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"Oh what the fuck," Dabi says.
There's a kid in front of him, curled up inside a fucking cage like he's some dog or some shit. That in itself, creepy as it is, isn't really a shocker. The Pentin Crew are fuckers, and the only thing they care about is money. Human trafficking? No big deal to them, and Dabi's been around for long enough to have seen worse.
No, it's not that there's a kid here.
It's the kid himself.
Blonde hair. Big, golden eyes. Fucking teeny tiny wings, with pretty, red feathers.
What the fuck.
He half-expects some snarky comeback from the brat, but no: the kid doesn't say anything. He merely shrinks even further back in that fucking cage, eyes wide and scared, and clutching at himself. It looks like he wants to fold his wings around himself too, but they're too tiny for that.
Dabi doesn't know shit about judging the age of brats, not really. Elementary school age, maybe? Kindergarten? Who knows.
That's really not quite as concerning as how the fuck did someone find and de-age fucking Hawks?!
"Oh yeah, you had that whole beef with him, didntcha?" the moron he's meeting with asks, lighting a cigarette. "I'd let you have his kid as revenge, but the boss would kill us if we didn't get the best price possible."
Ah.
"His kid, huh," Dabi says, and okay yeah, that makes a bit more sense than the de-aging thing.
"Yeah. Nicked the little brat earlier since we know the big guy's over in Tokyo right now. It's nice isn't it, when those gossip sites keep track of where heroes are?"
Yeah, sure is.
Wing Hero: Hawks – who's currently trading first place back and forth with some other yellow-haired idiot with a too big smile, although that guy has a red cape instead of red wings – is extensively reported on, making it somewhat easier for someone to keep well out of his way.
Which, you know, Dabi has a vested interest in doing. Sure, with Hawks' speed and wings he can get somewhere real fast, but even he can't fly from city to city in the blink of an eye. There's a reason Dabi's in Fukuoka today instead of last week, when every gossip account showed Hawks was very much in town.
The war might never really have gotten anywhere, what with Shigaraki freaking out and killing that mentor of his when he realized the doctor's weird power-up device was also way to let the old dude take over his body, but the bird still spent enough time worming his way into the League and the Paranormal Liberation Front to not easily forget anyone there.
Doesn't matter that it's been a few years. Doesn't matter that after the PLF got disbanded and Shigaraki fucked off to whereever he's hiding out these days, Dabi hasn't actually been that prominent. There's no way Hawks will forget him any time soon, not with the time he spent trying to worm his way into Dabi's pants.
And succeeding, a very unwelcome little voice reminds him. Most of the time, actually, too, cause it's not like you were exactly against the idea.
He squashes the voice like a particularly disgusting bug. Memory lane is not a place he wants to hang out more than necessary when it comes to a certain winged idiot, especially not when he knows that little traitorous bird would put him down if given the chance.
The goon is still talking, blabbing away about buyers and bidding and needing to move soon cause everyone will be looking for the brat, and so on. Dabi's not really listening.
The kid really looks like a carbon copy of Hawks.
It's so fucking eerie.
There's a bruise on his wrist, though, like someone grabbed him too hard. It reminds him a little too much about another son of a top hero, and the ever-changing parade of marks on that body.
"Hey kid," he says.
Said kid tries to make himself even smaller, but he doesn't look away.
Smart. A bird thing, maybe? Or just a 'being the son of a well-trained hero'-thing, which, in Dabi's experience, comes with a certain kind of skill set.
The bruise looks fresh, though.
"He the guy who hurt your wrist?" he asks, nodding his head towards the goon who stops talking. There's surprise on his face – probably because who the fuck expects Dabi to talk to some random kid in a cage?
The kid hesitates, then gives the slightest nod in the history of the world.
Well, okay then. Mystery solved. He really did have trouble believing Hawks would ever hurt his own brat.
