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It’s always different going on a mission with the League rather than a mission for the HPSC. Hawks had always been assigned to missions alone, mainly infiltrations and assassinations until he was of age to debut as a hero. Even then, as shown by the very fact that he's with the League right now, he still receives the occasional infiltration or planned attack on the Commission’s target of choice.
This mission isn’t for recruitment, but rather for a few idiot low-level villains that decided to mess with the Gunga Villa a couple weeks back. They had used Hawks and Giran to scout information on the villain group, who mostly seemed to be copycats of how the League worked before merging into the PLF. Hawks really didn’t mind doing reconnaissance missions for the League, as they were a lot less intense and controlling than the Commission, who were constantly demanding for new League information, which for some reason, Hawks found himself only giving vague details. When they watched movies, when they had fake missions, when he would hang out with Twice in the common area and watch shitty pirated movies on an ancient laptop.
From what Hawks had discovered, beyond the location of the villain group’s shitty base, he had learned their quirks and smaller, inner politics of the group. The group seemed to have contrasting ideals and personalities, and when he had snuck a feather into their base, he knew it would be easy to take advantage of the inner workings. It was almost perfect to have Hawks has an addition to the group, as the recon from a distance was something not even Twice and Toga could achieve with their recon abilities. Something about the actions of working in a group like this was entirely different from doing team-ups with other heroes. More often than not, Hawks was expected to carry out missions on his own, to boost his rankings, to show the public how strong the number two hero really was. Unfortunately, he often found the attention overwhelming. It would be so much easier to be lower in the ranks, to be an underground hero, but publicity was part of the contract he had signed when he was eight years old, barely understanding that he was signing away both his freedom and his privacy.
It was a privilege he had never had before the League. Maybe they were villains, maybe they were thieves and murderers who wanted nothing but destruction of hero society, but they had respect, they had decency, and at times, Hawks found himself understanding their cause.
Dabi had taken care of Hawks more than once, Toga would drag Hawks around for shopping and undercover exploration, Twice would sit beside Hawks and chat, never pressuring Hawks to respond, never forcing him to wear the mask of the perfect, cheery hero. Hawks was content listening, and sometimes he and Twice would become a fearsome duo in both comedy and violence. He found himself growing more attached to the League as time went on, even falling for the antics of Shigaraki, who would hand Hawks a controller and force him to learn how to play horror games and RPGs that Hawks had no understanding of at all. For the first time, he felt that he had some type of companion, a human connection beyond a feather blade through a throat.
Hawks’ wings bristle as the group approaches the base. They’re separated slightly, Toga and Dabi in a duo, Shigaraki, Compress, and Spinner together, and then Hawks and Twice. Kurogiri was remaining at the base, as an emergency contact, along with Skeptic who was connected to communication devices provided by Re-Destro. The League had become far more organized, especially with the addition of the PLF. They didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with the Shie Hassaikai.
”Hey, Hawks! We’re getting closer to the base. You good, man? Pay attention, stupid bird!”
Hawks chuckles. “Sorry Twice, just trying to plan out the attack in my head again.”
”You gotta stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. We got this!”
”Gotcha. I’ll work on it.” He smiles, but he doesn’t lie. There’s no guarantee that Hawks will ever get out of his own, overly analytical brain. It’s not exactly easy to undo life-long training for battle.
Twice’s cheekbones raise behind his mask, and Hawks can read him well enough to see the grin on his face. Something squeezes in his chest at the knowledge that this man is Hawks’ first friend, and that despite this, he was destined to betray him, destined to lose the connection. It makes him vaguely nauseous, stomach tumbling and rolling around like a bowling ball down an alley, knocking over the perfectly arranged pins that were the League. He shakes the guilt away. They were villains, he was a hero, this was his mission, regardless of his own feelings. Hawks was not the priority; his job was to the Commission and the public and them alone, self-serving actions, the chasing of feelings would only end in punishment; he had learned this lesson over and over until it was confirmed that Hawks would never find himself building attachments. Funny how that's the area his training decides to fail.
Hawks sends a feather into the base, scouting the vibrations of individual bodies to know which villains they were going to half to deal with. He groans upon the realization.
”Huh? What’s got your feathers ruffled?”
”Shinsuke Saito. His quirk is called Desperation. You want to avoid touching him at all times, got it?” Hawks says, both to Twice and into the comms. He gets a few grunts or statements of affirmation. “I’ll handle him. He needs to be taken care of as swiftly as possible.” He hones in on his feather again. “Tooru Hirose. Quirk is Axe. He just has an axe for an arm. Dabi could probably melt it or something, I’m pretty sure it’s made from normal steel,” Hawks continues. “Last one in there is Nanaka Saito, she’s the big bad’s sister. Quirk is bullet control. She turns her nails into projectiles she can control the path of with her mind.”
”Yikes.” Is all Jin says, and honestly, it covers Hawks’ thoughts pretty well.
“I’ll head in first and try to catch them by surprise.”
“I’ll follow!” Jin adds. “I don’t wanna fight these bastards!”
“Do what you want.” Hawks shrugs. He knows they have a vague outline of a plan, but Hawks is used to working on his own on stealth missions, so he’s going to do just that.
