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Home is where the Hearth is

The numbers on the spreadsheet blurred, bobbing and weaving together in an amalgamation of mathematical improbability. It was supposed to be a budget proposal on the expansion for the quirk counseling centers from Gravity Hero: Uravity. The document held a detailed breakdown of how much money was requested, where exactly it was going and how exactly it was going to help the areas in need. All neatly organized into color coded columns. 

All Hawks needed to do was approve it and send it off to the finance department so they could allocate the money.

Yet he could not, for the life of him, make any sense of the document. Not with his eyes unfocusing constantly. They burned from the strain of looking at a computer screen for the last…he wasn’t sure how long.

Which might be an answer all on its own. 

He had been reviewing spreadsheets and budgets and proposed hero reforms since he got into office in the morning. He had then continued to look them over at home when his assistant had kicked him out around 10 pm. A glance at the time showed it was a little after 1am. 

That possibly explained the headache pounding against his skull. Hawks shrugged and shifted in his chair to stretch out the kinks in his back. He spent far too long curled up like a shrimp and deciphering numbers that stubbornly refused to cooperate. 

It was weird, even after all this time, that he could lean flush against the chair. There were no twinges of pain as feathers got caught, no uncomfortable pressing of muscle against his back. Just a normal office chair, not one meant to accommodate glorious red wings.

He tried not to think about it.

Tried not to think about how much he missed the wind on his face, or diving and sailing between buildings, or standing atop the radio antennas scattered throughout Fukuoka. He tried not to miss them when he was forced to get up to grab the remote, instead of sending a feather to fetch it. Tried not to miss them when he stared at his reflection too long, with no wings arching behind him, with nothing on his back but burn scars. 

The phone rattled on his desk, vibrating with an incoming message. Hawks scrubbed his face, blinking blearily at the device. He didn’t know who could possibly be messaging him this late, or early. 

Maybe an email from the board of directors? Another last minute proposal that needed to be reviewed before the meeting later? Could be his assistant telling him off for being online still. Maybe it was another spam message, asking him if he was interested in selling his property.

It was none of them.

Shouto Todoroki. 

Hawks’ stomach plummeted like a stone. Dread crept into his chest, ghostly fingers curling around his stuttering heart and squeezing. The expanse of scars on his back tightened as tension pulled the muscles. 

There was only one reason the AirCon Hero would message him, this early in the morning. One reason, that was locked far away, in a medical facility.

He didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to know. 

He didn’t want the confirmation he knew was in that message.

Touya is dead

“Heyyo~” Hawks perched on the light post, wings spread just enough to keep his balance. Helpful for a quick getaway too, when he beat into the air to dodge the searing flash of blue. “Hey now, no need for that.” He held up his hands as he touched down on the ground. A feigned surrender. His wings were ready behind him, feathers a thought away from being blade sharp. A thought away from tearing out veins and arteries.

Fire might be his fatal weakness, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do his best to take down a dangerous villain if the needs must.

The Hero Public Safety Commission trained him well, after all.

The villain stood across from him, feet apart, head tilted to the side, heavy lidded gaze following Hawks every move. The blue of his eyes glowed the same color as the flames that crawled up his arm. Purple scars and glinting staples marred the man, marking him as the infamous Dabi.

Dabi matched the blurry photos from the dossier that the Commission provided. The scars were definitely the most notable thing about the villain and did little to hide him in a crowd. Which made it all the more impressive that they, the heroes and the HPSC, knew almost nothing about him other than his name, and what the explosion quirk kid gave in his statement. 

The villain before him was presumed male, around 170cm tall, with a fire quirk that could burn hotter than Endeavor’s. There was precious little in sightings before the attack on UA’s summer camp, and as far as the HPSC could tell, no previous criminal activity. 

Dabi made his debut into Japan’s consciousness with a splash that no one could ignore.

The only other thing that the HPSC had been able to dig up was that Dabi was acting as the League of Villain’s recruiter. Largely by leaving charred corpses across the nation. Even that was only after he had come crawling from whatever shadows he had been hiding in. 

Who was Dabi before? No one had a clue.

The HPSC couldn’t afford to let the League of Villains fade back into obscurity, not after they had made two attacks on the prestigious UA and brought the Number 1 Hero down. Hero Society was rocked by All Might’s retirement, and was barely holding on with what was presumed to be Endeavor’s ascension to the title. 

They also couldn’t afford to let the League run rampant and uncontrolled, anymore.

Which led Hawks to his current predicament, a suicide mission. He’d been directed to infiltrate the League of Villains, by any means necessary. Get in, get the info, take em down.

Not Hawks first time acting as a spy or killing in the shadows, but it could very well be his last.

“What do you want, hero?” The title dripped with vitriol, sizzling like the flames that continued to cast an ominous blue glow in the dying light. 

“Same as everyone else, I wanna join.” Hawks curled his wings a little tighter behind his back. It would be harder to dodge but his very flammable feathers would be less of an open target. He kept his hands spread, a universal sign of surrender. He pasted on his camera ready smile, letting his shoulders drop, just a bit.

Relaxed, not a threat, just a friendly face. A slightly dim hero who wanted to walk on the darkside, that’s all.

“Join?” One black eyebrow arched up as Dabi scoffed, “fuck off. This isn’t some idol group.”

“I’m serious. I can be very useful.” Hawks let his smile slip into a smirk, flicking his tongue out along his lip. There was more than one way to get information and Hawks wasn’t above a little flirting. 

Until a blue fire ball swung by close enough that his hair curled and the nerves in his feathers shrieked from the near miss. He fought hard not to flinch as Dabi stalked closer, the heat coming off him in waves.

“Useful as a message, maybe. We already took down the Number 1. Imagine the renown the League would have if I left the Number 3 as fried chicken.”

“Haha.” Hawks forced the laughed, forced his posture to remain relaxed, forced himself not to pull a primary to his hand and end the arsonist. “Okay okay. There’s no need for that. Promise, I’m way more useful alive. For the cause, ya know. I have access, information.”

The villain rolled his eyes, but the fire dimmed and fizzled out, leaving the scent of burned flesh in its wake. “Of course you do. The HPSC’s pet.” He spat.

Hawks jumped on the insult like a lifeline. “Exactly. I am. They own me. They control my every move.”

“Oh?” Dabi’s head tilted the side, like a curious cat watching its prey scramble in front of its paws. “And what do they make their little puppet do?”

“Anything, everything.” Hawks waved his hands in a circle.”Whatever they want. The brand deals, the modeling, the team ups. Work double and triple shifts, fly across the country.”

“Spy on a rising villain group?”

Hawks contained the jolt. He expected it. Knew he would be distrusted. Dabi didn’t burn under the radar this long without a healthy dose of suspicion. “No. I came here on my own. I..I need out.” Hawks let his voice slip, his shoulders sinking, wings drooping. Defeated.

Dabi snorted. “Out? The HPSC gives you everything a hero could want. You’re the youngest hero to hit the Top 10. You’ve got more money than God. Your face is splashed on every fucking billboard and poster in Fukuoka, and you’ve got merch deals from action figures to hair products to fried chicken. The golden boy hero, beloved by all.” He sneered, that flickering flame rising once again, the sheer heat of it making Hawks’ heart pound.

His feathers wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I didn’t want all of that. I didn’t ask for it. I just wanted to be a hero to help people. Instead I’m spending more time shilling those hair products than I am on the streets. I want things to change, and the League has a chance at turning things around.”

Hawks stressed, slipping in a few truths, letting his hero mask fall just a bit. He let himself, for a moment, feel the frustration of burning out at 22, of the pressure the HPSC put on him, on the decade of hero work behind the scenes. The blood on his hands. Dabi’s gaze bore into him, the blue, blue glow searing. The heat of the flames rose before abruptly snuffing out. 

“Fine. We’ll see what you got, birdie.”

Hawks perked up. “Great, so I’m in–”

“Not so fast. I don’t trust you farther than I can roast you. Prove yourself, and maybe you get an invite.”

Hawks let his wings droop again, an act of disappointment, mostly. He knew there was no way he would get in so easily. He would’ve distrusted it immediately if Dabi had offered. 

Hawks was playing with fire, hah, and knew when to back off. The HPSC sent him on a suicide mission. He planned to make it out alive.

That’s fine. Two can play this game. 

“Right! Tell what you need and I’ll prove it, Hot Stuff.” He winked, throwing his signature two-fingered salute to Dabi’s glare.

Hawks pressed the sharped feather to Dabi’s throat, the last of his primaries. His wings were in tatters after the fight with Endeavor against the Nomu. 

The HPSC had been on Hawks’ case, demanding that he speed things along with Dabi. They were antsy, anxious, wringing their hands while they waited for any scrap of information. They didn’t care that Dabi was cagey. That he was suspicious. They didn’t care that pushing too hard, too fast, was how he would end up as a fried hero.

