Chapter Text
“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”
Although Dabi liked to pretend his plan for revenge was a carefully crafted masterpiece, everything came down to chance.
Joining the League, the training camp, battling the Liberation Front: all just a string of reckless decisions that worked in his favor. Ones that slowly inched him closer to his goal. Destroying the Todoroki family, crushing Endeavor—that’s all he cared about.
Or at least, it was until a certain, obnoxious hero swooped down on him in an empty alleyway outside Fukuoka. Hawks came with a tale of woe. A sob story about being exploited by the Commission and trapped under their thumb. Tired of rules, tired of being in a cage.
Did Dabi believe him? No, not at all, but he was intrigued. It wasn’t every day that a high-ranking pro fell at his feet and pledged allegiance. He intended to milk the situation for all it was worth, passing on his most tedious responsibilities and demanding information, handing out ridiculous requests just to see if he’d go through with them.
He expected to be met with a lot of waffling excuses and empty promises, but the hero surprised him. Names and locations, Best Jeanist’s dead body in a bag—once Dabi had it, he didn’t quite know what to do. It was unexpected. Unprecedented, and when Hawks’ loyalty began to seem heartfelt, their meetings became more frequent.
What started as simple check-ins at abandoned warehouses soon turned to long nights on the rooftops, watching the sun rise and the city come to life beneath them. It was supposed to be for debriefing, but Dabi often found himself lingering.
Sometimes, they would talk. When stripped of his audience, the hero was surprisingly quiet, so the burden of conversation fell on Dabi himself. He’d ramble on about whatever came to mind. Anything really to keep from watching Hawks disappear against the horizon, a red blot on a waking sky.
Resentment and old grudges, law and justice, and Stain's ideology: he spat it all with a cigarette clutched between his teeth while Hawks listened.
He was good at that, listening. The hero would nod along, ask questions, and wince when Dabi was being particularly morbid. He chuckled at all his dry jokes and smiled at him so sweetly, the conversation almost felt like something more than an obligation.
That’s when Dabi felt himself leaning in.
Hawks didn’t speak like the spoiled hero he imagined. He didn’t act like one, either. Despite having long given up on seeing anything good in that world, Dabi wanted to be proved wrong—to see some shred of silver lining.
And eventually, he did.
They were perched on an office building outside Dazaifu, leaning back against the railing to stare at the brightening sky. Dabi shoved his hands deep in his pockets, face turned. He was in the middle of repeating something stupid Toga had said that morning when a glove suddenly brushed his cheek.
He went still, breath caught in ruined lungs.
“Hold on. You’ve got a little... here.”
A thumb swiped beneath his eye. There, Dabi had just added new staples after losing a few in a fight with a local gang leader who swore he “ sympathized with the cause” . Afterwards, he messaged Geten, resigning from scout duty, and fixed himself up in the bathroom of a twenty-four-hour convenience store.
Now, his blood was staining Hawks’ fingers.
“Does that happen often?” He asked, voice soft. Not with pity or disgust, but concern.
When Dabi didn’t answer, he pulled a handful of crumpled napkins from his coat pocket. They’d probably be shoved there after eating on the fly- literally- but Dabi didn’t shy away. Instead, he leaned down so the bird could dab at the mangled skin, carefully cleaning the creases of his scars with his brow drawn in concentration.
No wonder they put him on billboards, Dabi thought as he traced the soft lines of his lips with his eyes. He'd never admit it- rather die than say so- but Hawks was... pretty. Prettier than any other man who would be willing to get close to him.
“There! Handsome as ever!” Hawks grinned once he was finished.
It was a joke. Had to be, Dabi knew, but his chest still tightened. No one ever said things like that about him. No one ever looked at him like that. People stared, of course, but it was always in horror. Children whimpered. Adults sneered. Even the most seasoned heroes avert their eyes.
He was defective. A botched experiment meant to die in some crummy hospital. He wasn’t meant to be accepted. Wanted, but Hawks made him feel that way.
The ache started then. A slow throbbing deep in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he was alive, and Dabi knew that feeling was going to kill him. Truly, it would because this could only end one way.
Hawks, like all heroes, was made to please. Breed to be whatever the situation called for. A weapon, a savior, a lover: he wore any face to win.
In the end, he’d betray them. Hawks would side with the heroes because that’s where he belonged, and when the time came, Dabi would have to burn him.
He’d burn him just as he had done every other traitor.
