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Hawks looked ruined. He was sitting up in bed with bandages wrapped over one eye - Enji felt his own recent facial scar twinge in sympathy - as well as all the way up his arms, and that was just what could be seen from under his hospital gown with his legs tucked under a plain sheet. His face was - sunken in, somehow, his expression taut as he stared out of the window, eyes sharp like his namesake. Most jarring of all, though, was the lack of the huge, resplendent, scarlet wings that always framed him, their absence diminishing the man’s usually exuberant presence.
Enji continued into the hospital room. He was sure that Hawks, especially with his enhanced birdlike senses, had noticed him opening the door - walking down the corridor, even - but the younger man had chosen to ignore him. Enji shuffled awkwardly, not knowing how to face the situation (that feeling had been all too common recently). Finally, at Hawks’ bedside, he unsubtly coughed into his fist.
Hawks slowly turned to look at him. “Endeavor-san.” He pulled on a small, unconvincing smile.
“Hawks,” he responded.
Silence pervaded the hospital room. It was large, a private room in a private facility, but the space was beginning to feel stifling.
“I brought you a card,” he offered, pulling an envelope out of his coat pocket. Hawks took and opened it, glancing over the loud ‘Get Well Soon!’ design. “My children signed it.”
“Hm,” said Hawks, flipping the card open and studying the signatures inside. “Your children.”
“Yes.”
Hawks placed the card among a few others on his bedside table. The silence resumed for a few, outstretched moments before Hawks made a frustrated noise under his breath and looked at Enji properly. “All of your children?”
Enji sighed and collapsed into the chair set out for visitors, sinking his head into his hands. “You heard.”
“Yes, Endeavor-san, I heard. He told me, actually. Then I saw the broadcast - the Commission made sure I was aware of it the moment I woke up. That was fun. Pretty damning for the both of us, huh? ” Hawks’ voice was strained, like he was holding something back. When Enji looked up again, Hawks’ single exposed golden eye was piercing him, locked on, and he was starkly reminded of the fact that hawks were famously efficient predators.
“I didn’t think you’d have heard yet,” he said, seeing no point in trying to defend himself. Even with the limited amount of information he’d been able to get about the other pro, he knew that Hawks had been rushed to the operating theatre immediately and then completely out of it until only the previous morning.
Hawks just continued to stare at him.
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“Of course you don’t,” Hawks said, and a tinge of spite flavoured his words. “They never do.”
Enji had no idea what he meant. “They?”
“If you’ve seen that broadcast, then you know about my father, Endeavor-san.” Hawks sighed, finally releasing his gaze. “Apparently, he wasn’t too different of a father than you.”
“That’s not fair-”
“Isn’t it?” Hawks asked, sharply. “He’s rotting in prison right now, and I’m glad. He’s a piece of shit and that’s where he belongs. You and your fucking son belong in the cells right next to him.”
Hawks collapsed into his hospital bed, the tension leaving his body along with his outburst. Enji stood over him, a lump in his throat. He hadn’t even known Takami had a son when he captured him, focused more on the glory he received for ending a high-profile case than delving deep into the man’s circumstances. He had gone home to his own son satisfied, even more encouraged than before that he was raising the next top hero. Now, that same son...
“He was the one who did this to you?” he asked, subdued. Hawks was lying there, back resting directly against the half-raised bed - and it looked so wrong. He shouldn’t be able to do that. Hawks always relaxed on his front, spun chairs around so the backs wouldn’t get in the way, complained loudly about sitting in booths or going into buildings with low ceilings. His work, his name, his entire life was built around those wings, and to see him like this was so deeply out of place that Enji couldn’t come to terms with it.
“Dabi? Yeah,” Hawks said. His cheek was pressed into his pillow, and he had gone back to staring out of the window, refusing to look at Enji. “Sorry, should I say Touya?”
“Hawks-”
“Don’t call me that.”
Enji waited, and Hawks continued.
“I’m barely a hero anymore. Don’t call me that as if I could even do anything right now.”
“Takami, then-”
“Ew, no.” Hawks’ face scrunched up and he mimed gagging. “Not his name. Call me Keigo.”
Hawks’ name had been one of the most well-kept secrets in the country. Up there with how Enji had treated his family and his protégé-turned-villain son’s identity, apparently. “Okay. Keigo.”
“What.”
“I’m not trying to defend myself. But I’m trying to atone for what I did, I’ve been trying since long before that video came out. But now my children won’t speak to me - Shouto could barely look at me after everything settled down, Natsuo and even Fuyumi refuse to see me, the closest thing we’ve had to communication is sending that godforsaken card back and forth because at this point they care more about you than me, but I don’t blame them.” Enji clenched his fist, his blunt nails digging into his palm, but he ignored the pain. “I know what I did. I’m not asking them to forgive me. And I’m not asking you to, either.”
There was a long silence as both men waited, Keigo absorbing the information and Enji awaiting his verdict.
“You were my hero,” Keigo finally said.
“Thanks,” Enji said. The impact of that phrase had been diluted through hearing it hundreds, probably more like thousands of times over the years, though typically not in the past tense. He was sure Keigo had heard it over and over again too. Knowing what it was like at the top, and knowing Enji as a person better than most, Keigo was one of the only people who would understand his lack of a real response.