According to them, Hawks was a hero too fast for his own good. He should’ve already been in the League and handing Shigaraki over on a silver platter.

Instead, Hawks was being run ragged. They hadn’t lessened his regular schedule despite the fact that he was currently on a very dangerous and highly sensitive mission. He was flitting from modeling gigs, to paperwork, to regular patrol, to trying to make at least some time with his intern. 

An intern they had insisted he should get, to promote his image as a reliable hero, mentoring the next generation.

Then, when he wasn’t slaving away at the feet of Madam President, he was dropping everything to meet with Dabi in hidden alleyways and burned out warehouses and stretches of empty roads for pittances of information and sneering jeers of hero .

Hawks tried to lay it on thick, swaying between flighty, slightly dim to flirty, number one bachelor of Japan, to somewhat competent hero. He was switching between masks, trying to find the right one to connect with Dabi. 

One of them had to get Hawks his in. 

It was draining. He was exhausted. He had been running on fumes well before this. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a solid 8 hours of sleep. He wasn’t sure he had 8 hours of sleep to string together over the last week. 

So, sue him if he finally snapped.

Dabi leaned his head back, staring down his nose at Hawks, seemingly amused by the blade at his neck. Yet Hawks could feel the villain’s heart kick up, could see his pupils dilating by the way the glowing blue ring of his irises shrank. Fear was a difficult reaction to hide from Hawks.

 A thin stream of blood trailed down the rigid purple scarring to settle at the dip in his collarbone. “And here I thought you only had those baby feathers left.” Dabi’s gaze dropped to the blade.

“And I thought we were sticking to the plan.” Hawks parroted back, baring his teeth. “None of that was what we agreed on. The Nomu attack was supposed to be tomorrow. It was supposed to be here, away from the populace.”

Hawks hated that he agreed to this plan at all. A plan that had been forced on him, due to the increased pressure from the HPSC. He was taking too long to earn Dabi’s trust. The populace was wary with the League still on the streets, jumping at shadows. The HPSC wanted the villains behind bars and under control before they did anything more drastic than they already had. So, Hawks had tried to engineer it in a way to avoid the exact scenario that took place in the center of his city. He had even brought in Endeavor, with hopes to limit the destruction.

They’d been lucky there hadn’t been any casualties. 

“Sure.” Dabi shrugged, the blade scrapping lightly against his skin. He feigned nonchalance with his hands in his pockets, but the continued pounding of his heart gave him away. “But then you amped up the firepower and the Nomu I had planned would’ve been ashes. Not a very good test, ya know?”

“You’re the one that told me to bring a hero.” Hawks glared, his remaining baby feathers standing on end.

“Yeah, a hero. Not the current Number 1.” Dabi smirked. “So I let a bigger toy out to play.”

“That toy almost killed Endeavor.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Nah. I knew he would survive. Bastard is persistent after all. I would’ve finished the job though, if the rabbit hadn’t intervened.”

Hawks grit his teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He dragged his temper back under control, shoving it back in the box where it belonged. He had a mission to complete, even if his contact was an ass.

“You know,” Dabi continued, as if Hawks wasn’t moments away from letting his feather slice through his carotids, “I noticed there weren’t any casualties, for someone who wants to be a villain so bad, Birdie.”

“I have an image to keep up, Hot Stuff.” Hawks threw the nickname back. “You wanted an inside source. I can’t get you that information if I get cut off for letting a monster loose and allowing it to kill civilians."

“You can cut the act, hero ,” Dabi sneered, smoke curling out the corners of his mouth as he leaned closer, ignoring the blade that bit into his skin. Blood trailed down his throat, spilling over the hollow at his collarbone and trailing further to stain the edge of his shirt. “I know you aren’t on our side. Go tell your masters that you failed, before I burn you alive. Consider it recompense, for all the help you’ve been.”

“Fuck you.” Hawks snarled, his temper bursting from the box. He ignored Dabi’s raised eyebrow. “I’ve been busting my ass for them, for you, and all I’m getting is the run around. I told you, when we first met, that I wanted to save people. Civilians don’t deserve to get caught up in whatever grudge match you have with Endeavor. I–fuck.”

Hawks jerked back, feather in hand. He was riled up. He couldn’t afford to be. The mission was the most important. The fate of Japan, of the world, hinged on him getting the information needed to put a stop to all this. 

His own personal feelings meant nothing.

He paced the warehouse, walking back and forth between the support pillars and kicking up dust and dirt and god knows what else. The remainder of his wings bristled, softening and sharpening over and over. The rasping, metallic sound of hardened feathers scraping against each other and his own ragged breathing as he dragged himself under control were the only noises in the abandoned warehouse.

Dabi leaned back against the wall, staying where Hawks had left him, with his arms across his chest. Blue eyes glowed in the darkness. “Ya done yet?”

Hawks stopped in place, hissing out a breath and letting the primary rejoin his wing. He felt off balance, inside and out. He felt worn down and drawn out, as hollow and empty as his wings. “I guess.”

“What? The state of the world getting you down, Birdie?” Dabi scoffed.

“I want to change things, Dabi.” Hawks stressed, flinging his hands wide. “I became a hero because it was the only path set out for me. I wanted to be a hero because I wanted to save someone as I had been saved. I gave up everything for it. The system is broken.” He laughed, a little deliriously. “I know that better than anyone else, believe me.” 

The remnants of his wings drooped, his single primary feather brushing against the floor. The exhaustion of the day settled against his bones, weighing him down, threatening to drag him into the ground.

He wondered, briefly, if it wouldn’t be so bad, letting Dabi’s flames turn him to ash. He’d finally get to rest. 

Boots scraped against the ground and Hawks met Dabi’s gaze, the villain stepping out from the shadows. There was something on his face. A softer expression, maybe. “One last test, Birdie. If you succeed, I’ll bring you to the boss.”

Dabi cornered Hawks against the kitchen counter, his hand skimming over his neck, fingers curling into Hawks’ hair. A sharp tug had Hawks baring his neck, hissing lightly against the pain. 

Dabi’s other hand shoved the flight jacket off his shoulders, getting the fabric caught on his wings. “Welcome home.” Dabi brushed his lips against his neck and nipped at the skin. Hawks’ pulse jumped.

“Yeah, thanks.” Hawks tugged his gloves off, chucking them somewhere into the room. The visor and headphones were lost when he first entered his apartment. Dabi flung those towards the couch when Hawks came home. Hawks didn’t even get a chance to question it before Dabi had him pinned against the counter, tongue down his throat. 

Hawks shoved Dabi’s shirt up to grip at his hips, talons digging into the skin, and pulling them closer together. “Can’t gimme a sec?”

“No. Feathers off.” Dabi shoved at the jacket again, mouthing at Hawks’ throat.

Hawks reached up to grab a fistful of Dabi’s hair to pry him off his neck. Dabi retaliated by biting hard. His blunted teeth dug into Hawks’ skin, yet they weren’t enough to break skin and vein and let Hawks’ bleed out. 

Still, the moan slipped past his lips as Dabi wrenched his head back further, giving him more room to suck a mark into the skin.

The feathers spilled from his back like autumn leaves, scattering across the kitchen. 

“Good birdie.” Dabi shoved the jacket down, trapping Hawks’ arms in the sleeves.

“You little shit.” Hawks tried to shimmy out of the jacket, breath hitching when the movement grinded their cocks together. The pressure sent a spark of heat zipping up his spine.

“You like it.” Dabi bit at his neck again, leaving another mark as he trailed his free hand down to tug at Hawk’s belt. Hawks let Dabi do all the work, or try to, as he raised his hips, grinding his cock purposefully against Dabi’s, chasing his own pleasure.

“Can you fuckin’ stay still?” Dabi’s mouth popped off his neck.

“Make me.” Hawks grinned and Dabi descended on him with a kiss that was more teeth than tongue, drawing blood. He moved his leg between Hawks’, pressing up hard. Hawks groaned, stars behind his eyes, thoroughly distracted while Dabi slipped the belt free. He tossed it to join the rest of Hawks’ accessories. 

Hawks shoved him back and flitted away from the counter. He tossed a look over shoulder and led Dabi to the bedroom.

He hadn’t anticipated that Dabi actually wanted into his pants. Not after all the times he had flirted with him in their quick meetups for information or stolen moments where Hawks tried to ply Dabi with food. One of his many attempts at finding what mask would get him the access he needed. 

It wasn’t until the villain had dragged him away at the PLF announcement, that he learned of Dabi’s desire. Hawks had gone along with him, expecting to meet the rest of the League, and found himself pinned against a wall, caged in, with the heat all around him.

It clicked for Hawks then, with Dabi’s grip on him hard enough to leave bruises. With the villain’s pupils dilated, his heartbeat pounding, just like it had been in the warehouse. Hawks had finally found the mask that worked, or rather, the lack of one. 