Although it was horrible to say, killing Twice came easily for Hawks. The moment he realized he was outmatched, it all clicked into place.
The flames licked his skin as he thrust his blade downward, slicing through muscle and bone. Blood splattered his boots. Smoldering feathers fell to the villa floor. The pain barely registered through his adrenaline-fueled haze as Hawks skirted away, patting out his wings.
Behind him, Dabi was yelling. A furious sound that made his instincts scream.
Kill him! You have to kill him, too!
Hawks turned, blade raised. Dabi was too dangerous, too unpredictable. If he walked free, people would die. Good, innocent people who never hurt anyone-
Yet, when they came face-to-face, Hawks froze. Dabi did, too. A stalemate ensued, both waiting to see who would make the first move.
Snarling, Dabi glanced at Twice's body. Blue flames licked up his knuckles. Ones strong enough to consume the entire villa. To destroy everything in their path. Horrifying, but beautiful—almost like Dabi himself.
He radiated with power. A wild, unstoppable force. Still as mystifying as he was all those months ago on the rooftops. They wasted hours there, sharing jabs and half-truths, Hawks listening as he cursed society and his family and himself.
For a while, it all seemed like spite. Just another villain mad at the world. A lost cause.
But now, watching him blaze with grief and anger and something terrifyingly human, Hawks knew better. Dabi wasn’t so simple. He was lonely and scared— heartbroken in a way the hero could never place. A man who flinched when he was touched and shivered at the first sliver of kindness shown.
Someone who could be so much more than he already was. So much more...
“Leave with me!”
The words stuttered from Hawks’ lips as if by force. He didn’t know what he was saying, what he was doing, but it felt like the only choice he had.
In the blink of an eye, his hand extended out in front of him. “I want you to leave with me, Dabi!”
"Leave with me, Dabi!”
What little air hadn’t been smothered by the humidity of his flames was sucked out of the room by those words. Something Dabi had never expected to hear. Something Hawks couldn’t possibly mean.
Yet, there he was. Wings bristled, eyes piercing, bathed in bright blue light. Twice’s blood dripped from his hand as he held it out. Not to push him away or attack, but in offering.
“What... what did you say?” Dabi snarled with all the ferocity of a cornered animal. The world tilted beneath his feet. His mind spiraled.
Years ago, he’d thrown away his hope. It was as dead and cold as his birth name. But Hawks... he couldn’t...
“I said, leave with me! We’ll die if we stay here!”
“We’ll die? We?” Dabi motioned towards Twice. “Look around, hero! Look at what you’ve done! Pretty words won’t save you now.”
A distressed cry pierced the air, more bird than man.
“You don’t get it! Twice was one of your most valuable players. Without his duplication quirk, the heroes have the upper hand.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We have plenty of valuable players left,” he mocked, words punctuated by a burst of flames. “Us villains can handle ourselves.”
“I’m not worried about the other villains. I’m worried about you !”
The words struck Dabi like a physical blow. He stumbled, gasping out something that sounded more like a death rattle.
“We have to go! Now!” Hawks insisted, glancing at the balcony. His head turned in search of an escape, and—how easy would it have been? To kill him right then?
The hero Hawks, all his ideals and morals, just gone. Dust and ash in the air. Once upon a time, Dabi would have done it. He would have watched Hawks burn with glee. But now? The thought made him sick.
All those meetings and close calls and quiet touches circled in his mind, playing on repeat. Just lies and games, but what was there to gain now? No more information to steal. No more Hero Commission to appease, so why? Why was he saying this...?
The press of wet fabric against his skin brought Dabi back to reality. At first, he thought Hawks had grabbed him, autonomy once again stolen by the will of someone else. However, when he looked down, he realized it was he who had stepped forward.
He grabbed Hawks’ hand. He accepted, and the hero shuddered in relief.
“We have to get away. Far away,” Hawks said, eyes blown wide, and in a flash, he was perched atop the railing.
Dabi followed in a daze, burning from the inside out. His throat clogged. Smoke filled his lungs, and when Hawks reached for him again, the villain let himself be pulled. His hand grappled for the metal railing. Down below, a hellish cacophony of sound echoed up to meet them.
“... did a number on my feathers, so we can’t move fast, but I’ll be able to fly. If we stay high, the clouds should cover us. Then, we’ll lay low until we have a plan.”
Hawks spoke methodically. While he was still trying to make heads or tails out of the words, a hand slid around Dabi’s waist. When he looked up, Hawks was staring back.
