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Hawks is perched on his apartment’s balcony, trying to remind himself that there is no logical reason why he should be on the verge of dry-heaving bile at the thought of having to go in for a physical evaluation plus a meeting with his Handler at the Commission, tomorrow.
It has been a while since Hawks infiltrated the League of Villains and, besides the whole Noumu incident with Endeavor, it seems to be going pretty well. A little much too well, in fact. After their argument, Dabi has mysteriously decided to back off a bit and, for now, he seems content with trying to stare a hole through him every time they are in the same room. But otherwise it’s whatever, extremely caustic remarks aside. He should be probably more concerned with how well he’s connecting with some of the others, actually, but these days Hawks has barely enough time to sleep, who cares if he sympathizes with Twice and Toga a little more than he’s supposed to? Surely, if nothing, that means he’s just that good at his job. If he has to be always fully focused on not falling asleep, then he can’t think about the pangs of guilt he feels every time he hears a sad detail about the League’s members backstories, right?
And so, it goes on for a while.
It’s always the same fucked up routine, days after days, week after week.
Hawks spends 8 to 10 hours on patrol. Then, he hangs out with a bunch of villains, bringing in semi-innocuous information on hero society and, sometimes, snacks. He helps Toga with her space buns. He watches Spinner and Shigaraki play Mario Kart in between a nefarious meeting and another. He chats up with Kurogiri and Mr. Compress about the news on tv. He smirks at Dabi when he catches him staring. Then, always after midnight, he finally manages to go home, dutifully report to his Handler, and tries to catch up on his too little sleep. It never works, though, and Hawks has long forgotten what it means to feel rested at all. So, the days repeat themselves with only little variation. And if Hawks is currently in the process of buying his third sofa, this month, because he keeps clawing at the damn thing every time he ends his call with the Commission stress-gripping his furniture, there is really no one the wiser about it.
It's fine, though.
He’s used to it. He’s a hero, right? That just comes with the job.
It’s just a little more hectic than usual, lately, with the new undercover assignment and the freezing anxiety that seems to take hold of him every time he has to call his Handler to report absolutely nothing of importance about his mission. He’s probably just a little frustrated that he has nothing much to show for, after months and months of undercover work. He just has to do better. To be better. It’s on him, really. His Handler’s cold attitude towards him is completely understandable. Maybe if he could just pretend that he doesn’t wake up at crack of mornings screaming and trashing after dreaming of Dabi lightening his wings on fire, he could get closer enough to uncover something useful, for once. He bets that would make his Handler real happy. His wings jerk suddenly, almost making him lose his balance at the thought.
It's not like he’s scared of Dabi per se, okay? Sure, fire is his weakness, but it’s not like Hawks hasn’t been trained with that in mind. He’s been burned in training plenty of time. He could take him on to fight any day, no matter how much hotter than normal his flames are.
But. There is something deeply unsettling in the way Dabi looks at him, sometimes. It’s almost familiar, really, in a chilling-to-the-bone kind of familiar that he can’t seems to place. And it’s so fucking frustrating. It’s making him nervous, snappy and avoidant, which means he’s not doing his job well, because he is also ninety-nine point nine percent sure that Dabi knows that something is up and he’s just waiting for him to make a wrong move. Dabi is not even fucking there now and yet Hawks still feels like the other’s still watching him, studying him like a particularly interesting butterfly, after having spread and pinned his wings and body with bloody pins he can’t even see.
For the Number 2 hero, he’s such a fucking let down. His Handler is going to have a field trip with him tomorrow, he’s sure. He deserves it. He can’t even think straight anymore, he’s so damn tired. He’s so tired his bones feels heavy.
In what is already a mechanical gesture, he fishes his smartphone out of one of his pockets and calls the private line he uses to communicate with the Commission. Someone picks it up after just one ring.
“Hawks here. Everything as usual.”, he says, hating the way his voice manages to sound chipper and more energetic than he actually feels. “Reporting off duty.”