Hawks stared into blue, blue eyes. He saw death in roaring blue flames and screaming, blackened bodies twisted and contorted as muscles curled the limbs inward. He saw staples glinting in the low light and purple scars and knew he had a choice.

The Paranormal Liberation Front changed things. Before, the League of Villains were just a ragtag group of misfits. Now, they combined with the Meta Liberation Army to become the worst care scenario. Short of All For One escaping, this was it. 

The destructive power they now had at their fingertips. 

The political party, the financial means, the media ties.

The numbers.  

Hawks knew for a fact that there weren’t nearly enough heroes to handle that. Not ones that could handle combat. Half the heroes these days went on to specialize in rescue efforts, clean up, or low level patrols in easy neighborhoods. Even in the Top 10, only a few would be able to hold out against the PLF lieutenants, and they were down one with the “death” of Best Jeanist.

Hawks needed to learn their plans, learn what the quirks were in the PLF command and anyone who might pose a threat. He needed to gather every ounce of information he could, no matter the cost to him. Anything that would help to turn the tide. He had to hope that the HPSC could come up with a strategy. 

He was their best operative, their only chance. 

“Well, Birdie?” Dabi had asked, had waited with heat in his eyes. Hawks knew without a doubt that if he said no, if he didn’t want this, Dabi would back off. That he would lose this opportunity.

So he didn’t.

Hawks told himself, then, that it was for the mission. He told himself that flirting was one way to get information, and so was fucking. He told himself over and over, every time he pulled Dabi close, every time his talons scored lines down Dabi’s back, every time he was left bruised and burned and aching. 

Every time he was left feeling hollow and empty after.

He chanted it in his head, when he rode Dabi in the middle of his bed, after the villain had broken into the apartment. He let it out in trills and clicks as he let the villain bury his hands deep in his wings. 

He told himself it was for the mission as he waltzed into the darkened bedroom, shedding clothes left and right until he was bare against his silk sheets. 

Dabi tumbled after him, pinning him to the mattress and pressing bruises and burns into his skin.

Hawks’ world narrowed to sensations.

The click of the cap. The chill of lube that was replaced with quirk hot fingers. The stretch and burn of his entrance.

Then it was just Dabi. Dabi’s cock in his ass. Dabi’s hands in his wings. 

Dabi’s sweat slicked skin under his teeth. Dabi’s blood under his nails. 

Dabi Dabi Dabi. 

He came with Dabi’s name on his lips. 

It was for the mission, he told himself as Dabi came to a shouted “Hawks”.

Instead of Keigo.

It was for the mission, as Dabi pushed himself up, pulled himself out.

Leaving Hawks empty and aching. 

It was for the mission, as Dabi cleaned himself up and dressed. 

Hiding away all the marks Hawks had left. 

It was for the mission, as Dabi shot him a grin, sent him a mocking two fingered salute and strolled out. “See ya, Birdie.”

It was all for the mission, Hawks told himself, over and over and over.

He didn’t want Dabi to stay. He didn’t want to feel those hands on him again, grounding him, tethering him. He didn’t want Dabi to crack him open and crawl inside and fill the hollow pit that was expanding in his chest.

He didn’t.

Hawks landed hard on his balcony, potentially spraining his ankle in the process. He barely made it home after the way his right wing had crumpled in the fighting. The faint glow of the tv inside was just visible from the glass doors in front of him.

It wasn’t a surprise, at least. He’d made it a habit of leaving feathers around his home after the first time his apartment had been broken into. He had thought no one would be idiotic enough to break into the home of the Number 2 Hero.

Yet Dabi was half living in the place at this rate, despite having his own room at the PLF mansion, and probably his own apartment somewhere in Japan. 

Not that Dabi ever stayed over. He would come to steal what little food Hawks had, or lounge about on the couch like a spoiled cat until Hawks came home.

And then jump his bones. 

Hawks had known the moment the villain had clambered his way into the apartment and filed the information away. He didn’t have time to deal with it when he was facing a different villain across town. One that had actively wanted to kill him in the moment.

Dabi could wait.

Hawks had hoped that the villain mooching off his snacks would’ve left by now, but he wasn’t that lucky. Especially with how late it had gotten. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Dabi, not with the sharp stabbing pain every time his wings flexed or he moved or breathed or thought.

He didn’t want to put on the mask of a villain hopeful or a happy hero. 

Hawks walked inside, his wing dragging painfully against the tile, streaking blood and dirt across the floor.

He’d already had to pretend to the masses that he was fine, that everything was okay. That their Number 2 Hero wasn’t broken and bleeding after being flung through a building.

He didn’t want to do it in his own home. 

“Took long enough, didn't ya, Birdie?” Dabi leaned back against the couch, twisting to look in his direction. Blue eyes glowed in the dim light. His brows drew together as he took in Hawks’ current state. “The fuck happened to you?”

“Didn’t you see the news?” Hawks used a feather to pull off his shoes and another feather to carry his headphones and visor to the table, plopping them next to a magazine that yet again declared him as the number one bachelor of Japan. The visor itself was spiderwebbed with cracks while the headphones were scraped all along the right side.

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Rescuing kittens or some shit. Ever the hero. ” He sneered.

Hawks shoulders hunched, his jaw clenched. Dabi rarely pulled the hero card. Not since Hawks dropped off the “body” of Best Jeanist. Not since they started fucking on the regular. It hurt, that the villain still didn’t trust him. That he threw the title in Hawks’ face, as if he didn’t know Hawks’ reasons.

“Fuck off, Dabi.” Hawks limped past the couch and towards the bathroom. “I am a hero. To save people.” He stressed. “If that bothers you so damn much, you can see yourself out. I don’t have the time or the energy to be your booty call right now.”

He slapped the light switch in the bathroom, nearly blinding himself in the process, and unfortunately throwing his reflection into sharp relief on the mirror. 

He was covered in dirt and sweat and blood and concrete dust. Most of the damage had been along his right side, with deep bruising spreading across his face, barely visible under the blood and surface abrasions. His visor had done its job though, not a scratch around his eyes.

He turned away from the mirror to drag out the first aid kit and a towel, taking long careful breaths through the pain. He set both on the counter and dropped his feathers into a pile, shuffling them off to the corner of the room. The strain on his back and his ribs eased once the excessive weight had been shed. 

He peeled off the remains of his tattered flight jacket and the pieces of the compression suit beneath, leaving the top half of him bare. Every stretch and twist had him clenching his jaw, his ribs throbbing angrily.

He was pretty certain that particular pain meant at least one rib was cracked, if not broken. It was hard to tell. Everything was a jumble of pain and he didn’t have the time to sort through it all. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been forced to work through the pain before. 

The HPSC were ever thorough.

He soaked the towel and started wiping away the dried blood and dirt, debating whether jumping in the shower would be easier.

Heat radiated from the doorway as Dabi leaned on the frame, arms crossed. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, I feel like shit.” Hawks grumbled, soaking the towel and wringing out the water, dabbing at the wounds. He spared the villain a glance, watching as his gaze bounced from the bruise that blotted his side from ribs to hip, the mass of abrasions from being scraped against a concrete building, and the plethora of scars that decorated his torso and arms.

Dabi raised a brow. “Shouldn’t you have gone to the hospital? There’s a special hero one just for you all.”

“Can’t.” Hawks hissed as he twisted wrong, the continuous dull throb turned into a breath stealing stab, his ribs protesting the movement loudly. He couldn’t even think about why Dabi thought or knew about the hero hospitals with the agony shearing up his side, sending black dots to swarm his vision.

“What do you mean, can’t? You’re the fuckin’ Number 2.”

Hawks tossed the towel into the sink. “Because I can’t, ok? Because if I go to a hospital, they’ll show up. Then it’ll be tests and questions and punishments and ‘treatments’ that I could just really fucking do without right now. I just want to clean these out, bandage them up, take a fistfull of painkillers, and get some sleep before I have to be on patrol again in five hours. Ok? Now leave me be.”

Dabi’s gaze narrowed, the heat in the room flared. A few of Hawks’ feathers rose from the pile, ready. Yet as quick as the fire was to roil under Dabi’s skin, it vanished, leaving the bathroom chilled in its absence. The villain strode over to him, snatching the towel off the sink. “Sit, before you keel over.” He crowded Hawks to the toilet when he didn’t move fast enough. 

Hawks huffed but sat, letting the feathers fall. He braced himself, more than familiar with how his wounds had been “cleaned” before.

The HPSC were ever thorough. 

The touch of cloth was firm, wiping away the blood and sweat and dirt. But, it didn’t hurt. Not any more than he expected, anyway. There was little he could do about the twinge every time Dabi pressed on the bruise. A familiar ache in the grand scheme of things.

Warm hands moved across his body, steadily cleaning him, removing the traces of the fight, as much as he could. Dabi studied the wounds, once they were fully visible. “Nothing looks like it needs stitches. You keep flinching though, here,” a soft brush of fingers over his ribs and Hawks jerked, regretting the action immediately when it sent another dizzying spiral of pain up his spine. “Fractured?”

