Author's Notes: Don't call me out because I'm already doing it to myself. lmao I saw this prompt like two months ago and it intrigued me, but I'd never written any of the villains before and I didn't ship Shigaraki/Dabi. I still don't know if I do now, but I wouldn't be averse to this. I think this could be considered gen as well, but like, you don't need shipping goggles to see it either, so whatever floats your boat. I remembered the prompt and had the immediate urge to write it ASAP, so that's what I did. I think I ship it. Maybe. Like every other day. Whatever the case is, I really liked writing this. (Is Dabi a Todoroki in this? LOL Not explicitly. Did I use this an excuse to write Mr. Compress? Yes, I did. He's my favorite villain.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even this idea.

In between missions for the League was a strange time for Dabi. He wasn't sure what the others thought, but it was kind of like he'd fallen into an alternate dimension where he hung out with a group of weird people who had sat together in the school cafeteria one time and just...never left each other after. It wasn't a bad thing. Some people, ones with more heart than sense, might've said they were like family.

Considering his views on family, Dabi wasn't one to agree. They were at least better than that.

If one went with the theme though, then while the group as a whole was able to function very well together, they had their falling outs too. If people were put together, the highs and lows were unavoidable, hence why he'd spent the past few years sticking to himself. At least if he was disappointed, he only had himself to blame and he couldn't get too mad. With other people involved, there was a chance of his temper being triggered and he admittedly could have a short fuse if the wrong buttons were pushed despite his normally flat affect.

For all of their shortcomings though, Dabi liked most of them. They were tolerable, even their leader, who had grown less prone to fits since Dabi had first joined. He didn't mind being around them even during the down times when there was very little to do to advance their goals. Still, none of them could ever considered to be perfect. That was rather the whole point of them, seeing as how they were villains. They'd been shunned by society for not being able to conform.

However, just because they were villains did not mean they were incapable of acting like everyday people. In a group, like one of those normal families that Dabi had seen in movies, no matter how much they get along and had each others backs, there would always be squabbles, some of them so petty that it had him nearly rolling his eyes into the back of his head. With so many aggressive personalities, it was hard for them not to clash at times when there was simply nothing to do. Boredom was capable of getting the best of everyone, even them.

They were human, after all, and humans did some stupid ass shit.

Himiko was particularly susceptible to this nature. Even though it had lessened their numbers and put a damper on things, Dabi considered it something of a blessing that Mustard had been captured a while back. He couldn't imagine dealing with two kids in the League during these slow moments. Combined, they would've likely driven someone mad and, quite frankly, a few of them couldn't afford to lose any more marbles and that included him.

By herself, Himiko was terribly dangerous at best and a horrific nuisance at worst. When she was in the latter mood, Dabi always reminded himself that she was young. He hadn't been like that at her age though. She had a seemingly endless amount of energy and sometimes went with her impulses if she was too bored. Seeing as how most of her impulses including stabbing people and drinking their blood, it was best to keep an eye on her when she got in that mood.

Dabi wasn't typically an early riser, but found himself unable to sleep despite being up for half the night. It left him in a sour mood, so he kept to himself and read a magazine in the corner. It was one of those dumb, girly ones that Himiko snagged from the stores whenever she went out on runs. He didn't particularly need to find out if his crush liked him or what nail polish worked for him the best depending on what month he was born in, but it was better than talking with anyone right now. He needed at least another hour before he dealt with people.

Himiko had breezed through the room earlier, giggling to herself in a suspicion manner, and Spinner had looked strangely twitchy, but Dabi had paid neither of them any attention. They could've said something to him and he wouldn't have heard it.

What he could not avoid hearing, however, was a shriek from down the hallway. "Where is he? Where is he!" It was less of a question and more of demand, fluctuating somewhere between frantic and furious. Even worse, the screaming belonged to Shigaraki, which could mean a few things, none of them were good.

At first, Dabi thought Shigaraki meant him. Why was he being looked for? It shouldn't have been that big of a deal for him to not be in his room. Besides, he hadn't done anything wrong lately, at least not against anyone in the League. Sure, if he felt like it, he might say something smart enough to spike Shigaraki's ire, just for the fun of it, but he hadn't done that in the past few days. He'd been on his best behavior. He probably would've said something today, but Shigaraki was already in a mood.

"Where is he!" Shigaraki demanded again as he stormed through the building. Desperation tinged his voice now. Doors could be heard being opened and slammed shut, echoing in Dabi's head each time.

