[ He lost. That's the sinking sort of feeling he gets as Dabi fully appears once again. He fucked up, and he lost.
Aaah, this is bad... His cloak is engulfed in fire. Light itself lit up and being consumed and turned slowly to ash and ember like some kind of white phoenix. I might actually... even here...
He swallows, pale eyes kept strongly to turquoise. ]
Even if... you don't know me... [ It's a little shaky at first, but he drops a knee to the ground to plant himself a little more firmly. ] And I'm no one to you...
...I'm not running. [ He would die before that, you better believe him. But he also refuse to die. Not right here, not right now. Fading away into nothingness was something he was told would happen to him, knew in his heart would happen, but it isn't going to happen here.
He breathes in, the anguished kind of hatred behind those flames scorching his lungs in a blackening, sickening sort of way, but keeping his eyes centered on Dabi's. It's a different kind of determined light. Steadfast as before, but quieter. More wrought. I will save you, still. From the corruption that ended them both here, but not just that. Something gentler. Born from a deep sort of sorrow.
I want to help you.
There isn't any grand or noble purpose to his life, not as he sees it. Not as he's tried to explain it. He's one small man who lost everything that was important to him, who doesn't have what he would think is a noble reason -- he just doesn't like to see someone suffer. Whose heart is moved not by a noble or heroic purpose, but by the people in front of him. The people he sees. The souls he sees, long forgotten by the rest of the world and seen as monsters. They exist and they suffer, so he wants to help them. He wants to save them, because of finding that so very sad.
Even if that isn't what the world needs. Even if they're a villain.
So no, he can't look away. And he won't burn to ash. Even if you hate him and maybe even the world, part of him can never be burned.
He lifts his other hand up, the left one now black and with wickedly long and sharp, luminous white bladed claws for fingers. Not to strike -- but to delicately but quite firmly press his palm to other side of the man's face, ever-mindful of his claws and keeping them turned out and away from skin. Locking them together like that.
And even if you try to burn me up too... I'm okay with that. [ He won't burn, but he doesn't blame you either. ]
Because I think... it's easier to just assume that no one cares. To say "oh, they never loved me, so no one is capable of love." "Oh, he was a monster, so everyone is a monster." "I'll be stronger then, strong enough to show them all." [ His hands press tighter for a moment, leaning forward with an earnestness that makes his jaw tight. ]
Right? [ It's not sarcastic; it's raw. A sliver of very real and genuine anguish.
A toddler sold to the circus freak show by his parents because of his ugly left arm. A world full of people who spat on him and starved him, full of grown men he had to work with who would get drunk and pin a six year old down to laugh over and grope that left arm of his, with that man grabbing him by the face to stroke his lip and say "you're my possession"...
And ugly world that was cold and without love.
His hands twitch for a moment, and stay pressed tight. ]
Because it feels easier when you take it on alone like that, isn't it? When it's you against a world that just seems to spite you. When all you need to do is just become stronger so they can't hurt you anymore. But it isn't! [ He did that. He tried to force through his situation with brute strength. He woke up his power through sheer rage.
And he irreparably broke the only person who was ever kind to him. ]
It hurts! Caring hurts! But the answer isn't to just stop caring!
[ That is what makes you weak. What makes you lose everything. ]
And even if I'm wrong... and even if you don't believe me... there is someone who "gives a shit". Someone who I bet that even despite the horrible situation you both had, he cares and would want to be the one here right now. I'm sure of it. [ Because he's kind. You can judge Allen or even the both of them all you want for all the things about this sordid past he didn't know, but he honestly couldn't give a crap about any of that when it comes to his opinion of Shouto. He didn't need to know, even if he appreciates him more now for the knowing. But he already knew the most important thing about him without needing to know any of that.
He's kind, and even if you've gone insane and are striking out in pain, Shouto doesn't seem like someone who would ever turn his back on his own brother. ]
It'd probably be better if he was... [ it's softer with genuine regret and sentiment ] But I'm the one you've got.
But he's a kind person who cares and would be sad... [ His voice lowers in pitch and rises in strength, twisted again with a raw sort of anguish that makes his voice quaver slightly in anything but weakness; utter conviction.
Even if the flames lick across his face in a way that should consume him, that condensed sort of black emotional turmoil given power turn his flesh to embers and sear through to bone -- they don't. The tattered and flaming remains of his cloak limn in stubbornly resistant white-gold light, and his hands do too from where they're pressed to Dabi's face. Like a gentle sort of silent white flame that isn't fire at all, but the cool and almost wintery shape of his own conviction and heart and consumes him in a protective embrace. The thing that's Crown Clown, but also him. One and the same. Unyielding kindness, the kind that would feel gentle and calming to the soul, cleansing; the sort where even the most piteously twisted soul of an akuma would give a rattled sigh of relief, even as it was cut down by those claws. "Aaah...
"Somehow... I feel good."
Even if maybe it'll never reach him in this state, the intent is still there. It's always his intent. ]
He wouldn't run and leave you alone, so neither will I.