“Understood”, a feminine voice answers, cold and professional. Should be Annabelle, one of his Handler’s secretaries, but it’s difficult to say, given how dizzy he’s feeling. His head hurts. Everything feels dull. Has he eaten anything today except Toga’s chips? He can’t remember. “The meeting is at 8 a.m. tomorrow.”
The line goes dead before Hawks can even think about answering something vaguely affirmative back.
As the hero goes to put the smartphone down, feeling boneless and hurting, but glad he can try to sleep a few hours at least, something cold comes out from nothing and scrapes his nape. It startles him so bad he’s suddenly losing footing, wings flapping uselessly as he tries not to fall down his stupidly high attic while also turning back and trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the threat. His heart is hammering wildly in his ribcage as his exhausted body manages to react in muscle memory, fueled only by panic and adrenaline.
“Woah there, birdy.”, a deep, rough voice drawls from the darkness of his balcony, sounding amused like never before. “Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers this much.”
Hawks tightens his grip around his sharp primary feather a little more than necessary. He doesn’t even remember how he ended up there, crouched in a corner with his full wings sharpened and in display. But he instantly recognizes that voice, the lazy posture and those azure eyes flickering in the penumbra like two little jewels.
It’s Dabi. Of course it’s fucking Dabi, in his supposedly secure home, in the privacy of his balcony, at almost two in morning. Of course it’s him, because Hawks’ life is such a long and detailed nightmare that can only get worse and worse, completely unprompted.
“What the fuck. Are you doing here.”, Hawks hisses, still trembling for the adrenaline.
Dabi shrugs, taking a step towards him. He seems fascinated by something, but it’s really hard to tell what the villain is feeling sometimes, due to the amount of scar tissue on his face. He doesn’t seem surprised. Maybe he hasn’t heard his call, after all? But the League knows that he’s still in contact with his Agency, so that shouldn’t be that suspicious. He hasn’t said anything incriminating either, just the usual reporting back. But more importantly, why the fuck is Dabi on his property when he shouldn’t even know his address? That is not public knowledge. It is also way out of their usually meeting approach.
The villain hasn’t attacked yet, though.
“I was in the neighborhood, birdy, so I thought I’d stop by.”, Dabi chuckles. He’s looking down at him, seemingly amused. There is something like a maniac light in his azure eyes, which is both unfortunate – because Dabi is mad and unpredictable – and rare. “What, are ya that scared? The big, strong hero? Aw, birdy. You flatter me, really.”
Yeah, like he didn’t show up unprompted hoping to throw him on a loop.
“Fuck off, asshole. How the fuck did you even get in? When did you get this address?”, Hawks says, trying to unclench all of his stiff muscles, still ready to fight or flight. He’s gripping his primary feather with enough force to feel pain, but he already know he won’t be able to let go…for a while. “Someone could see you. Someone could see us! And I could have attacked you just now.”
“Aw, like I would have minded another scar, huh?”, Dabi’s grin has a maniac edge that Hawks doesn’t think he can handle at the moment. He keeps getting closer, completely ignoring his stress signals or the fact that the primary feather in his hand is still sharp and pointed towards his general direction. Dabi even crouches down in front of him, seemingly in a very dangerous mood. Hawks has not seen him so agitated since the day he threw a Noumu at Endeavor. “You, on the other hand, look like shit, pretty bird. Are you about to pass out?”
Now that he thinks about it, Hawks might just do that.
The shot of adrenaline is receding, leaving him dizzy around the edge. He’s probably trembling as well, fuck. He doesn’t even have the energy to keep his feathers sharp. He’s useless, completely burned out. If Dabi decides to finally kill him, he might not even have enough strength to fight back, never mind giving him another scar.
Hawks wants to push him back – hopefully down the damn balcony – and snaps that he’s fine, thank you. But…he can’t. He’s weak like a damn chick. It’s terrifying. He hasn’t been so scared and vulnerable in ages. Dabi will kill him. There are no reasons not to. The bastard doesn’t trust a word out of his mouth and right now, Hawks knows he would not be able to fight back for long. Or at all.