The goon is giving him a wary look now, inching backwards. As relaxed and casual as the guy pretended to be, most people have a healthy respect for Dabi and his flames. The League might not have won the war, and he might not have gotten his revenge – yet – but they made enough of a mark that his reputation most certainly precedes him.
"Y'still want the info?" the goon asks.
"Sure," Dabi says, turning away from the cage and the sad, little bird trapped inside.
It's none of his fucking business. Maybe it'll teach Hawks not to misplace his child.
"We couldn't really find out who sent the shipment, but I have my guys tracking down leads. There's been some trouble down in Osaka and it's affected a lot of the trade. Y'know, power vacuum, all that kind of shit."
Dabi nods.
Something tugs at his sleeve.
There's a tiny, tiny little red feather there, one end of it snuck just inside the arm of his jacket to give the smallest, almost polite, little pull.
Those big, yellow eyes are still glued to him when he looks back towards the cage.
The kid really does look like Hawks.
"-but Miyazaki thinks it's those assholes from Shibuya, so I figured it's best just to double-check anyway," the goon says, not paying any attention to Dabi or stray little feathers.
It takes about 30 meters or so before his little red companion drifts out of his sleeve. It hovers for a second looking small and lost and sad, before it starts making its way back towards the kid.
He doesn't have nearly the same speed or range Hawks has. Then again, fully grown hero versus little kid.
Fuck. This is such a stupid fucking thing to even consider.
He certainly has better uses for his time.
It's idiotic to do anything to even remotely put himself on any hero's radar before he's ready for a new attempt at his revenge.
"I'll give you a call once we've unloaded the kid and found a new place to stay," the goon says. "We'll probably be in the clear in a few hours. Tomorrow morning at the latest. Ain’t no one wanting to take a chance of Hawks finding us."
The way the idiot chuckles, he clearly expects Dabi to join in.
Dabi keeps silent, instead giving him the cold, dead stare that tends to freak everyone out.
The guy's laughter trails off. He ducks his head, avoiding Dabi's eyes.
"This isn't even really 'bout the kid," Dabi says, dragging the words out until they sound like metal scraped across asphalt. "I just really don't appreciate the un-asked for trip down memory lane."
"What," the guy says.
"Shut the fuck up," Dabi says, and demonstrates exactly why it's not advisable to piss off someone who enjoys burning people to a crisp.
This is so fucking stupid.
He could've just left the damn brat there. Someone would've come along eventually, and then the kid would be rescued and brought back to his dad safe and sound.
The kid makes a noise of distress.
"Told you not to fucking look," Dabi snarls, and uses his free hand to shove the brat's face into his jacket as he steps over the smouldering remnants of the goon.
The kid's heavy on his arm. Dabi expected him to be lighter, and he quickly realized he's not going to be able to carry him for long. It's fine, probably. His instinct, which, yes, that does sound absurd to him as well, thanks, but the instinct was to pick the brat up because he doesn't want to spend forever getting out of here. It's not that the tiny bird looks weak or malnourished in any way, really – he's just little.
It's fine. He can drop the kid off at a store or something.
They'll call the police, who'll call the heroes, and by the time Hawks hears it Dabi will hopefully be too far away for those spying feathers to track him down.
Maybe he should make it a mall, and not a store. Give himself a little time to get out of there before anyone realizes the kid needs help.
The kid has a fucking death grip on his coat. He's shivering, too, which might be the adrenaline, the terror or simply that he's cold. It is winter, and the brat's in cotton pants and a thin shirt. Clearly no one thought of grabbing a jacket or something when they kidnapped the kid. He's really not dressed for hanging out in a dog crate in some old warehouse, or, for that matter, riding on the arm of a random villain dragged into playing rescuer through the back streets of the city.
"Kid. They feed you at all?"
There's a slight shake to the brat's head.
Yeah. That probably hasn't helped either.
It doesn't take him long to realize the weak point of his plan:
It's really late.