Dabi turned to Mr. Compress, who had appeared in the room as if out of thin air and was straightening his vest like nothing was happening. "What's his deal?"

"I haven't the faintest clue," Mr. Compress replied.

They got their answer a second later when Shigaraki practically kicked down the door and stormed inside. He looked a cross between filled with rage and utter panic with his eyes wide and bloodshot, his cracked lips tangled in a snarl, and his typically pale face flushed. Despite all of those things being a sign that something was wrong, the biggest one of them all was the fact that they could see those things. The hand that Shigaraki almost always had resting over his face like one of Mr. Compress' masks was gone. Even if he wasn't wearing it, which wasn't often, he had it close by or on him.

Ah, that was what Shigaraki meant by his demands. He was talking about the hand.

Shigaraki's manic eyes swung to Dabi. "Where is he?" There was dust on his hands, drifting to the floor when his fingers twitched. He must've disintegrated a few things on his way here. Who knew how many doors or handles were left?

Dabi kept his gaze flat and didn't move from his spot on the couch. "Don't look at me. I'm not about to touch any of your hands."

When Shigaraki turned to Mr. Compress, the masked man held up his hands. "I just returned."

"Didn't make it disappear like one of your magic acts?" Dabi asked. Mr. Compress turned to face him, his expression unknowable behind the mask, but Shigaraki had already dismissed him as a suspect. He could be shady at times, but he was intelligent enough to know that stealing Shigaraki's most prized possession was akin to a death sentence and he'd had one of his arms already destroyed. He wanted intent on keeping the other. Honestly, Dabi was surprised that Shigaraki had believed him so quickly. Not that he would steal the thing, but he was definitely the most likely to pick at him.

"Bring him back!" Shigaraki shouted, grabbing the table and flipping it. The thing disintegrated mid-air, its ashes floating in the air. Mr. Compress winced, but didn't move to leave. "Bring him back" - he picked up a lamp and looked like he would've crushed it with his bare hand if his quirk hadn't disintegrated it first - "and I swear that I'll make this quick!"

The rampage didn't look like it was going to end any time soon, not even after whoever had been idiotic enough to steal the damn hand brought it back. In fact, the carnage had only just begun. Shigaraki had gotten better about being a loose cannon, but this was not a typical tantrum. He wasn't just wild with rage. He was upset. If Dabi didn't know any better or thought that maybe his tear ducts were as dry as his lips, he'd say that Shigaraki might even cry. He loathed being exposed. It made him feel vulnerable to an attack. Dabi could understand that on some level.

It was too much and it was only going to get worse. Something had to be done and quick before things escalated beyond repair. They couldn't afford to kill one of their own because of a prank gone very wrong.

Letting out a sigh, Dabi set the magazine at his side on the couch and stood up. With absolutely no hesitation, he strode over to Shigaraki, who was in the process of throwing a disintegrating book at the door where Spinner had appeared, and said, "Shigaraki."

Their leader swiveled on his heels, hunched over and hands at the ready to grab him and a snarl tearing out of his raw throat, "What-?" when Dabi lifted his hand and planted it right on Shigaraki's face where the hand that belonged to his father rested. He even made sure that his hand was in the same position, his fingers carded through Shigaraki's light blue hair, which was softer than expected, and the heel of his palm sitting right on his cracked lips. They were dry, but his heavy gasping breaths warmed Dabi's hand.

"Hey," Dabi said, staring down into Shigaraki's one visible eye, "breathe."

Shigaraki sucked in a shuddering breath, never once breaking eye contact, and then slowly let it out. "What are you doing?" His voice was quiet and low, a huge difference from the way he'd been shouting before. There was a slight tremor to it, but mostly he sounded confused.

To be honest, Dabi didn't know why he was doing this. He'd gone out on a whim, hoping that it might at least shock Shigaraki into some stagnant state. If he felt vulnerable with his face being entirely exposed, then it made sense to cover it up. The best and only replacement Dabi could think of was his own hand.

It was strange, holding Shigaraki's face like this, standing over him with his arm outstretched and his fingers spread over the other man's skin and hair. It was the same motion he did whenever he activated his quirk and destroyed everything in sight with his flames, but his quirk lied dormant underneath his skin. He didn't feel the urge to take everything down with him, only a sense of calmness that seemed to bleed into Shigaraki. The room went silent as they stared at each other, Dabi with his dull yet bright blue eyes and Shigaraki with his wild yet dimming red ones. Why did he have to be so damn passionate about everything?