“Aw, cat’s got your tongue?”, Dabi purrs, smiling so wide that a trickle of blood is now running out of his face, streaming from the staples that keep his face together. It’s something deranged, straight out of a nightmare. But Hawks can feels his thoughts getting more and more muddled already, he’s missing the strength to push him off and Dabi knows it, because that psychopath can probably smell his weakness like the fucking animal he is. “They really almost worked you to death, haven’t they?”
Hawks wants to scream, to run, to deny something, anything, but it’s too late. Dabi is close enough that he simply leans grabs a fistful of Hawks’s hair, pulling it hard in order to bring their faces closer. The pain is sharp and it actually helps the Hero to focus a bit better on what’s happening, even if everything still feels floaty and disconnected. Dabi is the only thing in focus, right now. It’s the only thing he can see and hear over the sounds of his irregular heartbeat.
“You think they care? You think they’d feel sad if I burn your pretty body to ashes now?”, Dabi whispers, so close to his face that it feels almost sickly tender. “I bet they would just be disappointed in you, y’know? A flashy, weak puppet that couldn’t even finish what he was supposed to. I bet that would infuriate them. Such a waste of investment, to lose you before your work as a spy can even bear the first fruits. Isn’t that right?”
Hawks’s heart is skipping beats. He doesn’t know if it’s Dabi’s words or the weird feeling of vulnerability that has taken over. Everything feels raw, slow and painful. Dabi will kill him, why isn’t he killing him already? He knows he’s a spy. He knows the whole game. He’s known since the fucking start, hasn’t he? Hawks has been dead for a while now, he just hadn’t known it.
“Look at you, pretty bird.”, Dabi’s eyes shine like jewels. They’re beautiful and shiny, like the rest of him. Hawks’s raptor brain has been going rabid since about the first time they’ve met in person, between the shiny piercings and those flickering, burning eyes. Hawk’s is so, so fucked. Even impossibly dizzy and held by his hair by one of the most dangerous and deranged villain he has had the displeasure to know, Dabi shines enough to ground him. He’s like a moth to a flame, except he knows he’s about to be burned alive. They’re now so close that it feels like they are kissing. Interestingly, the thought sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine and between his legs. And Dabi seems to notice, briefly looking down instead of keeping eye-fucking his soul. Fuck. Now the hero really hopes Dabi will kill him and spare the atrocious aftermath, because Hawks has never felt more humiliated in his short, shitty and miserable life.
“Should’ve known you had to be at least a bit fucked up in that pretty head, Hawks.”, Dabi mocks him, even though his scolding tone doesn’t match the pleased look in his eyes. “It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.”
Hawks knows he’s right. He knows.
“So you’ve got pretty eyes, sue me.”, he sighs, even if it comes out weak and lifeless. He doesn’t think he would be able to even stand at this point.
But he’s too tired to pretend. Too tired to get himself out of this with a clever joke and a bright smile. He knows he’s supposed to struggle and fight, scream at Dabi and kick him out in the name of justice and society or whatever the fuck. But he just can’t bring himself to care anymore. The hand still gripping the sharp feather goes finally lax, as the rest of his body, and Hawks just closes his eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit him.
Dabi’s piercing gaze is the last thing he sees, before he completely loses consciousness.
***
Dabi is not sure how what should have been a flirty little evening threat to their pet spy ended up with Hawks collapsing on him in utter exhaustion and...probably starvation.
Does he mind having the pretty birdie all over himself? Not at all. He’s actually trying very hard to be a gentlemen and only groping him and his silky wings a little.
But he does mind a little how bony and chilly his body feels against his. Like, what the fuck? The fucker hasn’t been eating normally for a fucking long time to feel this fragile, under that thick avian jacket of his. Now that he thinks about it, it’s not like he’s really seen Hawks eat anything but a few snacks here and there. Maybe a few fried chicken wings too, but never enough for a guy that has huge fucking wings that he uses to fight and fly in the cold.