He spots a window, open but barred by wooden planks, which almost feels a little cliche, but who is he to judge a villain on their base? He decides that’s the best place to enter, and he sneaks a few smaller feathers in to help in removing the planks for easy access. On league missions he tends to forgo the khaki jacket and pants, borrowing some from Dabi, because he mostly wore black baggy pants and had a spare pair of black cargo that suited Hawks fairly well. Part of him preened at the fact that he was wearing the pyro’s clothes, but he pushed the rather possessive feeling down, focusing on the mission at hand. That’s what he always does, it's what he was trained to do. Attachments are a weakness. He flaps his wings, and raises himself to the window, climbing in as quietly as possible.
His feathers pick up heavy breathing, and the largest body in the room he can see through his visor; feel through his feathers. He knows this is his target. Hawks is betting on Shinsuke’s need for control, and he taps metal on the other side of the rafters, noise echoing slightly.
Three heads snap up to follow the noise, but as Hawks predicted, it’s Shinsuke who speaks up, “Ugh. Let me go check that out. Something feels off.”
The villain climbs a ladder that leads to a loft, and the moment he turns his back, Hawks is speeding across the ceiling. The villains below immediately look up, and Hawks whisper yells into the comm.
“I’ve got the main one. Get the ground floor!”
There’s confirmation that echoes through his ears, but he zones completely in, and while he can still focus individually on his feathers and the action happening below, the focus of his main body is entirely on the man in front of him. As Shinsuke turns around, Hawks brandishes a feather sword and manages to land an immediate blow on the villain’s back, slicing through a few layers of fabric and the thick layer of skin, straight to the fat below. He feels bad for a split second, but deep within, his hunting instincts feel pride and a little bit of hunger for a lick of blood on his tongue. The smell of iron leaking from a wound makes his nose twitch, and it only instills him with further energy.
Shinsuke whirls around and faces him with a sharp dagger, slashing at the air. Hawks is able to swiftly dodge, a noisy breeze from the blade piercing the air. He briefly recalls a training where multiple of his handlers attacked him with daggers and knives that flew through the air, and after hours of dodging they deemed it satisfactory. Not to mention his practice dodging Himiko’s knives every time he entered a room. At least her stabbing was out of love, which Hawks found his heart to clench at. Maybe he’s fucked in the head, all heartwarmed at the mere prospect of being stabbed by a young girl that looked up to him. Hawks had never really had a family before, but every day that passed he felt that the League became closer and closer to what he supposed a family was supposed to feel like.
Hawks slides to the side to avoid another slash, but the villain pulls another dagger, and he throws it at Hawks. The knife is surprisingly fast, and Hawks is fairly sure he doesn’t have the time to dodge. Institually, he takes advantage of his high pain tolerance and he catches the knife in the air, the blade slicing his hand as he reaches for the hilt. He grabs the knife and focuses downward, aiming directly at the shoulder of a villain who seems to be landing a considerable amount of punches on Dabi, who’s flames are less bright than usual. He must be overheating. He throws the knife, and he only slightly misses, the knife embedding itself in the woman’s bicep. Dabi’s eyes flicker up, and there’s a cocky smirk that creeps across his face, restricted only by the staples that glint by his lips. Hawks returns the smirk with a wink, and returns to battling his target.
As he turns back, the villain is launching towards him, hand extended for Hawks’ head. That is definitely not something he wants to get himself into. Sure, he knows what the man’s quirk is, but he hasn’t seen its effect on another person, and Hawks is not about to find out by using himself as a test subject.
“Hawks!” He hears a yell downstairs, and uses his feathers to follow the voice and locate whatever threat Toga needs help with. It appears that she’s fighting Hirose, and the knives she carries are clashing against the man’s axe, but Shigaraki is behind him, managing to dust part of the man’s arm. Hawks isn’t a hundred percent sure why they can’t just dust the whole group, but before he knows, there’s a bullet flying towards the leader that Hawks has to hit out of the way with a sharpened feather. The bullet clatters to the floor, and Shigaraki makes a small noise of shock before returning to helping Toga with the axe man. Dabi, Compress, and Twice, are taking on the bullet making Saiko, who can apparently expel bullets from all of her nails at once. Twice has a clone of Dabi out, but Dabi’s clones never last long since they get severely injured almost immediately after they release a burst of flames.
The villain is still pulling daggers out of nowhere, and Hawks thinks he might have more knives than Himiko.It barely registers in his brain, standing in the rafters, sword swinging. The blade is sharp, sharper than an average sword by Hawks’ control, after ten years of honing his control of his feathers, he’d be nearly murdered by the Commission if his blades weren’t as sharp as possible. His head is clouded by his mission, mind running on one goal. As a hand reaches towards him, his sword is coming down in an instant. Blood spurts in a quick explosion, a bellowing scream following in a ten second delay. The hand falls from the rafters and bleeds on the concrete floor below. Iron flows into the air, and Hawks breathes through his mouth to avoid the tantalizing smell. Focus. (He’s not a bird, he’s a hero. Don’t let your instincts guide you. Don’t give in. Be normal. Heroes don’t act like this. Is he even a hero?) Shinsuke is screaming, he’s distracted, he’s weak. Hawks is too well-trained in assasination missions to have even a moment of hesitation. A throat is slit, skin tearing, releasing tension that is felt through the blade; a feeling ingrained into the hero’s veins. The body falls from the rafters with a thud and a splatter of gurgling blood.