ヘ（。□°）ヘ !! also cw: MORE severe child abuse, vaguely implied sexual assault
Aaah, this is bad... His cloak is engulfed in fire. Light itself lit up and being consumed and turned slowly to ash and ember like some kind of white phoenix. I might actually... even here...
He swallows, pale eyes kept strongly to turquoise. ]
Even if... you don't know me... [ It's a little shaky at first, but he drops a knee to the ground to plant himself a little more firmly. ] And I'm no one to you...
...I'm not running. [ He would die before that, you better believe him. But he also refuse to die. Not right here, not right now. Fading away into nothingness was something he was told would happen to him, knew in his heart would happen, but it isn't going to happen here.
He breathes in, the anguished kind of hatred behind those flames scorching his lungs in a blackening, sickening sort of way, but keeping his eyes centered on Dabi's. It's a different kind of determined light. Steadfast as before, but quieter. More wrought. I will save you, still. From the corruption that ended them both here, but not just that. Something gentler. Born from a deep sort of sorrow.
I want to help you.
There isn't any grand or noble purpose to his life, not as he sees it. Not as he's tried to explain it. He's one small man who lost everything that was important to him, who doesn't have what he would think is a noble reason -- he just doesn't like to see someone suffer. Whose heart is moved not by a noble or heroic purpose, but by the people in front of him. The people he sees. The souls he sees, long forgotten by the rest of the world and seen as monsters. They exist and they suffer, so he wants to help them. He wants to save them, because of finding that so very sad.
Even if that isn't what the world needs. Even if they're a villain.
So no, he can't look away. And he won't burn to ash. Even if you hate him and maybe even the world, part of him can never be burned.
He lifts his other hand up, the left one now black and with wickedly long and sharp, luminous white bladed claws for fingers. Not to strike -- but to delicately but quite firmly press his palm to other side of the man's face, ever-mindful of his claws and keeping them turned out and away from skin. Locking them together like that.
And even if you try to burn me up too... I'm okay with that. [ He won't burn, but he doesn't blame you either. ]
Because I think... it's easier to just assume that no one cares. To say "oh, they never loved me, so no one is capable of love." "Oh, he was a monster, so everyone is a monster." "I'll be stronger then, strong enough to show them all." [ His hands press tighter for a moment, leaning forward with an earnestness that makes his jaw tight. ]
Right? [ It's not sarcastic; it's raw. A sliver of very real and genuine anguish.
A toddler sold to the circus freak show by his parents because of his ugly left arm. A world full of people who spat on him and starved him, full of grown men he had to work with who would get drunk and pin a six year old down to laugh over and grope that left arm of his, with that man grabbing him by the face to stroke his lip and say "you're my possession"...
And ugly world that was cold and without love.
His hands twitch for a moment, and stay pressed tight. ]
Because it feels easier when you take it on alone like that, isn't it? When it's you against a world that just seems to spite you. When all you need to do is just become stronger so they can't hurt you anymore. But it isn't! [ He did that. He tried to force through his situation with brute strength. He woke up his power through sheer rage.
And he irreparably broke the only person who was ever kind to him. ]
It hurts! Caring hurts! But the answer isn't to just stop caring!
[ That is what makes you weak. What makes you lose everything. ]
And even if I'm wrong... and even if you don't believe me... there is someone who "gives a shit". Someone who I bet that even despite the horrible situation you both had, he cares and would want to be the one here right now. I'm sure of it. [ Because he's kind. You can judge Allen or even the both of them all you want for all the things about this sordid past he didn't know, but he honestly couldn't give a crap about any of that when it comes to his opinion of Shouto. He didn't need to know, even if he appreciates him more now for the knowing. But he already knew the most important thing about him without needing to know any of that.
He's kind, and even if you've gone insane and are striking out in pain, Shouto doesn't seem like someone who would ever turn his back on his own brother. ]
It'd probably be better if he was... [ it's softer with genuine regret and sentiment ] But I'm the one you've got.
But he's a kind person who cares and would be sad... [ His voice lowers in pitch and rises in strength, twisted again with a raw sort of anguish that makes his voice quaver slightly in anything but weakness; utter conviction.
Even if the flames lick across his face in a way that should consume him, that condensed sort of black emotional turmoil given power turn his flesh to embers and sear through to bone -- they don't. The tattered and flaming remains of his cloak limn in stubbornly resistant white-gold light, and his hands do too from where they're pressed to Dabi's face. Like a gentle sort of silent white flame that isn't fire at all, but the cool and almost wintery shape of his own conviction and heart and consumes him in a protective embrace. The thing that's Crown Clown, but also him. One and the same. Unyielding kindness, the kind that would feel gentle and calming to the soul, cleansing; the sort where even the most piteously twisted soul of an akuma would give a rattled sigh of relief, even as it was cut down by those claws. "Aaah...
"Somehow... I feel good."
Even if maybe it'll never reach him in this state, the intent is still there. It's always his intent. ]
He wouldn't run and leave you alone, so neither will I.