Evening is closing in on night, and they're in too shady a part of town to simply leave the kid somewhere. There's no guarantee any of the assholes out at this time would call for help. There's no guarantee someone wouldn't simply snatch the kid up and then they're all back to where they started.
It's not like he can just call Hawks to have him pick up the kid, either. Even if he had the number, that'd give himself away and yeaaaah, no.
Sometimes the best plans are the simplest ones, even if they're not what he wants to do.
First, he visits one of the 24-hour laundromats where he takes advantage of a dozing patron and liberates a thick sweatshirt. It's huge on the kid, almost reaching his shoes, but at least this means there's enough room to avoid squishing his tiny wings. Easier to hide him that way. He's just another grimey-looking brat in shabby clothes now.
Maybe it'll help him stop shivering like one of those little, hairless dogs too.
After that it's a short stop to pick up bags of food where they don't bother asking questions or looking too closely at their customers, and then he spirits them both off the street and into one of the many small hidey-holes he knows about.
You really can never have too many safe houses.
This one's old. One of the League's, and they all still use it from time to time so it's in decent enough shape. There are bottles of nail polish in a corner, courtesy of Toga – or Twice, who knows with those two, who are still as thick as thieves. The restocked freeze-dried meals can only be the work of Sato. An honest to God boardgame is stashed in the small kitchenette, which means Spinner and Shigaraki's been by.
Hm.
That might actually be why they both tried calling him a couple of days ago. It has been a little while since they last met up, all of them. Maybe he should give them a call, once he's done with this whole. Thing.
Said thing stands beside him, big yellow eyes scanning the room like he's never seen a moderately shitty safe-house frequented by a villain organization who probably spends more time gossiping over dinner than actually plotting the downfall of society these days.
Alright.
"Sit," he says, pointing to the ratty couch.
The kid sits.
There's still a few paper plates in a cupboard, so Dabi takes one, dumps some food on it and puts it in front of the kid along with some water. The kid just stares at the plate, frozen like he's spotted some culinary crime against humanity, which, fair. There's limitations to what kind of food you can get at this hour, in this part of the city.
"What's the matter? I thought all kids liked nuggets?"
The kid doesn't speak, merely looking between Dabi and the chicken nuggets on his plate.
"Well, if you don't want them," he starts, leaning towards the plate.
The kid snatches the plate, clutching it protectively to his chest and stuffing one of the nuggets into his mouth. The rest disappear in short order. Dabi's honestly not entirely convinced the little gremlin chews even once. More disturbingly, though: once the kid finishes his plate, he looks at Dabi – and then his eyes slowly drift down to Dabi's plate with his own portion, and they take on a distinctively predatory look.
"Fuck, you really are his kid. This is like old times all over again. I don't think I ever had a meal all to myself in the entire time I knew him."
Dabi drops a few more chicken nuggets on the kid's plate. The kid tears into them like some starving animal who's never seen food before. Maybe Hawks simply doesn't give the kid junk food?
While the kid's busy, Dabi makes short work of his own portion. Even so, he can feel the stare from the little demon once he's down to his last two nuggets.
He sighs, surrendering one of them to the insatiable little monster masquerading as a kid.
There's a couple of somewhat-crusty mattresses with some surprisingly alright-smelling blankets folded up on them. Sato again, probably. It doesn't take a lot of prompting for the kid to shuck off his giant sweatshirt and curl up under one. The mini-bird is probably exhausted; he's asleep before Dabi's even crossed the room.
At least he's not some non-stop chattering little menace like certain other people in Dabi's past.
Small mercies.
It doesn't take long for him, either, once he's cleaned up the garbage and double-checked the locks. There's vague memories of collapsing on the other mattress – and then he's out.
The kid's still asleep when Dabi wakes up. Even as he gets up, uses the bathroom and starts preparing one of the freeze-dried meals – gross, but better than nothing – the lump under the covers doesn't move.