The room goes still, only for a moment. One threat is taken out, and everyone at once seems to realize how much the number-two hero has really been hiding beneath a smiling, bumbling facade. Ever the optimist, Hawks smiles. It comes out much more feral than he means it to, fangs and gums exposed into something sinister.
”’Atta bird.” He hears Dabi drawl, and Hawks can’t help the pleased coo that escapes him. Nothing felt quite as good as being praised after a job well done, and praise was few and far between.
Hawks swoops down to join the downstairs battle, but as soon as he lands he goes stock still. His feathers twitch, and before he can even think, he’s launched himself in front of Jin. Maybe it’s an instinct, maybe he’s been trained to be disposable, maybe he truly cares, or maybe it’s some combination of all three. His wings expand to their full size, covering Jin, or rather the whole League, like a good human shield. He catches one of Nanaka’s bullets. Well, catch is a strong word: it embeds itself into his shoulder. It’s not a large injury by any means, sure it's spurting blood and it wasn’t a clean, in-and-out shot, but it’s nothing Hawks hasn’t worked with before. He hardens a feather, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been faster. He’s using the blade like a baseball bat, deflecting bullets swift like wind. Hawks has never felt so clear-minded during a kill, he’s never felt so on top of his game, eyes honed in on his target’s every move. Nothing will slip by him. He’s a good hero.
He’s an even better killer. He uses spare feathers to push Jin away from the rampaging villain, bullets flying through the air like confetti at a parade. Hawks feels just as much joy as he imagines a civilian would at a parade. A bullet unseen shreds through Hawks’s side.
“I thought you were supposed to have a good aim?” He taunts, in a way that’s sure to make Dabi proud. He wishes he could see the villains smirk, but all he can feel is eyes on his back, and the eyes that bear into him from the prey in front of him.
”You shouldn’t be able to dodge!” Nanaka is getting sloppy, bullets firing at a rapid, desperate pace that makes him wonder if the second Saito is still alive. He confirms with his feathers that the man is still dead—not that he could come back from such a wound.
The world slows for a moment, raptor eyes locking in on their next meal. He sees an opening. He knew it would happen again. Nanaka can turn her nails into bullets, and while her nails can regenerate, too much too fast will make her bleed. She has no nails left. Something courses through him, burning at the tips of his fingers. It bubbles up through his nerves and his wounds in something blinding and white-hot. There is blood splattered on his face in an instant.
Panting, gasping for air, hand clutched to his side. Keep the blood in. Don’t move. Search for threats.
”Hawks?” The name snaps him back to reality, and he turns to face the League in one jerky motion.
They’re villains, they’ve seen their fair share of gore, for God’s sake they live with Dabi and Toga, of course they’ve seen bloodlust. They’ve just never seen it from Hawks. There’s something akin to pride in some eyes, and some flickers of concern, or maybe fear. Hawks can’t tell.
“Hawks, you’re hurt.” Spinner states, a fact: a reminder. The pain throbs like a second heartbeat.
”You didn’t have to jump in front of me! I could’ve handled it! You’re a fucking idiot, Hawks!” Hawks acknowledges Jin with a flinch in his change of tone, from concern to a near reprimand.
His senses come flooding back to him. He turns around at the bloodshed, he feels it spilling from him, water falling in rushes of red that were his and rushes that weren’t. He inhales the scent of sickly sour iron. He needs it off of his face.
“I-I’m sorry. I-I just, uhm. Sorry. I should head back—“
”Hawks.” It’s a command, so he meets Dabi’s eyes and awaits some sort of yelling, punishment. A consequence. Something in the villain’s eyes shifts. “Birdie.” Dabi is the one that steps forward, and Hawks doesn’t flinch when a drop of blood is wiped off his cheek by rough hands that move like Hawks is delicate, like he isn’t fucked in the head and covered in blood. “You did a good job protecting us,” is all Dabi says. It’s all that needs to be said.
Hawks hates it, but Dabi can see inside of his head like it’s his second quirk. Tension fades, and the League stays back, checking each other’s wounds, leaving Hawks and Dabi to each other. Perhaps they were scared Hawks would snap again, but as soon as Hawks’s mind starts to drift, Dabi grabs his chin and tilts it towards himself.
“None of that, hero. Look how good you look covered in blood. So strong when you’re out of your cage, huh?”
Hawks smiles softly, not daring to bear his teeth again. His heart is still racing, some dormant predator in him aching to come out. His gloved talons long to dive into something. No moment of comfort, no matter how small, will ever last. At least, not for Hawks. Hell, not for the League. More and more he realized the constant turmoil, tipping, tipping, tipping, pushing everyone off the ledge of sanity; of hope. Not long ago, Hawks was the one doing the pushing. Now he realizes he’s been tipping for longer than he’s known.
The dilapidated, wooden ceiling caves in with a buckle, a creak, and a crash. A figure in all black lands with such agility that Hawks would recognize the motions anywhere. Suspicions are confirmed in the form of a yellow diamond gracing the collar of an all black bodysuit, belt strapped to the waist with weapons galore tucked inside. Detnerat weapons he hadn’t seen before, but were no doubt a product of old negotiations with the HPSC.
