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Hawks was strange.
For the number 2 hero, the man supposedly too fast for his own good, was so...slow. His flight was fast, of course, and his walking speed was basically a sprint, the asshole. But his words…
He always talked as if he only had a few minutes left. Not quite rushing, but instead careful. Making sure each and every lie that slipped out of his mouth had meaning.
He, himself, was the same. Every movement, every wave, every smile, as if he could only give one more. As if this one had to mean everything. Like a dancer, he’d glide across the room to get a glass of water, and sip from it like there was anything to savor.
Hawks was strange.
His way of thinking made no sense to anyone but him. Hell, even he probably couldn’t make sense of it. He was full of contradictions and hypocrisy, yet accused everyone else of the same. His words just didn’t line up with each other. They made sense from afar, maybe if you squinted you could understand it better, but they were always slightly to the left of his last sentence. His actions were even worse.
It was obvious he was lying, somewhere between the lines. But everything seemed so genuine, so somber , like he, himself, didn’t understand.
Hawks was strange.
At first, Dabi’s reaction to the fact had been ‘ oh, he’ll fit in well with the other freaks, then.’ Full of sarcasm and minor hatred for his own colleagues.
At first, he thought nothing of it, since he was ready for the betrayal anyways. He knew the inevitable and knew he could roast Hawks like a pig on a spit.
At first, he paid it no mind.
But then it started to change, his strangeness. It wasn’t obvious, not to anyone. Dabi, the least trustful of all, himself, hadn’t even noticed, for a while.
It was a certain statement he’d made. The hero had finally been able to tag along for a meeting, providing a little too much helpful feedback for someone Dabi had convinced himself he was meant to oppose. The sun had long since set, in a bland show of blue straight to black. Light pollution covered any stars they might have seen. And Hawks said something that Dabi couldn’t tie to anything he knew about the hero.
They were walking out of the meeting room, and Dabi was poking fun at the other man’s existence. “What a nice hero ,” “Got anymore tips for us, number 2?” “You’re even more mysterious than the rest of us, even with your whole life gettin’ broadcasted all the damn time.”
The one that actually got a reaction, Dabi supposed, was the last one. “How the hell have y’not gotten found out, yet? You a master with secrets or something?”
Hawks had turned to him with a smile, or something resembling one, that caught Dabi’s breath. The dumb leftovers of his dumb hero smile, clawing at Dabi’s dumb lungs.
He’d turned to him, and he said, “The best kept secrets are the ones you don’t know,” with that stupid fucking smile. Like he’d just told a bad joke, or made a comment on the weather. Like his words made any goddamn sense.
And he spread his wings, stupid, giant, magnificent wings, and took off. Leaving Dabi to shove his way past any Meta morons as they tried to kiss up to one of their newer leaders.
What the hell was that meant to mean?
Hawks was not one man. He was a paradox. He was several personas, none of them real, all of them convinced they are. But none of them tied to what he just said. Whatever twisted advice he just spewed at Dabi.
Not even that. If it was advice, it was the worst given. How can you even have a secret to keep if you don’t know there is one? What did that have to with anything Dabi said? Why did he think that would make any sense, that it would be any good to say, as Mister Takes-Ages-For-One-Word?
It could never be said enough that Hawks was strange. No, he wasn’t strange, he was downright confusing. Strange didn’t even begin to describe the walking oxymoron that was Hawks.
And everyday, Dabi understood it more and more. Everyday, he began to realize, there was no way of getting under this man’s skin. Getting in his head. Like trying to rob a labyrinth, he was only ever met with dead ends.
“What’s your name?” “What’s yours?”
“Why join the league?” “Why did you?”
“We don’t need some goody-two-shoes hero.” “Well, it’s a good thing I want to become a villain, then.”
Everything Dabi said was thrown back at him. His words twisted into mocking parodies.
It was infuriating .
He was infuriating .
Yet he acted like Dabi was the confusing one of the bunch. Like he, himself, wasn’t a mystery, no , Dabi was the strange one.
Hawks sang his loyalties to the league and Dabi couldn’t tell if he was genuine or not. He tossed them valuable information as if he were rewarding a dog. He compromised himself and heroes he claimed as his friends on the news without batting an eye. He betrayed everyone and everything that ever trusted him, like it was nothing.
And Dabi didn’t know what to make of it.
He was on their side, he was a traitor for them , so he should be glad. But he couldn’t help but recognize the smile he gave every time he promised them he was on their side, as the smile he gave to the very heres he was turning his back on.
Hawks, the number two hero, who joined the league because of Stain’s legacy, went against everything the imprisoned man stood for. And yet he had been welcomed by them in no time. Even Spinner, the fanboy/fanatic he was, found himself praising his fellow heteromorph.
Geten, Geten , of all people, had told Dabi that his suspicions of Hawks were entirely paranoia.
And Dabi, the man who hadn’t trusted anyone in his life, (according to him), was starting to think they were right.
Hawks was strange. He went against all of Dabi’s ideals, yet lined up perfectly with them all the same.
Hawks was strange. Anyone who’d ever met him would claim he was on their side right until he stabbed them in the back.
Hawks was strange.
Hawks was strange.
And Dabi loved every second of it.