It's hard to believe this is the son of Hawks, who would snap out of sleep at the slightest sound. There's been way too many times where Dabi's tried to sneak out to avoid the awkward morning-after conversations only to be halted by a reprimanding feather at the door, and met with a distinctively unimpressed expression from the hero himself once he gave up and went back to bed.
Clearly, that same vigilance doesn't come naturally to the kid, who has to be prodded awake, and who then keeps almost falling asleep face-first in his breakfast.
The moment the kid's finished eating, he hustles them both out of the safe house. It's time to get this done, so he can stop playing babysitter and return to his own life.
Naturally, the world seems dedicated to thwarting him.
They get all of ten minutes away when there's a shout behind him, and the sound of people running towards him.
Fantastic.
It's more goons from the fucking Pentin Crew, who have apparently taken the whole "incinerate one of them and open the birdcage"-thing kind of personal. They're practically bristling with bloodthirst, brandishing weapons, both Quirk and otherwise.
Dabi sighs.
"Hey, kid," he says, throwing a glance at the little figure beside him. "Make sure to not touch me for a sec. Do not move. K?"
He doesn't wait for a confirmation. Either the kid gets it or not, but if Dabi stands around with his hands in his pockets without doing anything much longer, it won't matter.
The nice thing about a small group of people chasing towards you is that they tend to be kind of clustered together. It's especially nice if, like him, you don't give a shit about property damage.
It also means they have almost no chance of dodging an attack, as long as it's simply large enough.
It doesn't take much to call his flames. It never does. His fire sits close to the surface, ready and willing to materialize in the world and eat its way through everything in its path. He draws deeply, gathering more and more, before finally letting it burst out of him. His arm is all but flung back with the force of it. The roar is loud, easily drowning out any cries of pain – and then that's that.
Hardly enough action to be called a fight. There's a few smoldering lumps on the asphalt afterwards, but otherwise it all seems quiet.
The kid is still standing exactly where he was. He's staring at him, mouth open and eyes looking like they're about to simply roll out of their sockets.
"You okay?"
The kid snaps his mouth shut, nodding furiously.
He reminds Dabi a little of Toga, whenever she sees one of the many people she falls in love with, or a cute cat, or some hair ornament, or whatever. All sparkly and adoring and shit.
"Right," he says, sidestepping that particular minefield. "Let's get you to someone who can call your dad to come pick you up."
"Go on," Dabi says again. He punctuates the order with a little shove to the kid's back, but the little gremlin only clings harder to him, furiously shaking his head.
"It's barely a hundred meters, and then you're at the door. They'll help you there."
Big puppy-eyes gaze at him imploringly.
"I'm not walking you all the way up to a damn hero agency, kid. Either you go now and I'll keep watch until you're inside, or I'm leaving you here on the sidewalk."
That does the trick, even if the puppy-eyes go a little glassy and wet. The kid finally starts walking towards the agency, with slow, dragging steps and frequent, long looks thrown back towards Dabi.
There's an almost forlorn look to the brat, like Dabi's broken his damn heart just because he's taking some very sensible precautions.
Absolutely ridiculous.
This is why he doesn't like kids.
The mini-bird pauses at the door to the agency. He lifts a hand slightly, giving a small wave, and then finally he opens the door and disappears inside the building.
Dabi gives it a couple of seconds, just in case. He wouldn't put it beyond any brat spawned by Hawks to suddenly be hovering behind him when he thought he'd shaken them, even if the kid doesn't look like he can fly quite yet.
Everything is quiet.
He draws a sigh of relief.
Okay.
Time to put the past back where it belongs, and get back to his regular life, then.
Dabi wakes. It's not a slow thing; one minute he's asleep, the next his eyes are open and he's doing his best to keep his breathing even and relaxed so he doesn't give himself away. It's dark still, his room mostly just shadows. Everything is quiet.
He knows, with absolutely surety, that he's not alone.