Dabi finally tore his gaze from Shigaraki and swept it around the room at everyone who had gathered. "Now, I don't give a shit who took the hand or why, but I'm going to close my eyes, hold out my hand, and count to ten. If it's not in my grasp when I open my eyes, I will turn whoever took it into a burnt campfire marshmallow. If it is, we'll forget this ever happened and be on our merry way."

"That seems awfully harsh, Dabi," Spinner pointed out.

"Does it look like I give a shit?" Dabi asked, rolling his eyes to the lizard man.

Spinner held up his (empty) hands in self-defense, but didn't respond out loud. Himiko stuck her tongue out at him from behind the couch. Dabi was tired. He hadn't slept well last night and the last thing he needed was Shigaraki stomping and screaming around this place on a bender over his dead father's hand or some shit. And it wasn't like he was going to spend the rest of the day with his hand attached to his face to appease him.

Dabi watched as Shigaraki reluctantly closed his eyes and then held out his free hand and closed his eyes as well, leaving him only with the sensation of the other man under his palm. His breathing had calmed down a lot and his entire body had gone strangely limp, as if he was utterly relaxed. It gave way to some unusual and unexpected implications. Dabi hadn't thought himself capable of placating Shigaraki or being any source of comfort to him. If anything, it might've been the opposite at times when they were in antagonistic moods.

However, the only feeling that Dabi could gather right now was a sense of trust. Maybe even wanting, considering the way that Shigaraki was practically leaning into him, pressing his face into his hand. Hell, how long had it been since anyone had touched him? Dabi wasn't a very tactile person, but he could remember Himiko throwing herself at him, Mr. Compress putting a hand on his shoulder, or bumping into Spinner. Did anyone in the League do that for Shigaraki? He couldn't do it, not with his quirk. Slap all five fingers on a person and they were gone or at least a part of them.

It was too early in the morning to be thinking such things and perhaps why he was letting them float through his mind entirely unfiltered.

At the count of six, Dabi felt a weight settle in his outstretched hand. His stomach didn't lurch as he'd expected at the feel of the severed hand in his, but maybe because he was somewhat distracted by the warmth that had seemingly spread from his palm on Shigaraki's face all the way up to his shoulder. He couldn't remember having this much feeling in his arm in a while.

At ten, he opened his eyes, looked down at the hand in his, and then did a sweep around the room. Everyone was back in place where they'd been when he had closed his eyes and all of them, with the exception of Mr. Compress whose face couldn't be seen, wore similar expressions that were mostly blank but filled with guilt. It couldn't have been a completely joint effort, but all of them felt bad in some way for causing their leader such distress. Couldn't they have simply stabbed someone? That would've been easier to deal with.

"Here," Dabi said. When he moved to pull his hand away, Shigaraki's hands twitched upward and almost latched around his wrist, as if meaning to keep his hand there, but then he stopped and nodded his head. Dabi pulled his hand the rest of the way, exposing Shigaraki's face again as he gave him the severed hand.

Shigaraki cradled the hand with the sort of delicacy that one might a small dog or a beloved, fragile treasure. This was the moment when most people would have thanked Dabi for stepping up and Shigaraki opened his mouth, but then closed it again. Dabi felt a sense of relief wash over him. He didn't want any thanks. He just wanted to go back to bed. Being emotional support was exhausting and it had only been for a few minutes. Carefully, Shigaraki replaced the hand back on his face and then stood up straight, all the tension having flooded his body.

"Feel better?" Dabi asked. Shigaraki nodded his head. "Good. Let's not do this again."

Not that it was the most awful thing that he'd ever done, but it had been really weird to touch Shigaraki so intimately in front of the other villains. They were an odd family of sorts, but that was on another level. Dabi hadn't even told them his real name. He was an intensely private person and that went for any sort of physical contact too.

Dabi turned on his heels and went back to the couch, picking up the magazine and resuming where he had left off about the latest movies in the theaters. Shigaraki continued to stand there and stare at him, along with everyone else, until Mr. Compress cleared his throat and the rest of them cleared out. Still, Shigaraki didn't leave.

Eyes flicking up over the top of the magazine, Dabi prompted, "Did you have something to say?"

Shigaraki hesitated and then narrowed his eyes from behind the hand. "No," he said decisively. Dabi stared back at him for a beat longer and then went back to reading. Shigaraki swept out of the room after that, leaving him completely alone. He was going to have to burn this magazine to ashes before Himiko could start talking about "initiating physical contact" and what that might mean. He had enough problems on his plate.