“Probably.” Hawks drew in a breath, slow and careful, regardless of the increased ache in his side. He couldn’t afford to catch pneumonia while he waited for this to heal.

“Don’t you have someone on staff to heal this?”

“I can see them tomorrow. Just, I’d like to get some sleep tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Dabi clicked his tongue but dug into the first aid kit, finding the disinfectant and bandages. Patiently, he went through each wound until they were treated and covered. A level of meticulousness that Hawks could probably assume was due to Dabi’s burns.

He washed the disinfectant off his hands once he was done. “All right, pants off, let's see the rest.”

“What? No, it's fine.” Hawks flushed. Just because they had been fucking didn’t mean he wanted Dabi to see him more than he already had. It was weirder, in the middle of his bathroom, somehow, than it was in darkened warehouses and dimmed bedrooms.

Not that Dabi cared about his feelings. The villain just rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen it all already. C’mon. Take em off or I burn em off.”

Hawks’ teeth ground together but he was able to, with Dabi’s help, strip off his pants and the rest of his compression suit, leaving him in his boxers. 

Fortunately, or not depending on how one looked at it, Hawks’ face, torso, and arms, took the brunt of the damage. He had knocked his knee hard against the wall and landed stupidly on his ankle, which caused the limping. A little ice and elevation and they would be fine. His legs were spared otherwise, thanks to his cargo pants.

“Satisfied?”

“Never.”

It was Hawks' turn to roll his eyes as he tried to stand. Dabi’s hands were instantly on his shoulders, pushing him, gently but firmly, back down.

“What are you doing?” Dabi’s grip tightened briefly, as if he was worried Hawks would try to escape him.

Hawks sighed. “I told you. Wounds cleaned, bandages on. Painkillers, by the fistfull.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Sit still. They're in the kitchen?” Dabi stomped off before Hawks could respond. Cupboards opened and closed, followed by increased cursing. Hawks couldn’t hear the exact phrasing Dabi was using to insult him past the disjointed throb of his head and his ribs. Dabi came back shortly after with a glass of water and a couple of pills.

Pills that were definitely not Hawks’.

“I’m not taking laced pills.” He glared at the pair of white tablets on the villain’s hand.

“They aren’t laced. I got them from an actual clinic. Burns, remember? Just take the damn medicine instead of trying to overdose on ibuprofen.”

That didn’t seem like such a bad idea to Hawks. Except dying from a perforated stomach ulcer sounded worse than a broken rib. Might as well see if he’ll slip into the dark with these instead. He took the pills, chasing them with the water. 

Dabi nodded, satisfied, and led him into the bedroom, helping him lay down in a way that avoided the worst of the injuries.

Hawks closed his eyes, his head spinning from the meds. He drifted off to the feeling of a warm hand carding through his hair. 

Hawks groaned at the buzz of his alarm. He felt like he had gone 10 rounds against All Might, and lost every single one. His ribs were throbbing, his face was pounding, everything ached.  

His phone continued to buzz. Hawks wondered if it would be worth it to just call in. He was pretty sure his assistant would cry tears of joy if he took a day off.

His phone buzzed still and slid right off the endstand, dropping to the floor with a thud.

Hawks sighed and reached blindly for the floor, grabbing the phone and turning it off.

Surely one of his feathers could fetch him some ibuprofen. Something to take the edge off. 

He opened his eyes, squinting at the dawning light and set his phone back on the endstand, next to a glass of water–

Glass of water? With a bottle of ibuprofen next to it. His bottle. He remembered the tear in the label when it caught on his talons.

He pushed up to sit, teeth grit against the onslaught of pain. He hadn’t left the bottle there, he hadn’t even known where it was. He popped the lid, taking a handful and chasing it with the water, draining the glass dry. 

Dabi must have left him the water and the meds. Dabi had stayed, at least until Hawks had fallen asleep. Dabi had helped clean and bandage his wounds. Dabi had given up what was probably part of his precious supply of painkillers, and found Hawks’ own stash of ibuprofen to leave for him when he woke.

Hawks didn’t know what to think about all that.

Before, he would have assumed that it was some hallucination brought on by a concussion. After all, it wasn’t like they were close. They had been hanging out, kinda. They were fucking on the regular, sure. Yet nothing about their current relationship would’ve led to Hawks believing that Dabi would do any of this.

He would’ve expected the villain to bounce the moment he realized he wasn’t getting laid.

Hawks dragged himself to his feet, thankful for his baby wings because his back would not be able to handle the weight of his full wing span. He trudged his way to the bathroom, already dreading the clean up in there. 

Except, Dabi struck again.

It wasn’t spotless, there was the haphazard pile of his feathers in the corner, but it was clean. The first aid kit was put away. The remnants of his hero uniform were gone, along with the soiled towel.

Dabi cleaned up? Dabi never cleaned up. He left empty packages of chips or cookies out just to prove to Hawks that he ate them. 

Hawks stood in the center of his bathroom, contemplating the potentials of an alternate universe. He decided it was far too early, and really, did it matter if he wasn’t in his own universe anymore?

He stripped, carefully taking off the bandages, and showered. He let the steaming water soothe the aches, running the shower for probably a bit too long before he started to scrub off the mess from the day before. Thankfully, he kept an antibacterial soap in his shower for just such occasions. He wasn’t fond of the chemical smell, but being able to get all of the remaining dirt and blood off was a godsend. 

His hair suffered but well, at least all the concrete was out.

Hawks managed to make it into his agency by sheer force of will. The ibuprofen finally kicked in by the time he made it to the office. Hiromu, the healer on site, was able to take care of the worst of the bruising, the surface wounds, and speed up the healing on his fractured ribs. They weren’t able to completely heal them, not without depleting both themself and Hawks.

Something that an agency sitting on the brink of war could not afford. It did, however, leave Hawks exhausted. His assistant got his wish, almost bodily throwing him out of the office.

Hawks was left with no choice but to return home. He peeled off the layers of his hero costume yet again, dumped his feathers, and crawled into bed. He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

He woke to the sound of running water and muttered cursing. Hawks should’ve been on alert, should’ve jumped to his feet, primary in hand to defend his home from the intruder.

Yet he didn’t.

Not when the familiar timbre of a raspy voice reached him, letting him know who exactly was raiding his kitchen.

Good luck to him. Hawks hadn’t ordered groceries in a while. He wasn’t exactly sure what was even in there, anymore.

Hawks let himself doze, figuring Dabi would come find him if he needed him or leave at some point when he got tired of waiting for Hawks to entertain him.

Or so he thought. The sizzling sound of meat on a pan and the scent of food drifted into the bedroom. 

He wasn’t sure what shocked him more.

That Dabi was cooking, and could cook, or that there was something in Hawks’ apartment to cook. Did he even have pans?

Hawks pulled on a loose shirt patterned with a flock of baby ducks, and padded out in just that and his boxers. Putting on a shirt left him breathless, he was far too tired for pants. He left the pile of feathers in his room. 

If Dabi planned to kill him today, the least he could do was share the food first.

Dabi stood in front of the stove, wearing just his shirt and stitched pants. His coat was tossed over one of the chairs, his boots leaning against the balcony doors. He looked confident, using chopsticks to stir whatever was in the pan, humming to himself.

Hawks never felt confident in the kitchen. The handful of times he had tried to cook, he ended up with noodles that were both under and overcooked, or enough rice to feed a family of 4 for a week and a half.

“Finally up? Surprised you took a sick day, even with all that.” Dabi waved the chopsticks at him.

“They made me, after I went into the agency.”

Dabi snorted, “of course. What’s it take for you to voluntarily take a day off? Be hospitalized?”

Hawks ignored the question, moving closer to look around Dabi. “What are you doing?”

“Cooking.” Dabi turned back to the stove, stirring the food in the pan.

“Yeah, I got that. Why?”

“‘Cause you don’t have shit to eat in your house.”

“Where did you get it all then? Rob a grocery store?”

“Only thing I stole, Birdie, was your card.”

Hawks spotted his credit card on the counter, next to a pile of shopping bags.

When did he even steal his card? He supposed he couldn’t be too mad. It was the least of his worries in the list of Dabi’s crimes. 

Hawks poked through the bags, finding more bandages, numbing patches, another bottle of painkillers. A variety of different medicines to help with swelling and bruising and infection and…a burn cream?

Apparently Dabi shopped for himself too.

Hawks found the receipt, seeing a long list of a variety of foods as well as the first aid supplies. Probably hidden away in the fridge or the pantry.

The remaining baby feathers on his wings bristled. Hawks was capable of taking care of himself. He had been since he had been on his own, outside of the Commission compound. Was this some sort of ploy? Why would Dabi go out of his way to get all this?