"I thought about just leaving you be. Letting you leave town," the voice says, and oh fuck him fucking sideways, he knew he should've left the fucking kid in that dog crate. He definitely shouldn't have chanced another night in Fukuoka before he made his escape. "I should be dragging your ass in, that's for sure – but he said you were nice to him."
Dabi opens his mouth to make a rude comment, and what falls out is not that. "He doing okay?"
Oh, what the fuck.
There's a huff of a laugh. "As well as can be expected, probably. He talks more about you than the kidnappers. Or the cage."
There's rage in that last word. Badly hidden fury sparking against Dabi's skin like his own fire does, threatening to ignite and take the world out with it and leaving only scorched earth behind. He has the very distinct feeling that the palpable rage is barely kept in check right now, liable to spill over at the slightest provocation.
It's really so fucking stupid to actively go after the kid of someone like Hawks – but then again, random idiot criminals look at the bird and all they see are a hero.
Dabi did too, once, sure. He bought into that airhead act, that Hawks was just a talented and skilled hero and media darling, but then he started looking deeper. He found out a few things. Surprising shit, the kind of things no one wants to believe a Pro Hero capable of. He knows this guy is as trained as they come.
He's pretty sure Hawks is always the biggest predator in any room he walks into.
"I see." For once, he does his best to tread carefully. He would really rather not be in the way when Hawks finally loses that careful, deliberate control of his temper.
"Why'd you help him?"
Like he's ever going to tell the truth here.
"They pissed me off," Dabi says. "Figured I'd ruin their plans a little as revenge."
"Huh. That the only reason?"
"Don't tell me you thought I did it out of, what. Fond memories of when you pretended to murder Jeanist to infiltrate us?"
"Maybe you did it to save a kid."
"Hardly."
There's a slight rustle of feathers shifting, which makes Dabi very uncomfortably aware that it's the first sound he's heard from Hawks that isn't his voice. How fucking quiet can the guy be?
More importantly, how long has been sitting in Dabi's room watching him sleep?
"Did you buy him chicken nuggets just to spite the Pentin Crew too, then?" Hawks asks, voice mild.
"Didn't want the kid whining and giving us away," Dabi says.
"Sure," Hawks says, and Dabi swears he hears amusement in that voice.
Asshole.
"He was pretty excited about that too. I've been trying to limit his exposure to junk food, but I guess that cat's out of the bag now."
Ah. So the kid really hadn't had nuggets before. That might explain the whole feral bird-thing.
"Didn't think he could talk," he says instead, choosing a safer topic than the reasons for why he helped the kid.
"Nah, he's a lil' chatterbox most of the time. Just takes him a while to talk in front of anyone new."
"Didn't seem so shy to me, when he tugged at my clothes with a feather every time he wanted something."
"Ah, well," Hawks says. He sounds more relaxed now. Less like he's on the verge of exploding into violence. "Most people don't understand bird noises, and he's not real good at separating them from words yet. Makes him keep quiet until he trusts that someone will be cool about it."
"That's fucked up, birdie."
"Hey."
Oh. The threat is back in Hawks' voice now, sharp and glittering.
"Do not talk about him that way. I'm not gonna rush him just to make him more palatable to-"
"I meant," Dabi says, matching Hawks' tone, "that it's fucked up to not understand him. I had no trouble understanding you whenever you lost your human words, did I?"
Hawks stops.
He's silent for a good minute.
Dabi doesn't push him, instead busying himself with getting out of bed and locating his clothes.
"Sorry," Hawks finally says.
"Yeah, yeah. A hero rushing to judgement, what else is new."
He turns on the light, and finally gets a good look at Hawks. They might both be a few years older now, but the bird doesn't show any of it. He's still all smooth, golden skin with almost invisible freckles, and with that same windswept hair. His wings seem huge after spending time with mini-Hawks and his tiny baby wings.