”Yoshinaga.”
”Hawks.”
“Working with the League now? Didn’t know you were a killer for villains, too.”
Hawks snarls. “You know very well why I’m here, and so do they.”
”What happened to you to make you value the lives of villains? These are murderers Hawks, cold-blooded killers!”
”So am I! So are you! Just because you kill for the ‘greater good’ doesn’t make you have any less blood on your hands.”
“I don’t have the blood of any of my handlers on my hands.”
Hawks grimaces. It’s a fuzzy memory, but he remembers lashing out, he remembers a feather slicing through his trainer, and he remembers the weeks of punishments and retraining that resulted from his little meltdown.
”Do you know why the President sent me?” Hawks stays silent. “Because you’re too useless to take out the League! You remember what they said when you agreed on this mission.”
There’s a few hisses from behind him, at the reveal that Hawks was a spy. It didn’t matter all that much anymore. He has chosen his side. He knows the League will understand. He hopes.
He remembers the day they asked, though. A proposition he couldn’t refuse, an order that he had to carry out, for the sake of putting the world at ease.
“You’ve been slacking, Hawks.”
He sees a long, black rope-like object, and it slaps against his torso with a crack. When was his shirt ripped open?
”You haven’t brought any information back from the league.” Crack. “Should we be worried about you defecting to those monsters?”
…
”We expect results.” Crack. “We raised you to be better than this. Do we have to go through training again?”
He shakes his head fervently.
”Good.”
He’s shaking from the pain, he can feel blood sliding off of him.
”Are you willing to kill for us, Hawks?”
He nods. He’s the perfect killing machine, an assassin born and raised under the guise of heroics.
”You will kill a member of the League, understand? Twice and Dabi are the biggest threats, other than Shigaraki.” There’s the searing pain he’s used to, alcohol pouring into his wounds. “You will do better or we will take care of it ourselves.”
“You’re a traitor to the commission!” Yoshinaga howls.
”They’re brainwashing you. The training, the assassinations, the punishments?”
Yoshinaga is silent for a moment. “The League is brainwashing you. you’re the problem, giving into feral instincts they trained out of you years ago. Don't think I’ve forgotten. You’re just a wild animal the commission beat into submission.”
Not another word makes it to Hawks’s ears. Something inside of him just snaps.
You want to see what an animal I am?
”One on one,” He snaps, any control long gone. “Commission style. Last one standing wins. After that, well, it's up to the winner.” Hawks looks behind him, watching gears turn behind several pairs of eyes, piecing together the mystery of Hawks. “One rule,” he adds, “you don’t touch them.”
”Do they agree?” Yoshinaga hums, watching some of the League members stir.
They take this as an invitation to protest.
”Hawks, you can't just expect us to stand back and watch you fight to—to what, death?” Shigaraki hisses.
”Just until one of us is unable to fight.” He shakes his head. “One on one Commission training between trainees. Losers… they don’t make it. Not with the Commission.”
“We aren’t going to watch you die!” Jin protests, and it's wholly Jin, who is far more worried.
Toga appears to be overwhelmed by everything, both the scent of blood (which Hawks can’t fault her for) and the constant stream of events flowing through. It’s a lot. The only reason Hawks is still standing is because it’s what he’s meant to do.
”I won’t die.” His voice lacks any chipper facade he usually offers. “And if it bothers you that much, then don’t watch. You guys should head back anyway, I know you’re injured. I got it here, ‘kay?”
Yoshinaga laughs. “You’ve really grown into quite the weapon, huh Hawks? Where’d all this confidence come from? Where’s that scared little kid, so obedient, so willing to do anything that would please his handlers?”
Hawks looks back at the League, using his eyes to insist they leave. Compress takes Toga through a portal that appears swiftly after a few taps from Shigaraki’s phone. Twice hesitates, but he goes, not wanting to leave Toga. Good. My friends are safe. Friends… Even if he does die, at least he died having something.
His focus is on Yoshinaga, but a third heartbeat thrums through his feathers.
“Dabi—“
”I’m staying.”
”Dabi.” He insists, hoping some sort of plea will make the man leave. Hawks should know better; Dabi is one stubborn thorn in Hawks’s side, one he doesn’t have the time to remove. Maybe he’s grown accustomed to it.
“I’m staying.”
Hawks sighs, but he relents, turning back to his only goal. He expects Yoshinaga to play dirty, as all HPSC assassins are taught to do. In a kill you must be deceptive, sly; you must match every aspect of your opponent, if not exceed their abilities and traits tenfold. Hawks had less training with the dirty side, his kill orders were only assigned during his teens, testing his talents, his resolve. He was a hero first, and he had been since he learned the word from his mother’s television.
The woman across from him was not a hero. But then again, neither was he. Dried blood flakes off of his face as he readies himself for something that had been building and building and building, and finally, he was at his limit.
His mouth is all teeth, snarling rabidly, like a dog drooling for a bone, like a bird desperate to clamp its prey between its jaws. There’s a noticeable rise in heat on Hawks’s left side, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for what is right in front of him.