Why was Dabi cooking in his kitchen? Dabi wouldn’t poison him, would he? That didn’t seem like his style. Be faster to just torch him and get it over with.

Which only left– “I’m still not going to let you fuck me.”

Dabi paused, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, looking almost offended. As if he wasn’t the one acting strange. “I’m aware.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Felt like it.” Dabi shrugged and returned to cooking. “Sit down, before you fall over. It’s almost done.”

Hawks dropped into one of the seats, his world was tilting on its axis. They didn’t have a “felt like it” to their relationship. It was give and take. They traded information that was riddled with lies to play both sides, they fucked to scratch an itch.

They didn’t do things out of the kindness of their own heart.

Dabi slid the plate of stir fried chicken and rice in front of him. “Figured something simple. Bet you haven’t eaten.”

Hawks scowled, but his stomach growled in response.

Dabi snorted. “Eat. It won’t kill you.” Dabi made his own plate, sitting in the seat across from Hawks. 

Hawks stared at the food. A simple dish. Chicken, rice, a handful of vegetables. Something he definitely couldn’t make on his own. He took a bite, relishing the taste. He almost inhaled the food, his stomach protesting but his metabolism demanded food after not eating since well before the fight against the villain yesterday.

Dabi quietly gave him another serving, both of them eating in silence.

Hawks found himself sitting on the couch after dinner, his head feeling fuzzy and stuffed with cotton, staring blankly at the black screen of his tv. It almost felt like he had a cold with how much his body ached, how tired he felt. Dabi cleaned up all the plates and cookware behind him.

It was strange.

Dabi cleaning. 

Again.

Should he thank him? Should he offer to cook next time? 

Dabi would never let him live it down if Hawks cooked.

Hawks really didn’t have the energy to pay him back in other ways. His ribs still throbbed and he felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion from the healing. He probably wouldn’t have woken up at all if he hadn’t heard Dabi, hadn’t smelled the food cooking.

The couch cushions dipped as Dabi dropped next to him. “Helps if you turn it on, Birdie.” He took the remote from his hands and turned the tv on. To a nature documentary on birds.

“Really?”

“What? It's educational.” Dabi snickered and grabbed the blanket off the end, tossing it over their laps. He propped his feet up on the table and slung an arm around Hawks shoulders.

Hawks tensed but eventually leaned into his side, drawn into Dabi’s warmth. 

The narrator droned on and on about the wing feather differences between birds of prey.

Hawks let his eyes close, sinking into sleep.

Hawks didn’t know what to do. 

Did he actually die in the villain attack and he was trapped in some sort of afterlife? Was he currently bleeding out, crushed under tons of concrete, and hallucinating from oxygen deprivation?

Dabi was being nice. 

Well, nicer. 

He was still an ass. He still stole all of Hawks’ good snacks. But then used Hawks’ credit card to replace them. He still lounged about Hawks’ apartment like he was paying rent. He wasn’t, even if he was cleaning up after himself now.

Not that Hawks actually paid rent either. He was pretty sure the Commission handled all the bills related to his home. 

Not the point. 

Dabi was still here. Hawks struggled to even get into contact with the villain when this mission first started. He would be left waiting for hours at a time for Dabi to show up at whatever decrepit warehouse he chose for their meet up.

Now, Hawks was rarely alone in his home, except for when he went to bed. Then the villain would leave, only to reappear at some point in the afternoon, while Hawks was back at work. 

Hawks was stuck on desk duty, declared by Hiromu, so he was able to monitor the feathers in his home.

He did occasionally have an evening alone over the last two weeks. It was almost strange, after having so much concentrated time with Dabi, to suddenly be left in the cold, empty apartment. He figured he should be used to it. It wasn’t like anything about it has changed over the last 5 years.

Yet, he found he was starting to prefer Dabi’s presence even when all he was doing was making food in Hawks’ kitchen, or lazing about on the couch, or, once, replacing a staple in the bathroom. 

That had been something. 

Hawks assumed Dabi had to replace them at some point. They were barely safe to keep in as long as he did, but he never thought that Dabi was maintaining the upkeep himself.

He had images of shady, back alley doctors with medical supplies that doubled as torture devices.

He got an eye roll when he mentioned that thought.

“Who the fuck do you think I’m gonna let get this close to me with a medical stapler, Birdie?” Dabi squeezed the trigger, punching the staple into the skin above his hip. Blood beaded from the wound, trailing down to his waistband.

The weirdest thing, though, was that Dabi had yet to make a move. It was rare for them to keep their hands off of each other, once they introduced sex into their situation. 

Sure, they’d snipe and bicker still. They’d flirt outrageously. But it never went farther. The closest they got at this rate was cuddling.

Instead Dabi would drag him to the couch, throwing on another bird related movie or documentary or cartoon and they just, watched tv.

They didn’t even fool around while pretending to watch whatever show. Dabi was actually invested. 

Which really meant that every time a bird did something interesting or different, he asked Hawks if he could do that. 

Hawks sputtered the first couple of times. He wasn’t a bird. He wasn’t a heteromorph. The Commission raised him to frown on such unsavory behaviors and worked hard to eliminate them early on.

Dabi just raised an eyebrow and asked him again about how his wings fluffed up when Dabi made karaage earlier and Hawks chirped.

Hawks really didn’t have much of a defense when they saw a hawk on the tv do the exact same thing when another hawk brought it food.

Then the questions continued. If his bones were actually hollow. If he had air sacs and lungs. 

If he really had a stress grip.

Hawks was this close to showing Dabi exactly how much stronger he was than the villain by using that stress grip to hold him down and ride him until Hawks’ was satisfied. 

He might even let Dabi come.

Hawks studied his reflection, carefully stretching. The bruising was gone, the scrapes merely an unpleasant memory. There was still an odd twinge, a sharp pain when he twisted or bent too far, but otherwise he was back to about 80%. The pain in his ribs wasn’t nearly enough to prevent him from going back to his usual patrols.

It wouldn’t have stopped him to begin with, but at least his paperwork was caught up, for now. He walked out of the bathroom, stopping to look at Dabi.

The villain was slouched on the couch, remote in hand and flipping through channels. The apartment still faintly smelled of cooked food, but the dishes were cleaned and put away, the leftovers stocked in tupperware that Hawks definitely did not have before. His fridge and cupboards were filled with food and snacks, not all of which were to Hawks’ tastes. Dabi’s coat hung on the hook by the door, his boots sitting by Hawks’ at the genkan. 

It made something warm fill Hawks chest, something fuzzy and soft and unknown.

Hawks had never looked forward to coming home after his patrols. His apartment was just a place to sleep, at best, or a place to fuck, once Dabi decided his bed was best. 

Nothing in the apartment was really his. The furniture, the art, the pans that Dabi had bitched about several times now for being so new that he had to take the stickers off. It was all made and paid for by the HPSC.

Like Hawks.

Now though, he thought about what Dabi was doing, when he was at work. Not about what villain activities he might be up to, or what stage the PLF was at in their plans of world destruction. No, he wondered what would be for dinner or what show they would watch that night. He found himself visibly disappointed when Dabi was away for PLF business. 

He thought about Dabi, and it wasn’t for the mission. It wasn’t for the cause. It wasn’t to save Japan.

Dabi grunted when Hawks dropped on his lap, straddling him. The breadth of his wings spread to block the tv. He took the remote, turning the tv off and tossing it aside. 

He had a mission to complete, information to gather. He had a war to stop, he had to keep the kids out of the fight at all costs.

Dabi raised an eyebrow, tilting his head back, arms braced on the back of the couch.

“We’re not watching another bird show.” 

“Oh? Are you jealous?”

Hawks threaded a hand through Dabi’s hair, gripping the black strands and tugging. “And if I am?”

Dabi’s hands found his hips, dragging him down until he was fully seated in Dabi’s lap. The blood rushed south so fast that Hawks’ was left dizzy. Dabi met his gaze, fiery blue eyes burning into his soul. “You’re the only one I’m watching, Hawks.”

Hawks. Not Keigo. Hawks.

The mission. All for the mission. 

Hawks pulled tighter, leaning down to claim Dabi’s mouth. He dug his teeth into his scarred bottom lip, inhaling the groan. He dove into his mouth, blood on his tongue. 

It was all for the mission.

Dabi dug his fingers into Hawks’ hips, rocking up hard. The cotton cloth of Hawks’ boxers was little barrier against the rough denim of Dabi’s pants. Hawks’ wings rippled. 

Dabi pried his mouth free long enough to strip Hawks’ shirt from him. “Off, Birdie, c’mon.”

Hawks’ feathers fell in a cascade and the shirt was up and over his head, flung across the room. Dabi’s shirt went next, freeing the map of scars and skin to Hawks’ talons. 

He scraped a nail across one of Dabi’s nipples while sucking on his neck. Dabi hissed, his grip almost bruisingly tight on his hips. Dabi dragged him harder, grinding their cocks together. 

