tugging at his stapled lips.
“A skunk,” he muttered, running a hand through his two-toned hair. “She said I looked like a skunk. Time to get new hair dye.”
“And you’ve got toilet cleaner eyes,” you added, poking his chest.
He caught your hand and laughed, rare and genuine. “Shut up. You’re grounded.”
“For laughing at your dear old dad.”
You beamed up at him, and in that moment, covered in alley grime and laughing about being roasted by a six-year-old, he thought he’d never seen anything more perfect. It was ridiculous. It was mundane. It was a tiny, perfect slice of a life he was never supposed to have.
“Come on, old man,” you said, tugging his hand. “Our guy just showed up. Time to go be scary villains again.”
“Thank god,” Dabi sighed, the last of his laughter fading into his usual smoky rasp. But he didn’t let go of your hand as you both melted back into the shadows.
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