He launches himself forward, a practiced leap into the air to swiftly take the upper hand, a dozen feathers immediately hardened into daggers and aimed, ready to shoot across the room to accessorize the threat with lovely red decor, soft and seeping, sharp and decisive. While his head is foggy, Hawks tries to focus on multitasking. He can’t get too goal oriented, or it would leave an opening, a weakness to exploit. He acknowledges the smaller feathers he has in the air, pointed into daggers. Some of his feathers have already been lost, but he still has his primaries intact, which means he is able to move just as swiftly through the air.
He doesn’t release his aimed air assault yet, preparing for Yoshinaga to strike. He recalls her quirk the best he can, but all he can remember right now is that she secretes a fragrant poison in the form of a gas. However, Hawks is fairly certain that in one of his many training sessions with the Commission that involved building his resistance to poison, they had used her quirk on him. Honestly, he can’t be half-assed to remember what the Commission injected him with or how they trained him, most of it was ages ago, ingrained deep in his bones. Reminders were less of a refresher training and more torture, nagging words in his ears as pain ripples through his body, through his wings, through every nerve and every barb in his feathers. God, he’s in his own head—nothing goes well when he’s stuck in his thoughts like some amateur hero. Hawks doesn’t need to think during a fight; every move should be muscle memory, wedged deep between his veins, a soldier’s instinct that is ready to burst out whenever it is needed.
“Don’t inhale whatever mist she puts out, Dabi.” He warns, but he doesn’t wait for a response.
He sends two feather daggers down with him as he finally takes a dive, watching the glint in the eyes of the only other recruit to last through the Commission’s initial training. He sees the strings being pulled as her limbs move, nothing more than a puppet for heroes to toy with, to do their dirty work and less than satisfying jobs. Nothing more than what they were commanded to be. He imagines he would look the same if not for the League. He imagines the strings tightening, tightening, tightening, until they finally coil around his neck and squeeze.
One sharpened feather clatters, but another doesn’t make any noise, but there’s a faint vibration of rapid blood flow, and a quiet grunt that's met with metallic objects that fly towards his face. He can smell something from them in that split second: her poison is embedded in the shuriken she just whipped at him. It appears that the Commission has gotten a bit more adventurous with their support gear.
”Nice weapons. Shame you have to rely on support gear.” Hawks taunts, and his eyes focus even further on the target; tunnel vision that turns his surroundings into a vignette.
He releases two more of the daggers he has in the air, sharpened secondary feathers that can sense the target before Hawks’s human eyes or ears ever could. The feathers miss and clatter against the floor as Yoshinaga dodges, but Hawks leaps forwards, slicing his feather-sword through the air in a high arc, ready to come down on Yoshinaga’s front, but she whips something from her belt that expands into a sword, and it clatters against his in a clang! that echoes through the near-empty base, wide, void, tattered.
Hawks feels a heat in his side, and he is suddenly reminded of the clotting blood over his clean through bullet wound. There’s a heartbeat thrumming through it, and Hawks spares a glance down, before checking on Dabi in his peripheral vision . He seems safe, but his eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, and his arms are crossed. Hawks knows him well enough by now to know he’s frustrated, but there’s a shake in his hands that says something else, but Hawks isn’t sure what.
“Has hanging out with the League made you sloppy? Your moves are reckless.”
There’s a heat from the corner of the room, and Hawks slips a feather out, sending a soft secondary to Dabi. It’s some sort of symbol of trust, a hope that maybe it’ll calm his anger. The last thing Hawks want right now is for Dabi to interfere. It’s not that he thinks Dabi can’t handle himself, but more of the fact that Hawks doesnt think he can handle witnessing Dabi get injured.
”Oh, I see,” Yoshinaga smirks. “The League has made you weak.”
”Caring about someone doesn’t make me weak, It makes me more human than the Commission ever taught us.”
”It opens a vulnerability. Now you’re easy to exploit.”
Hawk’s spine shivers, but there’s a soft feeling in his head, gentle, warm fingers brushing over the vanes of a feather. He would love to relish the comfort, but another part of his brain take over, fog clouding around him. Yoshinaga wears a sickening smirk, and as a shuriken flies through the air, Hawks’s gloves are ripped off.
“You’re a fucking animal.” She sneers. Hawks deflects the flying star and it lands with a clatter.
His talons twitch with the need to sink into his prey, and a sharp whistle leaves his secondary vocal chords, echoing through the building. He never lets this side show, but all of his thoughts scream at him:
protect protect protect
kill
danger
He lunges forward, abandoning the feather sword he was carrying, daggers shooting down at his prey as he slashes at her with his claws, grazing a cheek that results in a hiss. He watches Yoshinaga’s eyes flicker behind him, and alarms go off in his head. Several shuriken fly through the air, but they are not aimed at Hawks. Yoshinaga was playing dirty, and the stars flew at such a speed, Dabi was surely unable to dodge, and the fire from his previous fight had left him overheating, steam pouring from his seams. A few of his staples were loose, blood leaking out from fresh wounds. It only serves to make Hawks’s skin boil hotter, and he wonders if this is what Dabi feels, burning from the inside out. He can’t risk Dabi using his fire, and he can’t let the poisonous stars hit him.
His body moves on its own, and a star embeds itself between Hawks’s ribs, footsteps approaching from behind him. A tension is released from one of his feathers, and a warm figure is immediately beside him.