“Are you ready, Dabi?”
The question was a formality. He couldn’t refuse now. Not when Hawks had said and done so much. Backing out would be like signing a death warrant. Still, even if he couldn’t say no, Dabi felt he had to say something. Anything.
“ Touya.” The name slipped out, although he’d never want to be called that.
His identity was a weapon. One final bargaining chip in case all else failed. Hawks didn’t need to know it. He didn’t need claim over Dabi’s last Hail Mary, but he gave it willingly.
“My name is Touya.” He repeated and wrapped his arms around the hero’s neck so tightly, not even All For One himself could pry him away.
Chaos bred chaos, and from the sky, Dabi watched it all burn.
The villa was overrun. Blood and wreckage, fallen heroes and fallen villains: they all looked the same at a distance. He couldn’t tell who was who and frankly, didn’t care anyway. He was too preoccupied with trying to keep the bile from rising up his throat. The higher Hawks soared, the sicker he felt.
“So, any idea on where we should go?”
Dabi feebly wracked his brain. His voice trembled. “Uh... what about Fukui? Fukui’s not far.”
Hawks hummed in acceptance.
Fukui wasn’t a bad choice. Dabi had lived there once or twice throughout the years. It wasn’t as busy as Tokyo or Osaka, but there were still plenty of dark corners for them to slip into. Especially near Katamachi, where the nightlife was less tame. Most people there knew how to turn a blind eye to a villain— at least, for the right price.
Hawks, however, would stick out like a sore thumb. Being a hero and a traitor put him in a precarious position. They’d be lucky if he wasn’t killed on sight.
Dabi's thoughts festered as they flew. Time seemed to slow and stretch, eternal, giving him the opportunity to consider both where they were going and what they had left behind. Who was dead? Who was alive? Would they be captured? Arrested? Executed like Twice?
The image of his body crumpled against the railing briefly flashed through his mind. Dabi gritted his teeth. Who was going to find him? Hopefully, it was anyone but Toga. She’d never recover, and when she learned Hawks was the one who did it, no amount of hiding would save them.
Dabi tried to shake off the chill he felt as Fukui drew near. They began to descend, skirting between two closely pressed buildings and dropping into the alleyway. Dabi clung to the hero’s coat as they lowered to the ground, knees wobbling. A firm hand pressed against his back.
“So,” he gasped. Hawks eyed the tremor in his throat but said nothing. “We’re here, hero. You got what you wanted. Now, what the hell do we do?”
“Lay low,” Hawks said quickly. “Find a place for the night. The longer it takes, the more likely we are to be seen, so I say we get a move on.”
Somehow, Dabi found the strength to roll his eyes. “Like we could just walk into the nearest hotel and ask for a room. Even with the shit going on in Jaku, local cops are a thing, y’know?”
“We’ll find something. I’ve got money.”
“And that fixes everything, right?” Dabi muttered, unimpressed, but fate took pity on them.
They found the perfect place tucked in the shadow of a karaoke lounge. Hawks caught the signage as they slunk through the connecting alleyway.
It was a love hotel, of all things. The kind of thrived on digression. Even the check-in was automated. As Hawks paid and waited for the machine to spit out the receipt, Dabi wondered if this was a blessing or a curse. Maybe dying at the villa would have been a more favorable outcome.
Inside, the room was cramped and far more intimate than he was comfortable with. The lights were dim. The sheets, silk. Dabi’s skin crawled as he closed the door. Facing Hawks felt like facing a firing squad.
“Well, isn’t this lovely?” he choked, willing the heat from his cheeks. “Now, what?”
“We stay hidden and hope they think we’re dead. If the Liberation Army finds out you deserted, both Re-Destro and Shigaraki will fight for the honor to actually kill you.” Hawks gave a strained laugh. A shaky hand brushed the bang from his face, calm veneer finally cracking in the quiet. “Same for me if the Commission gets word.”
“And what do we do if there’s nothing left? What if they all kill each other?”
“Then, there’s nothing to worry about. We’ll still have to disappear, but at least we won’t have to look over our shoulders.”
“You have it all figured out, huh? Such a smart little hero. Tell me, what about my face screams fresh start?” Dabi gestured to his scars.
Hawks hesitated and then sighed. “Look, I made a choice. One to keep you safe, but you? You don’t have to promise anything. You can leave if you want. That’s fine. Just know, I want to help, and I’m hoping you’ll stay. Alright?”
Dabi swallowed thickly.