“No, really.” Keigo laughed, but he sounded bitter. “When you arrested my father you saved me. I idolised you, you know. Carried this stupid plushie of you around everywhere for years. I wouldn’t even let anybody take it away to wash it.” He laughed his pained laugh once more. “I should have known better. Nobody’s perfect. I’m certainly not.”
Enji relaxed his fist. “You did more for that operation than anybody else, Haw-Keigo. Without you, we would have been completely unprepared. Thousands more lives would have been lost.”
“I killed someone.”
Enji swallowed. “He was a villain.”
“And that makes it okay?” Keigo sat up, fury lacing his voice and angry tears in the corners of his eyes. “I’m the one who belongs in prison with my fucking father. Jin was a good person. I was so sure I could have helped him. I might even have been able to if Dabi hadn’t interrupted.” He deflated. Enji was sure that if he’d still had his wings, they would have sunk. They had been so expressive, adding so much personality. Without them, Keigo seemed positively reserved. “He was a good person,” Keigo repeated, quiet. “He just needed some guidance. But when I briefed the Commission, all they said was that I should have done it sooner.”
Enji was all too familiar with what Keigo was feeling. Apart from All Might, who had always been so infallible, all heroes had experienced it. There were always times when a hero felt responsible for deaths - a villain that they hadn’t managed to catch on time killing more civilians, or not being able to save everybody from a wreckage. Then there were times like these, which not every hero had experienced, but Enji, with his long career and often complicated cases, had. The times when there was no choice but to kill, when a hero had to take it upon themselves to play judge, jury, and executioner because if they didn’t, countless more people would die, and that would be on them.
Most heroes who had been forced to make that call didn’t have it broadcast on national television, though.
“Keigo,” he began, then cut himself off. “No - Hawks. You are a hero, and a good one at that. I know it must have been difficult to make that call, but everybody who was informed on the situation knows it was the right choice. Twice’s power was too great. You saved countless lives by doing what you did. You -” he fixed his gaze straight on Keigo and repeated himself, not knowing what else he could say that would help the situation. “You are a hero.”
He cut himself off there and waited, the only sound in the room Keigo’s heavy breaths and the occasional sniffle he pretended not to hear. Minutes passed and he sank into his chair, just watching Keigo slumping further and further over, curling into himself. He looked so small without his wings, more like just any other man his age than the number two hero - and god, he was so young. The same age as Fuyumi, far too young to have such a burden on his shoulders.
The irony that Enji had been in the same position at Keigo’s age didn’t escape him.
“It wasn’t like that,” Keigo said, his voice small. “The way that it was on that fucking video. I’m not saying it was okay. I still don’t believe you. But it wasn’t like that.”
“I know.”
“And how would you know?” Keigo sounded defeated.
“I know you wouldn’t stab someone in the back like that,” Enji said. “Not without a good reason.”
“I tried to help him.”
“I know you would have. You didn’t deserve to have it misrepresented to the public like that.”
“I tried-” Keigo’s voice cracked, and he smothered his face into his palms, his breathing picking up. He spoke frantically. “I shouldn’t have said you belonged in a cell.”
“I deserved it.”
“No you didn’t,” Keigo growled, frustrated. “Well, maybe you did. I’m not going to pretend I know what you deserve.”
A moment of silence passed before Keigo addressed the elephant in the room.
“Were you the one who burned him?”
Enji swallowed. The day that he thought he had lost Touya had been the worst day of his life. He wasn’t exactly fond of talking about it, though it was looking like he’d have to do so quite often in the foreseeable future. “It was a training accident.”
Keigo was unnaturally still for a few moments as he took the information in, his breathing constant despite the fact that his shoulders didn’t move. Eventually, he spat out a laugh. “A training accident. I can’t count how many times I’ve heard that excuse before.”
“I would have done anything for him,” Enji said. “That day was awful. He wasn’t...made to have such a strong fire quirk. If I could go back, not drive him away, not make him push himself so hard...” He wasn’t diverting, wasn’t trying to pretend he did nothing wrong. He just knew Keigo was someone he could confide in, someone he could trust not to spill his secrets despite them having found themselves at odds. They were in parallel situations, each on opposite sides of the same man, but both having had their reputations destroyed by him, whether deserving or not.
“I know Dabi’s little message was biased. How much of it was true?”
“All of it.”
“You’re admitting that he was telling the truth?”
Enji brought a hand up, gently stroking the left side of his face. His scar there matched his youngest son’s, and both were his fault. “I told you. I’m trying to atone for what I did.”
“You could probably get away with this if you denied it, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
“There’s no proof. It’s the number one hero’s word against a villain. The Commission would back you. Your reputation would take a hit, sure, but you’d survive.”
“They already told me they would.”
Keigo showed no sign of surprise. “And you’re still going to take the fall.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“Hm,” Keigo said, and left it at that. He turned to face away once more, dismissing him. Enji stood, figuring his time was up. Before he left, he paused.
“I’m sorry for what my son did to you,” he said. Keigo stayed silent, and after a long while had passed Enji walked towards the door. He was almost out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him when finally -
“Hey. Wait.”
Enji stopped, turned, and saw Keigo sitting up a little more, still gazing out of the window. “Endeavor-san.”
“Yes?”
Keigo looked at him and smiled. It was the tiniest smile, minuscule even, but for the first time today - maybe for the first time since they had met - it looked like it could be real. “Thanks for the card.”