"And Always, Sweet Dreams."

The End

Third-person POV

Almost everything went according to plan.

Almost.

Dabi was leaning against a fence a few blocks away from the battleground, wincing in pain while holding his side, corrupting his whole system. He's not sure who got the jump on him, or how he managed to get away once the fighting reached its climax, but he was certain of one thing, and that was that the battle was over, and the heroes had persevered – had won.

They won.

He stumbled from the sidewalk into a shadowed alleyway, a fire burning brightly in the distance, and he gave himself a second to lift his hand and look down at his wound, gauging how bad it was, but was only met with masses of blood and the sight of his side ripped open. He quickly leaned over, and without a second to spare, threw up all over the ally floor. His nose crinkled at how fowl it smelled.

His mind was a flash of different thoughts and memories, as if he was suddenly reliving every single moment of his life, and he couldn't tell if he hated it or loved it. Nonetheless, he thrived.

He knew what he needed to do.

His footsteps were strong, but his mind was unsteady as he ran, not knowing how much time he'd have left. It was the middle of the night, so the streets were dark other than a few flickering streetlamps, and they blinded him as the sound of sirens increased in the distance, and his head ringed with the white noise, pounding.

His legs took him to where his heart laid, although he felt detached from himself and his body, as if he wasn't really there and in control, but was at the same time. He doesn't recall climbing the side of a building or opening a window, but he found himself leaning over a bed, a familiar figure asleep and tucked beneath the blankets.

Dabi wanted more than anything to press his hand to Shouto's forehead, but he didn't want to leave his blood on his younger brother, despite it already being all over the tiled floor. Oops. Emotion consumed him and his nose stung, but he knew that he couldn't cry. Not now, and not ever.

He could feel moisture dripping down his cheeks and quickly rubbed it away, smearing blood across his paling skin, but he didn't care. Screw not crying. He was dying. 

He could feel himself weakening, his energy slowly draining out like the blood on his coat, and he had to leave. He had to go far away from here, away from Shouto and his life, and knew that deep down, he had played his part in life and that his role as the villain and fake hero was over, but knew it would be filled by someone better and stronger. He'll fade into the countless pages of history, only remembered by a few, but he knew that he played his part well, and now, he had to go.

He leaned over Shouto, pressing a hesitant kiss to his mismatched hair. His heart ached. "I'll be with you forever and always, sweet dreams, little Shouto."

He couldn't say I love you. He just couldn't say goodbye to someone he loved.

He had to go.

He knew that Shouto was going to be okay. Unknown to him, his brother was going to be kicked out of UA, only to be offered a secure spot in the underground hero agency that personally trains Japan's best heroes, just like how Aizawa had done with Hawks. In a way, history was repeating itself. Shouto would be isolated once again and would see his closest friends and family less, but in the end, it would be worth it, and he'd grow to be a powerful hero – the best the world had ever seen. To Dabi, his brother was destined to be the number one hero, and he knew that since history was repeating, he would be the best one day, even if it was short-lived. Deep down, he knew it would be. Everything comes to an end, but life moves on. Time stops for no one, even the best.

Dabi threw himself from the window, blinking the blurriness from his eyes, and left Shouto sleeping – unaware. Once again, his body moved on its own. Through the streets, through the rain, through the gates of a secure facility. He reached out, blue flames enveloping everyone who crossed his path or tried to stop him, and forced his way into the prison, his eyes a fury of turquoise.

People screamed. People died. People burned.

All but one – one.

Dabi collapsed outside a maximum-security prison cell, a single bullet-proof glass seeing in, and seeing out. His blood seeped across the floor as he slowly lost feeling in his blistering limbs, and his body shook with smoke, skin melting as the blue flames evaporated, his eyelids peeling, eyes glowing, matching –

A pair of blazing blue eyes stared back, mocking, almost, and Dabi managed a pained smile, crimson dripping from his pale lips. Endeavour was bound in a straitjacket and quirk cancelling cuffs, a look of true bewilderment and surprise on his face, but his turquoise eyes flared with recognition, and Dabi's eyes did the same as his father glared.

His cheek pressed to the cool floor, a sad chuckle curling from his lips, and he looked up with insanity, poison lacing his tongue. He didn't have much time, and no amount of hatred was going to give him more life. Hate only takes. But love . . . love –

He didn't think he could ever love again after what he had gone through, but love is a strong thing, and family is blood. There would always be something connecting him to his father, whether he liked it or not, and he needed to learn forgiveness, goddamnit. He needed to let go, needed to learn how to leave the past, needed to know how to say goodbye.

He's crying again now, but he doesn't understand why or when it started. Had he been crying this whole time? Had he fallen that deep into utter despair? Some angry and suppressed part of him wanted to kill Endevour – to take him with him – but some sick part of his heart still loved his dad.

He hadn't realised he could still love. He hadn't realised forgiveness was something he needed to do. Acceptance with the unknown was a terrifying prospect, but one that Dabi had bathed in multiple times. His throat was thick with emotion, choked, but he needed to speak and put his mind at peace. He needed to accept, needed to forgive, needed to love –

He didn't know why he came here, or why he was bleeding out in front of the person who practically ended his life, but now he knew, and his chest ached at the realisation. He came here wishing for forgiveness, and he knows some small part of Endevour wants – no, needed – the same. He just needed this one thing to go right, to happen, to make his wish reality before reality was no more.

He needed to say it – to say he's sorry for leaving and failing him.

He needs too, and he wants to hear it back; his wish.

Dabi can barely open his eyes, but he understood that this was his end, and an end for so many others, too. The end of injustice, the end of The League of Villains, the end of his brother's constant pain and worry over him – the end of all agony that had rippled its way throughout so many peoples' lives.

Dabi inhaled shakily, and his dulling eyes closed as his chest tightened. He needed to say it, needed to grasp his wish –

"D-Dad . . ." but some people don't understand the difference between wishful thinking and struggle, and exhaled his last breath.

He was foolish to believe love healed all, but he'd never get the chance to learn.

He couldn't last long enough or be strong. Not even for a wish.

Fin.

When a story ends, the life and figures circling it end, too.

Sometimes, we'll never be given the answers to our wonders, but despite that, it's best to stay curious :)

Thank you for the journey <3

(Also, I'm beginning to upload my Dreamnotfound story! It's called Wither with Me. Go check it out!)