Promise? How could he promise? He didn’t even know what this was, but if there was a chance things could work out, if his life could be more than what his small worldview already allowed, then-
“Fine. If you’re so optimistic about it, I may know someone who can... help.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “When Giran recruited us for the League, he gave us insurance. A contact in case things went wrong or it wasn’t what we signed up for. The guy was a real bastard, but he wouldn’t let potential business partners die just for the hell of it. Especially people like us. I think he had a thing for misfits.”
Just like Jin. Dabi thought, who had been cast out and abused more times than he could count. Someone hanging on the lowest rung of the ladder. Was that what the recruiter saw them all as? Poor, broken pet projects? Probably, but Dabi wouldn’t complain as he fished the old, crumpled number from his wallet.
“You think you can reach them?”
“I can try.” Dabi pulled out his phone. It was a cheap, older model with a cracked screen and broken case. He eyed it for a long moment, cautious, before chucking it onto the bed. “That creep Skeptic probably planted a tracker on mine. He's always typing away at that little computer of his. No doubt spying on everyone in the Liberation Front."
“I bet mine's bugged, too. Commission always liked to keep tabs," Hawks sighed. "I think I saw a payphone when we came in. Use that, and we’ll destroy these once you’re done.”
“Whatever you say.”
Dabi pulled up his hood as he took the stairs to the first floor. Outside, the street was dark. Quietly, he slunk to the empty booth. A dull ring echoed through the receiver when he punched in the number. Once, and then, twice. Finally, a man answered.
“What’s the situation?” He asked, calm and stoic.
Dabi hesitated. “I... I’m done with this job. I need an out.”
There were no questions or ask for location. Just silence and a click. The man hummed in acknowledgment.
“Stay where you are. We’ll be there in the morning.”
The line went dead. Something cold settled in Dabi’s gut. Either this was a saving grace, or he just signed their death warrants. A gamble, well and truly.
When he returned to their room, he expected to be bombarded with questions. Who, what, how, why, but no. Hawks was silent as he stood in front of the room’s television, body illuminated by its bright glow. A news report played on screen.
Dabi’s breath hitched at the destruction. A whole city, decimated. Swallowed up by Shigaraki’s decay.
“The heroes lost,” Hawks said in disbelief.
Slowly, he bowed over, hands on knees as if he were going to pass out. A shiver ran down the villain’s spine. Of all the times he imagined the end of the world with such glee, now that it was actually happening, he felt terrified.
He reached for Hawks’ shoulder and stopped short of actually touching him. “You couldn’t have done anything, y’know? If you stayed. You wouldn’t have been strong enough.”
Hawks turned, more panicked than Dabi had ever seen him. His lower lip trembled. “He’s going to kill everyone.”
“Probably.”
“And we ran away. Like cowards.”
And there it was. A cold pain stabbed through Dabi’s gut. Not even a day. They hadn’t even made it a day without Hawks realizing his mistake. That he had made the wrong choice. Of course.
“You can go back. I’m sure no one would even question what happened to you. They’d just be happy their pretty little number two wasn’t crushed under rubble or turned to dust-”
Dabi’s venom ran dry as Hawks’ lips suddenly pressed against his own. The sensation was so foreign to him he recoiled, but he couldn’t get far as the hero’s arm wound around his waist. Hawks took a breath, shaken, before leaning in again. This time, with more pressure, more insistence, to make sure Dabi felt him.
And felt he did. Sensation sparked beneath his long-dead skin as the bird gently pressed him back against the hotel door, hand slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. The touch was eager, but aware. Kind in the sense that Hawks understood how unorthodox he was. Hesitant and a little scared, used to being hurt. He wouldn’t betray that by moving too fast despite every instinct urging him to.
When they parted, both men were panting.
“You’ve never done this before,” Hawk whispered, eyes wide and owlish. He shuddered and licked his lips. “That was your first kiss.”
Dabi fought the urge to light himself on fire in shame. His face burned. “Got a problem with that, hero? Don’t tell me you're that shallow.”
“Why would I be? I’m new to this, too, you know? The whole being with someone I actually care about thing.”
“Oh? So, you care about me?” He could help the small tremble in his voice.
“I think so. Maybe. I’m not sure yet, but I would never know if I left you at the villa,” Hawks explained. “Hopefully, we get enough time to sort all that out.”
“Yeah,” Dabi snorted, pushing him away despite a desperate voice inside him pleading for Hawks to stay. “Here’s to hoping.”