”Hawks, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Dabi hisses.
Hawks rips the shuriken out of him, but he already feels a heat coursing through his veins. He knows the poison would affect someone untrained far more than it would affect him, but he had never been trained against this liquid form that the shuriken are coated with.
“What the fuck did you do to him?” Dabi snarls at Yoshinaga, and Hawks shoves him away with a wide, protective wing.
“Stay back.” Hawks tries to stay calm, but the rage courses through him. “I told you to keep him out of this.”
Yoshinaga smiles, and it twists in Hawks’s stomach. “Didn’t the Commission teach you to do whatever it takes? I’ll do anything to complete my goal. Even if I can’t take out the whole League, I can at least take out your precious killer.”
”You’re dead, Yoshinaga.”
He means it. It’s said with finality, like it's an indisputable fact. He lunges forward, and takes whatever onslaught she throws his way. Pain is nothing to him, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His talons come down in a satisfying arch, ripping through skin and coating themselves in a bloody mess. Something falls to the floor, but Hawks’s vision is blurry, and he feels like the world is spinning. The heat in his side and in his shoulder seems to radiate through his whole body.
There’s a noise below him, gurgling wetly. “They’ll kill you,” he hears. It’s cut off by a burning scream, heat burning against his skin and a bright blue burning into his eyes.
He feels fuzzy. He feels different. He moves to lunge forward, to slash again, emitting another dagger-like secondary to finish the job. The metallic smell enters his nose. The blood beneath his talons tickles his skin as it dries. He thinks he hears someone calling his name. He thinks that maybe ‘Hawks’ isn’t really there, something far more vulnerable, far more vicious taking his place.
He feels like Keigo, five years old, making feathers tear through animals, talons extending, defending himself against shattering glass and screaming voices. He remembers being kicked in the stomach, screaming about how useless his feathers were, how annoying and violent he was as a mere child. It hadn’t been trained out of him until he got to the Commission, but every once and while his instincts roared in his ears, overpowering any of his instincts to save people. He was no better than the violence that raged through his shitty home, a perfect emulation of everything he hated about his father and everything he hated about his mother.
“Hawks, Hawks I need you to look at me.”
His head snaps to face Dabi, who’s eyes furrow as he reaches out to Hawks, eyes lingering on each of his injuries. Hawks flinches, and Dabi’s stoic face deepens into a frown.
”What does the poison do?”
Hawks shakes his head. He can’t speak, he can’t remember.
Dabi sighs. “It’s okay, we’re gonna go back to the base.”
Hawks nods, but he stumbles forward. Dabi catches him with a warm touch.
“You’ve lost too much blood, Birdie, we gotta fix you up.”
A heavy breath escapes the disgraced hero. “They’re gonna find out. They’re gonna kill me. They’re gonna get you. We can’t—I can’t go back. They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me, they’ll kill me, they’ll do worse—“
Dabi slaps a free hand over Hawks’s mouth, and his blue eyes burn into Hawks’s own. “Stop. We aren’t going to let anything happen.” His gaze dares him to argue. Dabi removes his hand, and fidgets with his phone.
Hawks is covered in blood, and it all hits him at once. “Fuck, oh Fuck, what did I do—“
A purple portal swirls open, and Dabi guides him through.
”They’re going to know I defected. They’re gonna go looking for her body.”
Hawks is pulled into the bar, and pushed onto the counter, the rest of the League bustling around with the heavy tension of urgency floating through the air. Hawks feels delirious, his vision is swimming, and he doesn’t know if it’s the poison or the blood loss. The only thing he can focus on is Dabi, everything else is a flash of overwhelming noise.
“You can stay here, Birdie.” There’s a wet towel against his face, warm and soaking up the blood that cracks on his skin.
”But—But I’m a traitor, I lied.”
”You jumped in front of a bullet for Twice,” Dabi adds, “You jumped in front of poisonous weapons for me.”
”But—“
”We know who you stand with. The Commision won’t get you. They’ll burn for what they’ve done.” It’s said with such conviction that Hawks goes silent, and his eyelids flutter closed. “Hey, keep your eyes open, idiot. Don’t pass out.”
”Hurts.”
”I know. Shouldn’t have jumped in front of so much shit if you didn't want it to hurt.”
“Need to keep… safe.”
”Hawks—“
He shivers. No, he can’t be Hawks anymore, not right now. He needs to escape. He needs to let go, he can’t be the weapon they carved him into anymore. He just wants something of his own.
”Keigo.”
”Huh?”
”My name. Keigo.”
Dabi inhales at the confession, a deep breath as he collects himself. He runs a hand through Keigo’s knotted, bloody hair. “Okay, Keigo then.”
”Hurts.”
”Yeah, that tends to happen when you get shot.”
”Rude.”
”Duh.”
He’s focusing completely on Dabi, but he feels a needle stitching up his side, and he feels something digging around in his shoulder, trying to pull out the bullet that pierced him. Keigo knows he’s extremely lucky that no major nerves were damaged, but he can’t help but let out frustrated, pained noises from the pain.
“Didn’t know you could act so much like a bird,” Dabi says. “Your talons are kinda hot. Dangerous.” Dabi moves the wet towel to clean the blood off of Keigo’s hands, and he doesn't think he’s ever felt such a gentle touch. His face is red and hot, though the cause is unknown. Must be the poison.