Dabi has been acutely aware of how bad Hawks was doing these last few months, since he’s not blind, deaf and stupid, but to think it was so bad that a few hurtful words and a light scare could be enough for him to pass out? So bad that the hero all but collapsed against him fully expecting to be killed without even managing to defend himself or cry something stupid about justice? Well, that was kind of a surprise, for sure. He’s still buzzing with the excitement of it. Vulnerability does look good on the winged hero, after all, even if it’s a little disappointing that Dabi wasn’t the main cause of it.
Hawks looks so young and defenseless in his arms that Dabi is almost tempted to feel a little bad for him. Hawks really is too pretty for his own good. Too bad that the Commission seems to love working him to the bone…he’s half tempted to carry him to the nearest police station just for the press to discover the state Hawks has been reduced in. It could be huge a huge blow, even if it could mean not seeing him ever again, between the legal issues and the obvious suspension of that spy gig of his. But there are no guarantee it would work, and Toga and Twice seems to have grown so attached to the skinny chicken here.
So, what to do now?
It’s a bit of a dilemma he finds himself in, now, since Hawks has gone and fainted like a princess in his arms.
On one hand, Dabi could kill him, look into his stuff for intelligence, then go back to their secret villainous lair – as Toga insisted they call it – and call it a night. After all, Hawks knows Dabi knows he’s a spy, so if Dabi leaves him out here chances are that the fucker is going to wake up feeling sicker than death and still going in to report everything that transpired. A bit risky for their villainy project. On the other hand, he wouldn’t really feel satisfied if things were to end like this, okay? First of all there was no real struggle, no fight, no pain. A pretty boring end for the second biggest hero of Japan, to be honest. Dabi didn’t even get to make him scream a little…he doesn’t feel he had his fun with him yet, actually. Which is a pity, because Hawks is really pretty and snarky, and Dabi loves when he pales at the sight of him coming out the shadows like a ghost.
He still wants to show Hawks how corruption in hero society runs deeper than he thought. He wants to see his face as his faith in the system crumble down to nothing, leaving him without a valid justification for all the pain and sacrifices he went through as a child. He wants birdie to break down, trashing and cursing as Dabi burns to the ground every single thing he’s ever believed in. Endeavor, the Commission, all those fake heroes and society’s rampant quirk discrimination. He wants to make Hawks see that Dabi has been right all this time, leaving him with nothing at all…except Dabi himself.
Yeah. It does sounds like a way nicer option than the first one.
“I bet you thought this was the end, right Keigo Takami?”, Dabi leans in to pat the hero’s cold cheek. It’s a bit annoying that doesn’t even twitch at his touch. But that won’t be for long, will it? The fire user lets out a little giggle out in the cold night. Ah, he does know what to do, now. Fuck everything else and fuck Shigaraki’s plan too, this is going to be glorious. “I bet you thought you could be free, mm? Leaving your problems here for good and rest in peace? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so, sweetheart.”
Aw, shit, his chin feels wet. He might have pulled a staple or two while smiling.
“Don’t worry, Keigo. I ain’t gonna let you go this easily.”, he purrs near his ear, as he searches for the burner phone, so that he can call Katagiri for an emergency transportation. He gives him their coordinates without even bothering to listen to the other, as he keeps petting Hawk’s curly hair and then moving to his vulnerable throat, feeling how weak and fast his pulse is, fluttering under his hand. The impulse to tighten his grip is almost overwhelming, but he resists. He feels like he’s hot and cold. He feels like it could be worth letting Endeavor live a little bit longer, if it means seeing Hawks struggle to accept that their vision is right.
And that this world does deserve to burn.
“You have such pretty eyes too, birdie.”, he murmurs, puffing out smoke as he speak. He feels giddy, trembling, even, as Katagiri black mist arrives to gobble them up. He can't wait for Hawks to wake up and realize he would not be able to keep up his defences. Dabi is going to take his time watching him fall apart and putting him back together. “Especially when you cry.”