Hawks' eyes are still as intense as he remembers.
It's been a long time.
"Thanks for saving my kid."
It's been a few years. Would there be new scars, if he ran his hands down Hawks' chest?
Would he still feel the same, under Dabi's hands? Would he make the same noises, or grin all smug and satisfied when he makes Dabi come undone like he used to, or-
"Want some coffee?" he asks, pushing away memories of something that never did anything for him but birth dreams of a future he could never have.
"How'd you end up with a kid anyway?" Dabi asks once they've mostly finished their drinks.
Hawks gives him a look. "How do people usually end up with kids?"
"It hasn't been that many years since your little spy act, birdie, and I'm pretty sure you weren't hiding some girlfriend anywhere at the time," Dabi says.
He's more than a little bit sure. He looked into that. Extensively.
Hawks gives him another look.
This fucking dick.
Dabi holds his stare. The hero isn't the only one who can communicate with his eyes, and if they're going toe to toe on stubbornness, Dabi's pretty sure he'll win.
Seconds pass. Then a minute. Then five.
Eventually, Hawks sighs.
Hah.
"It was a whole thing. Not so long after you guys left the Paranormal Liberation Front actually," he says, waving a hand. That might explain why Hawks didn't track them down. He always did wonder about that. "Some asshole with an unregistered Quirk overdosed on Trigger, and yours truly was tasked with taking him down. No one else could get close safely without being affected."
"Wait, what kind of Quirk? You get knocked up or something?" Dabi can't help the almost gleeful laugh that bubbles up in him.
"The fuck kind of Quirks have you been seeing? No. I am still very much not in possession of a uterus, nor have I ever been, even just for a brief moment."
"So what then?"
"It's kind of a…I don't know how to explain it. The trigger fucked it up so much, so while it started as a regular multiply effect, that's not quite what it ended up like. You know how those things go, they can change Quirks a lot and he'd lost complete control of it. Turns out, all he really needed was to touch one of my feathers, and, well-"
Hawks waves a hand, presumably meaning the kid.
"Oh. So he's a clone."
"That's not exactly-" Hawks stops, and then studies the wall where absolutely nothing is of interest unless you're into beginning signs of mold. "Actually, yeah, let's go with that. Clone. Sure."
That little performance convinces absolutely no one, especially not Dabi, but he lets it go. For now. It sounds like the truth is potentially embarrassing, which means he definitely wants to know.
After all, Hawks has always been exceedingly entertaining to wind up.
Somehow they end up in bed.
If anyone asked him, Dabi would be hard pressed to explain how. It's just always kind of been like that for them. It was like that, back during Hawks' spy days too. One moment they'd been arguing, the next he'd be trying to remember how to breathe as his brain slowly came back online, and then they usually had to spend a few minutes locating all their clothes.
There's a lot of reasons he's been keeping his distance from Hawks. It wasn't all related to the danger of being arrested.
"Y'know, I can never quite pinpoint how this happens," Hawks says, echoing his thoughts.
The hero is lying on his stomach, wings relaxed and head turned towards Dabi. There's a pink flush across his cheeks.
"Mh," Dabi says.
"At least we know our clothes are all in this room, this time."
Dabi doesn't answer. There are things he might ask if he opens his mouth. Topics best avoided, because he's still a villain and Hawks is still a hero, and sure, the whole spy-thing kinda just fizzled out after Shigaraki's little patricide thing.
Most of the League chose Shigaraki over some ephemeral goal of destroying society and followed him into obscurity. Dabi's the only one really working towards something bigger still, but he'd be the first to admit it's been less focused now, than back when his head was only filled with the hatred for his father and nothing else.
It's hard to keep motivated for pure self-destruction, when there are things out there making you think about possible futures, and feeling the urge to pick up a phone just to see anyone. It's hard to keep motivated when your familial hatred is overshadowed by a different kind of resentment.