He feels vulnerable lying down on this table, the state of his body left entirely to the biggest, most well-known villain organization in Japan. So much had changed in less than a year, his morals collapsing beneath the weight of escaping the ideals ingrained in his mind from over a decade of conditioning.
Keigo could’ve gone the rest of his whole remaining, short years alone in his gilded cage, but every brush of death that resulted with a taste of love, he wonders what he’s been missing. It only makes him angrier, more tense, more frustrated that the first people to care, to be gentle, were villains.
What did that say about Keigo? What did it say about villains, and what did it say about heroes? thinking about it makes his head pound, but painkillers reside in bright blue eyes that meet his own with an unfamiliar kindness. It’s strange, but the fiery villain in front of him has a strange kindness, deep beneath his hardened surface, the scars and the fire, there is someone who cares so deeply he would die for it.
It angers him, but Keigo feels lucky. He doesn’t consider the other villains in the room, he can’t really consider anything beyond pain and cerulean blue.
”Thank you. For helpin’ me,” Hawks slurs. “‘S nice.”
”Don’t thank me. It’s not ‘nice’ to keep you alive. You shouldn’t have to treat your injuries alone.”
”You injured too?”
Dabi chuckles quietly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
”I can help.”
”Dumbass. Focus on yourself.” Dabi leans in, a whisper leaving his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’d prefer you alive.”
Hawks chuckles, a strangled and huff of a noise. It takes the use of his whole lungs to laugh. “You wouldn’t have said that a couple months ago. Goin’ soft?”
”Not soft, just don’t feel like killing you anymore.”
”Yeah. Me neither.”
To many, it's a cold agreement to not kill each other; a simple alliance. To them, it’s a confession of some kind.
Hawks smiles the best he can, and he basks in a smile that rests on Dabi’s face, mismatched lips curled into a soft grin is different from every other smile he has worn. He’s beautiful.
A laugh echoes above him.
”You’re crazy, Keigo.”
The name makes his feathers ruffle, and hands, namely Twice and Dabi, help Hawks into a sitting position. His head is fuzzy, but something in him is calmer.
“You’re the first person to call me that in… fifteen years…”
”Well, you don’t have to be Hawks anymore. Climb out of your cage, birdie. We’re gonna figure out who you are outside of the Commission.”
”They’re gonna find me.”
Dabi shakes his head, and there are several refutes to his idea, noises of disapproval throughout the room.
Keigo’s not sure who said it, but someone says he’s safe.
When’s the last time he’s felt that? Maybe now is the first time, his eyes flickering shut to the gentle feeling of a hand running through his feathers. He leans in, trusting someone for, again, maybe the first time in his life.
Keigo thinks he could get used to the feeling of safety.
Keigo wakes up on a plush, but vaguely tattered couch.
A body stirs next to him with a small yawn, restricted by glinting staples that shine in Keigo’s half lidded eyes.
”Welcome back to the land of the living.” He looks towards the source of the voice, acknowledging Shigaraki with a nod and a hum.
“Took you long enough! We were worried about you. Especially Dabi!”
Keigo flushes, suddenly aware of the heat on his shoulder, realizing he’s leaning into a warm shoulder that has been supporting his head.
“Kei-kun, we gotta talk about what happened,” Toga declares, a frown contradicting her usual bright, fanged smile.
He looks at the ground nervously, but focuses on the hand that moves to his back, warm and tracing threads of comfort that spreads through his body.
”Uhm, okay. Do you have specific questions?”
Twice pipes up instantaneously. “Why would you jump in front of me? You’re stupid for trying to sacrifice yourself!”
”Instinct, I guess. Didn’t want to see you hurt.”
”And you were a spy sent here from the Commission?” Shigaraki asks.
Keigo looks at the ground in disappointment. This was the last time he’d be here, maybe burnt or dusted or tossed to the street. “Yes,” he confirms.
”Relax, birdie,” Dabi whispers against his ear. “We’re not gonna kick you out or anything. If anything, it was obvious from the start.”
“Oh.”
”Keigo,” Mr. Compress speaks up. “You need to explain some of the things that happened.”
”Uhm, like what?”
”Didn’t know you were a trained assassin, birdie.” Dabi speaks up, carding through the covert feathers closest to Keigo’s back. “When did that happen?”
”Started training for kill-orders when I was around ten, I think. Mostly just stealth training and various weapons use, stuff like that.”
”Ten?” Spinner asks, a little shocked. He nods, and the man’s tail flicks behind him. Keigo shrugs in response.
“When did you… get to the Commission?” Twice asks carefully, cautious as if stepping on eggshells.
Keigo shifts in his seat, flinching slightly as his wounds move around. The hand on his back steadies him, and he tries to calm down before he continues, reclining into warmth that moves to caress his wings, a shiver going through his spine.
”The Commission purchased me from my mother when I was eight.”
”…purchased?” Spinner grumbles in the background, tail still flicking behind him and his eyes squinted, bearing into Keigo’s raptor eyes, and he quickly looks away.