Hawks whined. The starbursts of pleasure pain wasn’t enough. He needed more. He fumbled for Dabi’s belt, still rocking his hips.

Dabi snapped the waistband on Hawk’s boxers. “Get up, Birdie. If ya want em off.”

The remaining feathers on Hawks’ wings bristled. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want this to stop. He wanted Dabi to fuck him already.

“Birdie.” Dabi’s tone was stern, his hand gripping his throat. Firm, but not bruising. Hot, but not burning.

Hawks wanted to sob. He wanted more. He wanted the pain. He didn’t want to be lulled into false promises, into softness that couldn’t last. He didn’t deserve any of that.

Everything was for the mission. Everything was for Hawks. Always Hawks. Not Keigo.

Hawks used his infamous speed to strip them both to the skin, using one of the scattered feathers to grab the lube. “Hurry it up then.” Hawks dropped the bottle into Dabi’s hands.

Dabi pulled him forward, sucking marks on his neck while he opened him up, prepping Hawks with care. Hawks’ hands dove into his hair, tugging on the strands. He wanted Dabi to move faster. He wanted Dabi to push and demand. 

He wanted the pain, he wanted to feel hollow and empty and broken.

Hawks was bound to betray the PLF. To betray Dabi. 

Hawks was the enemy. He didn’t deserve the kindness. He didn’t deserve to feel human. He didn’t deserve to feel like he wasn’t just a tool, pointed at a target. 

Except that was exactly what he was. Hawks was a creation. Hawks was the HPSC’s personal attack bird. 

It was all for the mission. 

“Hey, hey. Birdie. Look at me. C’mon.”

Hawks didn’t want to. His chest was heaving, his heart pounding. He couldn’t breathe past the lump in his throat. “W-why?” He choked out, dropping into his lap to hide in the crook of Dabi’s neck.

“Why what?”

“This–I can’t.” Hawks pressed his forehead against Dabi’s shoulder, refusing to look at him. Dabi’s hands moved to his back, rubbing up and down. “You don’t understand. I’m–” Hawks couldn’t continue, couldn’t spill the truth. 

“I know, Hawks.”

Hawks tensed. He couldn’t know. If Dabi knew he was a spy, this never would’ve happened. He never would’ve been allowed at the mansion. Never would’ve been allowed near the League.

He would’ve never been allowed to be with Dabi.

“I’ve figured it out since the beginning. HPSC’s golden boy, suddenly dissatisfied with Hero Society? Right as the League is gaining momentum? Either they want to get rid of you, or get rid of us.” Dabi shrugged. “Possibly both. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Then, why?” Hawks couldn’t relax, even as Dabi’s hands continued their up and down motions, warmth sinking into the aching muscles in his back.

“Why I let you in? Fucked you? Or…now?”

“Now.”

Dabi brushed his lips against his ear. “We’re broken enough, Hawks. Everyone else treats us like shit. We’re left to clean our wounds by ourselves because there’s no one else we can trust. Used and discarded when we’re not enough.” Dabi pushed Hawks back until they were face to face. He kissed him, light, chaste. “We don’t have to be like that, with each other. Do we?”

Dabi’s eyes were wide, vulnerable. 

Hawks could crush him, right now. Could break his spirit. He was sure that if he said no, if he didn’t want that, Dabi would leave. They would be cordial, at the PLF, if they saw each other at all.

He would lose Dabi, if he said no.

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be strangers, didn’t want to be enemies, didn’t want to be on opposite sides of a war he didn’t ask for. 

He held Dabi’s face in his hands, gently tracing his thumbs over the staples in his cheeks. He leaned down, pressing their lips together, gently, slowly. Softer than they’ve ever been. 

Dabi smiled against his lips, bringing his hands down Hawks’ sides. “Yeah?”

Hawks kissed him again. “Yeah.”

Dabi lifted Hawks and helped him sink down on his cock. Hawks gripped the back of the couch, using the leverage to bring Dabi further and further in, until he was fully seated. Until he was finally full. 

Dabi’s hands on his hips, Dabi’s mouth on his skin. Dabi’s cock so deep he could feel the burn of the stretch.

Dabi Dabi Dabi.

Hawks’ tossed his head back, talons digging into the couch and started to rock, dragging Dabi’s cock almost fully out before he dropped back down.

“Hah, fuck, Hawks.” Dabi moaned, pressing kisses along his neck.

“Keigo.” He didn’t want to hear Hawks. Didn’t want to be a hero, right now. He wanted to be Keigo, in this moment. 

Dabi stilled and Keigo whined, trying to rock his hips but Dabi’s grip kept him from moving. “Keigo?”

Keigo’s feathers rippled in a wave. 

Dabi grinned. A wide smile, but it wasn’t sharp, it wasn’t mocking. He smiled like he received a wonderful gift. Full of innocence and joy. “Keigo.” He repeated, resuming his trail of kisses down Keigo’s neck, resuming the deep, pounding thrusts that had him whining. Dabi carded his hands through his feathers and Keigo was so close, so so close.

“Dabi, ah, Da-”

“Touya.” The villain spoke, his lips against Keigo’s sweat slicked skin.

Warmth, unrelated to the heat of Keigo’s near orgasm, spread in his chest. Keigo pulled back, staring into the blue, blue eyes. “Touya.”

“Keigo.” 

They surged forward in a clash of teeth and tongue and lips, of skin against skin, coming on the verge of each other.

After a steaming shower, leaning on each other, washing the sweat and cum from each other, they laid together on the bed. Keigo curled into Touya’s chest, pressing soft kisses against his skin, healthy and scarred, while the man slept. 

“Touya.” He whispered, holding the gift close to his heart, and closing his eyes. He fell asleep in his arms, whole and unbroken.

Hawks stood in front of the Madam President, tuning out her insistence that Hawks needed to go faster, push harder. 

He ignored her as the name “Touya” tumbled round and round in his head, bouncing from wall to wall like an old screensaver. 

He had Dabi’s name, now. He knew his quirk, his sex, his eye color, potentially his natural hair color, and his approximate age. 

Hawks had the resources at his disposal and the backing of the HPSC. He could ferret out Dabi’s full identity in a matter of days, maybe hours if he got lucky. 

Hell, he could hand over everything he knows and let them deal with it. The HPSC wouldn’t begrudge him over how he got it. It wasn’t like they had discouraged the “any means necessary” part of this suicide mission they sent him on.

He could hand it over or find it out himself, revealing the biggest secret that League of Villains had, besides where and what was happening to Shigaraki. He could hand over Touya to the organization that broke Keigo. 

The thought made him sick. It sent a weight sinking into his stomach. It left him dizzy and nauseous, his heart pounding so loud in ears, sweat beading on his palms.

Dabi had given his name to Keigo , not Hawks.

Touya was a gift to Keigo, an act of trust. 

That he didn’t deserve

That he wanted to deserve.

Keigo wanted to clutch the name close to his chest. He wanted to bare his teeth and turn his wings blade sharp at anyone who came for it. He wanted to sink his talons into whoever hurt Touya, whoever had left him to take care of his wounds on his own. Whoever had used and discarded him. Whoever had driven him to villainy. 

Hawks knew he had a mission to complete. He had been told over and over and over that everything he did was for the mission. All he had to do was file a report. The name was on the tip of his tongue, ready to be passed over.

Instead, he bowed to the Madam President’s words and left via the window, taking to the skies. He threw himself into work, spending the rest of his day helping the citizens of Fukuoka. He stopped a purse snatcher, helped an old lady with her bags, and even rescued a kitten out of a tree.

He snapped a picture of the cat, held aloft by his feathers, and sent it to Dabi.

“Ever the hero”, he got in response. Hawks smiled and tucked his phone away.

He returned to his apartment late in the evening, spotting Dabi–no Touya, at the stove. 

Hawks walked in, shedding his hero gear until he was just Keigo, letting his feathers carry the items off.

“Go shower. I can smell the sweat from here.” Touya commented, not even looking up.

“But you like me all sweaty.” Keigo waggled his eyebrows.

“Shower. Or you don’t get any of this.” Touya gestured at the food, and himself, finally meeting Keigo’s gaze with a smirk.

Keigo laughed. “Fine, fine. On it, Hot Stuff.” He saluted and left him to shower. He scrubbed off the dust and dirt of the day, whistling to himself.

He came home from a long shift, to find Touya in his kitchen, cooking food just for them. Keigo never thought he would have something so…domestic. Something so simple. Something that the everyday people of Fukuoka take for granted.

Something so special, with Touya. 

Keigo dried off and dressed, picking the first shirt he could find.

Keigo walked up behind Touya, wrapping his arms around his waist and nuzzling into his neck. Touya moved his head to the side, allowing Keigo more access even as he continued to cook some sort of noodle dish.

“I’ll be done in a minute. You can make yourself useful and grab the plates, set the table.”