He could've stayed with the PLF, maybe, but they were never his crowd. After Shigaraki went off, the PLF realized they didn't really function without proper leadership, and mostly just. Gave up.
Well, giving up is not quite right. They certainly tried, but the League always did bring that extra willingness to self-destruct and take out as many heroes as they could in the process, and without that?
Not enough balls between the former members of the Meta Liberation Army.
"Dabi?"
Aaand now he's here, zoning out and thinking about the fucking past, because of course he is. Fucking Hawks always brings out the worst in him.
"If you're spending the night sneaking into my bedroom like some assassin sent to take me out, who's looking after the kid?" he asks, because going on the offensive always works best when it comes to derailing any potentially awkward questions the bird might raise.
"Oh," Hawks says, and Dabi swears that for just a moment, the feathers on his wings poof up a little. "One of my sidekicks – Tokoyami, the bird kid from the class you guys were so obsessed with? They graduated last spring, so he's here now – is with him."
"Okay, one; that was Shigaraki's deal, not fucking mine."
"Okay," Hawks says, and then the asshole makes a 'get on with it'-gesture. "And two? I assume there's more, since you started counting?"
"Jesus fuck. Get off my fucking dick, man," Dabi says, because of course Hawks would be unable to stop bickering even after they've hooked up again, for the first time in years.
Hawks laughs. "Have to get on it first, if so, but hey, if you're up for round two, I'm definitely game to switch."
"I don't understand why I keep letting you into my bed," Dabi laments, as he lets Hawks pull him in for another kiss.
Dabi wakes, reaching for his flames on pure instinct. He's not in his bed, or a safehouse he knows. There's something moving near him. Someone's close, and he's not where he should be, and they're too close-
A hand closes around his wrist, warm and soothing, stopping his flames in their tracks.
Hawks.
"Hey, buddy," Hawks says with a sweet, soothing voice. "Couldn't sleep?"
Oh, shit.
The fucking kid.
He's at Hawks', which explains why everything felt unfamiliar. They've been hooking up a few times since Hawks visited his bedroom like a creeper two weeks ago, but this is the first time at the hero's place, and-
In the dark, he can just about make out a small figure climbing up on the bed. Whispered words, too soft for him to hear, but whatever they are they make Hawks chuckle.
"Yeah, it's fine, but I'll stay in the middle, okay? We shouldn't startle him when he's sleeping."
Fuck. This is not what he signed up for. He didn't even think about the kid last night, too distracted by the crooked edge of Hawks' smile, and his hands, and the way his eyes were so warm and intense they looked like molten honey.
It's fine.
He'll wait for the kid to fall asleep, and then he'll sneak out.
Hawks, apparently having upgraded to some sort of telepathy, turns his head towards him and gives him a Look, capital L.
"Not now," Hawks says in response to something Dabi missed. "Dabi's sleeping right now. You can see him tomorrow morning though. He won't leave before saying hi, I promise."
The hero turns over on his side, back towards Dabi. Heavy wings settle over his body, keeping him trapped as surely as real chains would – except these one will tell Hawks if he as much as tenses up in preparation of making his escape.
It takes a few minutes.
He can make out the sound of soft breathing belonging to neither him nor Hawks.
"Sorry," Hawks whispers. Kid must be asleep then. "I know we didn't talk about it, but he's been wanting to see you again. I didn't think last night, and when he realized you were here…you don't have to stay long, but at least just say hi to him before you leave?"
Dabi sighs.
The thing about giving in to temptation is that there's always consequences, isn't there?
He should've learned this lesson years ago, but he was never good at saying no to something he really wanted.
A minute passes.
"What's his name?" he asks.
"Rintarou," Hawks says.
There's some shuffling and twisting, and-
A warm hand, large palm and strong fingers, finds his under the blankets.
"Fine," Dabi says. "But you're making me fucking breakfast."
"You ever gonna tell me the real story?" Dabi asks, taking a sip of his coffee.