“We grew up really poor, my dad was a thief who was on the run, accidentally had a kid with his girlfriend, and now we’re here, I guess.” He shrugs, just wanting to get this conversation out of the way. His heart pounds, and a body that lets out a fiery heat, smoke pouring from the seams of his hands, leans into Keigo. It’s a silent, gentle comfort, one he had never felt before, and from Dabi no less. Dabi always seemed to be the one who comforted him, like he had some hidden instinct for care, despite the stoic persona he exuded. He was the opposite of Keigo in that way; where Keigo flashed fake grins and faked exuberant laughter, Dabi’s facade was stoic and still, calm that escalated to a quick insanity. Perhaps the lack of regard for anyone around him bled into the depths of his past, one that he seemed to swallow down when his hands met Keigo’s chilled skin.
“You wanna tell us about your dad?” Dabi asks quietly, and Keigo thinks that maybe only he can hear it, a hopeful desire that this question is only meant for him, as if he knew Keigo would prefer no one to know. He shakes his head, and Dabi accepts it, no pressure for him to speak, and Keigo has never been so grateful for being granted silence. He’s always been more comfortable when he can hide behind a closet door, avoiding the eyes that constantly bore into him, the words that sharpened themselves and dug into his flesh.
”Okay.” Dabi nods, and Keigo nearly wants to cry, even though he can’t remember the last time a tear has left his eyes. Dabi whispers quietly, only meant for Keigo. “Are you done for now?” Keigo nods, eyes trained on the floor.
His ears blur out the noise outside the bubble he’s in, but he can make out the sound of Dabi shooing away the rest of the League, leaving Keigo alone on the couch in the common room, leaning against an arsonist’s shoulder, heated arm making its way around his back.
“I’m not gonna say I get it, but my dad is an ass, too.”
Keigo smiles and tries to chuckle. “Guess we’re more alike than we thought.”
Dabi lets out a laugh that is more a puff of hot air, letting out the remaining heat that resides inside of him from his anger.
He recalls, from weeks, maybe months ago (he can’t quite remember), when Dabi’s lips crashed into Keigo’s own, undeserving and misunderstood.
He recalls Dabi tempting him to escape his ‘cage’, and Keigo thinks he finally gets what the villain meant.
Dabi shifts to look at Keigo, pulling him on top of him in a mess of touch that burns, burns, burns, everywhere Dabi’s skin meets his, but the heat is not from his quirk. Keigo has never been so close to someone, never been touched like someone cares about anything other than carving him into a weapon, never been touched by someone who had seen him vulnerable, overcome by instincts, overcome by injuries that tore into him.
A hand pushed Keigo’s hair back. “Y’know,” Dabi smirks, “You looked beautiful covered in blood.”
His face lights up into a bright, all-consuming red. It tears at his walls, and he’s so, so close to crumbling down. “…beautiful?”
”Yeah.”
”Oh…” Keigo leans into a hand that graces his cheek with a gentle hand that brushes callouses against him, created by years of fire that devours Dabi’s skin like a fresh meal, starving fire that begs for revenge, but doesn’t burn Keigo.
“You took a shuriken straight to your abdomen for me.”
”Yeah… had to protect you.” Keigo frowns, not daring to meet glinting cerulean eyes. “I’ve never… had someone care so much.”
”Me either,” Dabi admits. “I never valued living until I kissed you.”
Keigo shivers, and he worries for a moment about all the ways he can mess up, all the ways an attachment will weaken him, all the ways that his heart is far too broken for Dabi to piece together. He traces purple scars with his eyes, getting caught on glinting staples. He chokes out, “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
Dabi barks out a laugh. “I’m a rotting corpse, there’s nothing left for anyone to love. I’m far from beautiful.”
The word love hangs in the air like a temptation, a treat hanging in front of a dog’s nose. Keigo doesn’t know what it is, he doesn’t know how to love, but he doesn't think he’s ever wanted to learn how to love more than right now. Gently as possible, he kisses Dabi’s cheek, he lifts and kisses where the scar starts on Dabi’s hand.
“Maybe you are, but so am I. You’re beautiful, I’ll convince you.”
There’s a smile that is usually a snarl, and Keigo’s chest puffs out because he did that, he made someone feel more than a knife on skin, more than frustration, and more than disappointment.
”I can’t go back, Dabi.”
”I won’t let you, Birdie. You’re ours now, I won’t let the Commission touch you again, or they’ll burn.”
Keigo burns, inside out. He sinks down, desperate to let go of the weight in his limbs, the tension in his wings that are slowly regrowing. Lips meet his before he knows it, and it’s so soft he thinks he might pass out. He doesn’t say anything when they break apart, but he sinks against Dabi’s chest, wings draped over them like a shield. Keigo buries his head against Dabi’s shoulder, hot breath against his ear.
”You’re safe, and I’ll kill anyone who even tries to touch you.”
Keigo grins and blushes, and somehow the threat of burning Keigo’s owners and anyone else somehow making him feel safe, even though he’s in the arms of a killer. So is Dabi, he acknowledges. A killer embraces Dabi, too.
Two weapons, trained for this since the moment they were born, destined to suffer, hold each other despite it all, the first breath of safety they had felt in a long, long time. Keigo relishes every second, praying Dabi won’t pull away.
He doesn’t. A promise hangs in the air:
I won’t.