Keigo hummed, letting his feathers drift from his wings to the plates, setting them on the counter for Touya to reach. He used further feathers to set the table, even going so far as to get them drinks.

Touya snorted, but continued to cook despite Keigo being attached to him. “You’re lucky I think you’re pretty.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Touya turned off the stove, plating the food and turning around. “Aren’t you vain enough, you overgrown chicken? Of course you’re a pretty bird– Keigo. What the fuck are you wearing?”

“What?” Keigo frowned down at his clothes. He was dressed simply in his boxers and a shirt, as he preferred when Touya was home. The shirt was white, with “Hawks” written across the top in sparkle gold font and red wings emblazoned underneath. He’d had to cut holes in the back for his actual wings. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re wearing your own merch.”

“Yes and?”

“It’s tacky.”

“You’re tacky.”

Touya rolled his eyes. “It’s not even made to fit you, what kind of merch is that?”

“The kind I wear cause I haven’t done laundry in awhile and everything else I have isn't comfy.”

“How are you Number 2 again?” 

“Hard work and dedication?” 

Touya snorted. “I guess I’ll give you that, when you’ve been gone the last 12 hours. Go, sit.”

Keigo pulled Touya down the scant few centimeters that separated them, kissing him breathless. “Fine. Only cause it smells delicious.”

“Damn right it does.” Touya grinned, his skin pulling at the staples.

Keigo went to move to the table when Touya tugged him back. “Hey,” he leaned down, holding Keigo’s face in his hands. He kissed him again, before meeting his gaze. The smile was softer, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. “Welcome home.”

Keigo pressed his cheek into Touya’s hands, his feathers fluffing up.

“I’m home.”

Hawks landed on the balcony to a dark apartment, his heart sinking. He was pretty sure Dabi had shown up earlier but there was so much going on today that he barely had a chance to check on his feathers. 

His life had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time. Nothing could have prepared him for what had happened since he first met the newly notorious arsonist in a shady alley.

He still kept up with the mission. Hawks still met with Dabi in ominously secluded areas, derelict warehouses and abandoned corners of the mansion. They passed off half assed information to each other as a pretense. Something to report to either side that they were still doing their job.

Then they would throw all of that to the side to tear into each other, leaving scratches and bites and bruises. Leaving marks of their claim on each other. Hawks would feel Dabi for days after, pleasantly sore. 

Dabi was opposed to it at first. He didn’t want to hurt Hawks, not really. Until Hawks decided to show him exactly how strong he was. That all his muscle, all his work to become Number 2 wasn’t just for show.

He pinned Dabi with that stress grip the villain had admired, used his feathers in ways that even his trainers would find horrifying, and rode the villain until Hawks was well and truly sated. 

Dabi never doubted him again.

The marks, the pain, the rough hands and burns didn’t leave him feeling hollow anymore. Not when Dabi stayed with him after, letting their bodies cool, letting their heartbeats slow.

Hawks didn’t mind anymore, because he was Dabi’s, just as much as Dabi was his.

While they still had time. 

Dabi and Hawks would snarl and bicker and bite in secluded corners. Then they would go home and the pieces that made them a hero and a villain, that placed them on opposite sides of the war, would melt away in the apartment. 

There, they weren’t Hawks, the Number 2 Hero, or Dabi, the PLF Lieutenant. They were just Keigo and Touya.

They were two people, broken and hurt by authority figures they should have trusted, by parents that should have cared for them. They came together to lick their wounds and hold each other through nightmares and panic attacks.

They came together to give each other something that neither of them had, a home.

For the first time in his life, Keigo had a home. He looked forward to the end of his shift, where he could fly back to the apartment and find Touya already there, cooking or watching tv.

Keigo would flit over, wrapping himself around Touya, sinking into his warmth. He would worm his way under Touya’s shirt, reveling in something so simple as skin contact. Touya would grumble and groan about overgrown chickens, yet lean into his touch. He would play with Keigo’s feathers, running his hands through his wings and smoothing out the feathers.

Keigo and Touya lived in a bubble of domestic bliss, and he was terrified of the day it was going to pop.

Hawks stared into the darkened windows of his home and sighed. Dabi didn’t always stay over. He was still a villain. He still had work to do for the PLF. Especially when things were getting closer. The army was swelling in size, their voices getting louder and louder.

The HPSC couldn’t ignore them, the heroes couldn’t ignore them.

Hawks wished he could. 

He knew the raid on the villa was soon. He knew the HPSC was gathering heroes, knew they were working closely with Endeavor, and the hints Hawks had passed along. 

He knew the kids were going to be involved. His own intern.

Hawks hated it. He had taken every assassination mission, every unsavory job from the HPSC. He took the infiltration mission knowing it could be suicide. He sacrificed his childhood so they wouldn’t have to.

Yet they were going to war.

There was nothing Hawks could do to stop it, now.

He knew that no matter what happened, it was going to tear his life apart, one way or another. 

His feathers sharpened at the distant crack of thunder. He opened the glass doors and walked inside, leaving his equipment on the table. The only noise in the room was the gentle hum of the ac and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.

A clock that was a gift from Touya, each hour marked by a different bird. He found it hilarious to declare it was Cockatiel O’ Clock. Emphasis on cock, of course.

Hawks walked past it to the bathroom to shower and rinse away the day. He should probably eat something. He was sure that Touya had left some leftovers from yesterday. He wondered what it would take to convince Touya to make him “loving wife” bentos. His protein bar today was not nearly as good as Touya’s cooking.

The living room was dark when he walked back out, dimmed by the approaching storm blocking the setting sun. He was halfway across the room when he froze, feathers still on his back. On the couch, fast asleep under the blue blanket that Keigo had bought for the couch, was Touya. 

Touya was laying on his back, hand on his stomach, ruching up his shirt to bare his stomach. The blanket was draped over his hips and legs. His face looked softer, in sleep. The sharp angles of his jaw hidden in rest.

Keigo shivered, the ac chilling against his still damp skin, chasing the heat of his shower away.

He lifted the blanket, crawling under the covers to wrap his arms around Touya. “I’m home.” He murmured, face tucked against Touya’s neck. 

“Mmm, welcome home, Keigo.” Touya's voice was rough with sleep. His hands came up to rub at Keigo’s back, soothing and warm. Keigo melted against his warmth, plastered against Touya, and pretended he didn’t notice Touya increasing his temperature bit by bit.

Keigo lost himself in the scent of smoke and floral bodywash that Touya insisted he didn’t use. He didn’t want to think about the meeting with the HPSC he just had. He didn’t want to think about the plan that was coming.

Thick gray clouds rumbled with thunder and sparked with lightning, filling the air with the scent of ozone and petrichor. They blotted out the sky, shrouding everything in darkness. Rain pounded against the balcony windows.

Soon, Keigo would have to make a choice.

Hawks held a primary feather in each hand, dripping blood. The body of his friend was splayed before him. Twice had sobbed, declaring him a traitor.

Hawks knew it, he felt it. Twice had offered him nothing but kindness and loyalty. The man had been wronged by society. Used and discarded. 

Hawks offered him mercy, offered him a chance if he turned himself in. Twice had refused. Hawks had no choice. He killed the man before he could escape.

It was for the mission.

If Twice had joined the fight, if he had cloned himself, it would’ve been over. The heroes would’ve been overwhelmed.

Hawks didn’t have a choice.

It was for the mission.

Twice’s blood soaked his feathers, dripping to the floor. It was quieter, in this section of the mansion, away from the fighting that raged in the halls, the battle that took place outside.

“Keigo!” 

Hawks tensed, his feathers sharpening instinctively. He knew this was coming. Knew he would be forced to betray the League when push came to shove.

Hawks knew he would be forced to betray Dabi.

It was for the mission.

He knew it the moment he kissed Dabi. Knew it when he allowed the villain into his home, into his bed.

He knew it when he offered his name, a treasure sought by many, a gift given to one. 

It was for the mission.

Hawks knew and knew and knew it would come to this and he still didn’t stop himself. He dropped his heart into stitched together hands and prayed for a miracle.

Even when he knew it was impossible.

Hawks turned towards the doorway, feather blades at the ready. 

Dabi was standing there, blue eyes glowing so bright in the dusty interior, in this far abandoned corner of the mansion. He looked stricken, as he stared at Hawks, like he didn’t know that Hawks was the monster all along. 

Like he believed Keigo was the one that was never going to leave him.

“You were never going to join me, were you, Keigo?” His voice was small and broken. 

It tore into Hawks. It left him bleeding. It left him wishing he could say anything else. “No.”

Dabi grit his teeth, his shoulders hunched. The room grew warmer as smoke started to leak from his seams.

“Will you turn yourself in, Touya?” Hawks asked, even though he knew the answer. Even though he knew the moment Twice’s blood stained his blades, the moment his heart stopped beating, that they had chosen their sides.

