Organised Protection (The Thin Grey Line One Shots)

Chapter 6

Let's set the goal to 25 for this chapter!

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Dabi wasn't really sure how he got roped into this.

Okay, fine, Daisy had gotten so hyped up from the sundae she actually wore tracks into the carpet, but he didn't see how that meant he had to babysit yet another brat.

But he was living under Seamstress' roof, he had to go by her rules, and she said he had to guard the Midoriya brat.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He glared at the door like it would solve all his problems. It didn't.

Oh come on. He threatened to cook a group of villains like a turkey, why was this so hard?

He never got the chance to go through with it, because the door was opened and he was greeted with the kind yet stern face of one Midoriya Inko. The file Dabi had in her wasn't very interesting - working at a desk job nine to five and a Quirk that let her draw light objects to her. Among the other files he's read in the past, he would have skimmed right over this woman without a second thought.

Right now, though, she had him pinned with a calculating stare that made him want to shuffle his feet like a damn teenager.

"Kuroda called me yesterday." She said, stepping aside to let him enter he house. "You're the person his friend sent?"

Calling Seamstress a 'friend' of Kuroda was a bit of an overstatement. Those two had a fifty-fifty chance of either being thick as thieves or trying to break the other's limb. So he just ops for the easiest answer. "Yes." He said, walking into the apartment.

It was small, compact. Everything was in its place. The only thing that stool out was the new carpet and the unpainted plaster repairing a hole in the wall. He'd read the incident that happened during the sports festival, and the physical reminders of it sent a shiver down Dabi's spine. Mrs. Midoriya had been sent to the hospital and Nagaki had lost a limb just from the League knowing who Kuroko was. It was only Seamstress' influence that was keeping the family of two (three, if you asked Seamstress) safe from a repeat performance.

Say what you want, but Dabi had a fucking conscience, and he wouldn't have the Midoriya family on it because of shitty effort.

"Take a seat, take a seat." Mrs. Midoriya told him, rushing into the kitchen. "Do you like tea? I have a pot on the stove."

Well, how could he refuse an offer like that? "What kind?"

"Chamomile."

Which was used to reduce stress an anxiety in who drank it. Dabi found that it fit with what he'd gathered on the Midoriyas so far. "Does the kid know I'm here?" He asked, taking the cup Mrs. Midoriya offered him with a barely audible thanks.

"Kuroda told him." She said, taking a seat across from him and taking a sip. "I'd like to thank you."

Dabi blinked. "For what?"

"You could have said no to helping protect my Izuku." The smile on her face grew bitter, it didn't fit her. "When I woke up from my coma, Izuku told me everything. The late night patrols, the USJ, Kuroda being the original Kuroko. He spilled his heart out to me and he was so scared that I'd be mad at him. I was - mad, that is - but it was more at myself for not noticing."

Dabi didn't know why she was telling him this, but didn't really know how to say that without seeming rude. Which was odd, considering he hadn't given a solitary fuck about politeness until a few months ago. He took a sip from his tea.

"He's a good boy." She continued, setting her teacup on the table. "And the thought of him having to go through what I did - what Kuroda did-" Her hands started to shake, she clenched them. "I can't bear the thought. So thank you. Thank you for making sure that that won't happen."

Dabi put his tea down. "You're a good mom." He said, even though he couldn't be very sure. His mom had been out of the picture for years, he didn't exactly have a good point of reference. "Me and my people are gonna do our best, you can believe that."

Mrs. Midoriya nodded, "Thank you." Dabi hadn't known that so much gratitude could be put into two words, now he did.

He heard footsteps start making their way down the hall and towards the living room. Showtime.