“Never.” Dabi snarled, flames licking at the edges of his mouth and curling up his arms. “You’ll pay for this, Keigo Takami .”

Hawks flinched. His first name, given to Touya as a gift. His last name, stolen from him as a child. He had no idea how Dabi had found it.

He never thought he would hear his name filled with such venom.

“Who are you?” Hawks had never looked into the information. He had never tried to find Touya. Until now.

He wanted to keep Keigo and Touya special. Wanted to keep them safe.

Dabi laughed, a cackling hyena call that held no joy. “I told you I was watching you, Hawks . But you should’ve been watching me. You shoulda kept your eyes on me.” He flung his hands out with a flourish. 

“Touya Todoroki.”

Hawks’ heart stuttered. Touya Todoroki. His Touya, who trembled in his arms, telling him stilted tales of abuse and neglect from his father, his fall to the streets. The burns. 

His abusive shithead father, that Hawks wanted to rend limb from limb. He wanted to tear the man’s jugular out with his teeth for making Touya feel so unwanted, so unloved, so broken.

Endeavor.

Hawks barely suppressed the distressed warble that crawled from his throat. He wanted to hold Touya, wanted to promise to fix things. 

He wanted and wanted and wanted.

Dabi’s eyes met his, blood trailing from his undereye seams like macabre tears. For a moment, just a moment, Hawks could see the pain shimmering in the depths. And then his eyes hardened. 

Hawks saw his death, coming towards him in a roar of blue flames and heat that seared into his bones.

Hawks had been forced to work with Endeavor, after he had recovered from Dabi’s fire.

He had heard from the older hero himself, before, that he was working on changing. Atoning. Hawks had written it off then, as a response to his gruff attitude. As mistakes he might’ve made while raising several kids.

Hawks learned from the man himself, listening in as the hero tearfully confessed to the remaining members of his family. His actions, his regrets. Everything he had done and not done to Touya Todoroki.

Hawks wanted to storm into that room, he wanted to pull the oxygen mask off his face and throttle him. He wanted to demand recompense for Touya.

He wanted and wanted and wanted.

And he couldn’t.

Not when he chose Hawks.

Not when he chose the heroes. 

Hawks had been forced to keep Endeavor alive, because they needed him for the fight against All For One. 

They needed Endeavor, for the bigger picture. 

It was for the mission.

Hawks lost everything, after that day in the villa.

He lost Touya.

He lost his reputation.

He lost his wings. 

Now he was here, years later, in a dimly lit office, losing Touya again.

Dabi had made it out of that final fight, surrounded by family who loved him. A family who begged for forgiveness. A family that shunted him away to a medical tube to live the rest of his days.

Hawks never visited. He couldn’t bring himself to. What would he even say? 

“Sorry, you’re stuck dying an agonizingly slow death.”

“Sorry, your revenge didn’t work out for you.”

“Sorry, I chose heroics over you.”

“Sorry, I abandoned you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t tell you that I loved you.”

The room was cold as the ac kicked on. Hawks walked away from his computer, away from his phone with the damning message still glowing on the screen.

He walked into the kitchen, digging through cupboards filled with the random staples of groceries he’d ordered. Or his assistant. He got food in the apartment somehow. He cooked more often than not, when he didn’t want to be seen in public.

He searched until he found it. An open bottle of whiskey half filled. The bottle was covered in dust and a layer of grime after remaining untouched for so long. 

Touya had brought a couple of bottles home, one evening. Paid for by Keigo’s card. It was the good stuff, fancier than he ever bought himself. They proceeded to get trashed, roasting the ridiculous contestants on a dating show. 

Hawks twisted off the top, drinking directly from the bottle.

He continued to live in the apartment. He never found a reason to move, even if he had to take the elevator now. Or the stairs, one unlucky day when a typhoon kicked the power. 

There was no point in moving, when the remnants of Touya still remained.

There was a blackened burn mark on one of the walls, when Keigo drunkenly asked Touya to demonstrate how his fire quirk was better than the contestants. There was the blue blanket thrown haphazardly over the side of the couch, last touched by scarred hands. There was the clock that ticked to the crow, marking the early hour.

There was the phantom of Touya, that leaned on the kitchen counter whenever Hawks cooked. The phantom laughed at his attempts, offering suggestions and temptations to just order take-out this time, Birdie. 

Hawks drank again, letting the alcohol burn down his throat. A poor imitation of Dabi’s fire.

Touya left his mark all over Keigo’s home, all over his soul.

Dabi left his mark all over Hawks’ back, in nightmares of fire.

They both left him alone, with memories of wide smiles that tugged at staples and kisses that left him breathless.

They left him, hollow and broken. An aching void in his chest.

So Hawks became the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission. He became the leader of the same organization that trained him since he was too young to think for himself. Trained him through shattered bones and broken wings. Trained him until he couldn’t see a way out, couldn’t accept the hand offered to him.

Trained him that everything he did was for the mission.

Hawks took the position because he felt he owed it to himself. He chose Hawks over Touya. He chose Hawks over Keigo.

It was for the mission.

He made his choice, in the end.

A choice that backfired almost as soon as he made it. 

He chose Hawks, the hero, and was outed as Keigo, the murderer. Keigo, the son of a thief. 

Keigo Takami, the spy.

Dabi dramatically revealed his own heritage born of fire and ice and blood. He revealed the deal Enji Todoroki had made for Rei Himura. He revealed the way Enji had raised his children, the monster he was behind closed doors.

He linked Keigo Takami to it, with his murder of Twice.

Hawks, whose real name was only known to the highest in the HPSC and Touya, had seen his name on every think piece and article and scathing takedown in the month that followed.

The populace was scared, they were angry. They were hurt and lashing out and everything had gone to shit.

So they tried to tear Hawks down. They wanted to watch as he plummeted from the sky on wings made of blood and death. 

Yet, in all of that, there had been nothing on their relationship. Nothing that hinted at the scandalous affair between Dabi, the villain, and Hawks, the hero.

The headlines would’ve called for a riot, for the loss of his hero license. For him to be jailed next to his lover.

Instead, it was kept private. It was something that was theirs, even after all this time.

At least, he had assumed so. He couldn’t see a reason for Shouto Todoroki to text him about something unrelated to hero work. Did Dabi confess to his brother, the one he hated most of all? Were they able to mend fences, before his death?

Hawks hoped so. He hoped Dabi was able to find some comfort, after Hawks had left him.

Should he have visited? Should he have tried to mend what they had? 

Would he have heard his name again?

No one used Keigo, now. 

He was Hawks, in the media. President Hawks, to his assistant. He was the retired hero Hawks, or the veteran Hawks or the once Wing Hero: Hawks. He was Hawks on budget reports and proposals, on the news and in interviews. Even his old intern still called him Hawks. 

Hawks Hawks Hawks.

Keigo wasn’t around, anymore. No one remembered it. No one remembered the little boy in the shack with wings too big for his skinny body. No one remembered the man who clung to his lover, whispering suggestions while he tried to cook. 

The people that did were gone. His mom was gone to the wind, with no idea if she was alive or dead. His father was dead, buried in the ground, shortly after Keigo joined the Legacy Program. A little fact that Hawks found out when he took the office as president. 

There was only one other person who had used his name. Only one, who said Keigo with love and tenderness, when he woke in the mornings or came home in the evenings. Who said it in devotion against his skin or cried out in pleasure. Who said it in exasperation and annoyance, when he dressed in the most outrageous of shirts or pestered him too much. 

Who said it in a plea, when he broke his heart.

Who said it in rage, when he betrayed him. 

He wondered if it was on Touya’s lips, in his last moments. 

He shivered, standing under the vent from the AC. His computer glowed, the spreadsheet waiting patiently for him to try once again to decipher its numbers. Notifications blinked in the corner with email after email. Requests for his approval and his attendance at meetings. Request for help and action and responses. Problem after problem after problem.

A new mission for President Hawks.

His phone was dark, the screen black and the message hidden away.

He set the bottle on the table and walked out onto the balcony.

It was warmer, out there. The heat of the day still soaked into the ground and reflected by the buildings. 

The dawn was still a ways off, leaving the city cloaked in darkness. A few street lights and some neon signs were barely visible as specs of light from this high up.

Above him, the brightest of the stars in the Cygnus, Lyra, and Aquila constellations glittered in the early morning, despite the light pollution. Touya had pointed out each of them in term, one lazy night on the balcony, along with so many others that he couldn’t remember the names of. 

The wind rustled by, carding through his hair. Tugging at the ends like rough fingers. It carried with it the faintest echo of metal clicking against metal as Touya scaled the fire escape. The huff of breath as the villain leaned against the railing he spitefully climbed, despite having the lung capacity of an asthmatic chain smoker.

The breeze cradled his cheek, a touch of warmth and heat. 

A whisper of his name. 

Keigo stepped off the edge.