"No," Hawks says, smiling at the kid who is sitting on the floor surrounded by small mountains of legos.
He's completely taken with them, focusing everything on whatever it is he's building. It's fascinating, really, the way the kid can just disappear into whatever he's doing and not notice the world around him at all. There's no give in him, not until he's reached whatever goal he set himself.
Dabi's seen Hawks talk the kid down from the beginning signs of a tantrum more than once, when he wants to continue whatever he's doing and Hawks has decided it's time for a break for boring things like food, or water, or to use the bathroom.
It's kind of weird, seeing someone with Hawks' wings not be so observant and hypervigilant.
The effects of growing up with a real dad, maybe, who gives you toys instead of weapons and playtime instead of a training schedule.
"You know the more you hide it, the more you ensure I'll look into it, don't you?"
"Dabi," Hawks starts, warning note ringing through loud and clear.
"Don't worry, birdie. I ain't gonna tell him shit about whatever it is you're being so secretive about," he says, waving a hand.
He's pretty sure by now that Hawks isn't going to gut him from groin to sternum with a feather – or turn him in to the authorities, for that matter – but the hero is crazy protective, and if there's a choice between his kid and Dabi?
So sue him; he might indulge his curiosity and his favorite hobby of riling Hawks up, but he's not putting his life on the line for it.
"Just leave it alone."
"Not on your life," Dabi says, and gives him his best, shit-eating grin.
To his absolute disappointment, there's no trail anywhere about the real origin of the kid.
He's careful about prying. Maybe he'd find more if he went at it harder, but honestly, that'd kind of take the fun out of it. Also, while some people might be aware Hawks has a family, it's not exactly public knowledge and he'd rather not more idiots get any bright ideas involving dog crates and kidnapping.
Teasing the truth out of Hawks turns out to be impossible, too. The hero remains tight-lipped, no matter what Dabi says, does or promises.
It does mean he spends more time in Hawks' apartment though, while trying to figure it out.
It's kind of terrible. All bright and tidy and clean, with comfortable furniture and good food. He keeps waking up to the sound of Hawks humming while making breakfast for them, or to the kid carefully poking him with one of his baby feathers because apparently he's taken the warning not to startle Dabi to heart, or, worst of all: to the sound of laughter, as the kid and Hawks hang out together while waiting for him to get up.
He doesn't really know what to do with that, so so far he's simply pushed it away. It's a fun distraction for a little bit, that's all.
It's disturbingly peaceful, really.
He tries not to think about that.
Dabi yawns. The night's cold still lingers in the early morning air, making it a pleasant enough walk down the quiet, peaceful streets. Beside him, the kid is bouncing a little for every step he takes, small wings flapping.
He looks excited. Maybe it's a bird thing, the wing flapping – though, Dabi's pretty sure he's never seen Hawks act like this, no matter how energized he was. It almost looks like the brat is-
Oh.
Fuck no.
"Nope. That's not happening," he says, snatching the kid by his hood and dragging him closer. "Practice your fucking flight when your dad's around."
"But Dabiiii," the kid whines, all big, pleading eyes.
"No."
"But-"
"Either you keep your legs on the ground, or we turn around and you can explain to your dad why we didn't get more cereal."
The kid might be Hawks', sure, but occasionally these small things that are so clearly not inherited from the bird pops up. Like right now?
The stink-eye Dabi is on the receiving end of is honestly impressive. Hawks could never.
They do get the cereal, though. This kid has nothing on Natsuo, unofficial stink-eye king of the Todorokis.
"What's this?" Dabi asks, looking at the bag Hawks is holding out to him.
"Uhm. Well," Hawks says, studiously not looking at him. "You're here a lot, and, well."
"And you want me to leave?"
"What? No! How'd you get 'please go away' from this?!"
Hawks has the audacity to frown at him now, brows furrowed like it's Dabi who isn't making sense. He's still holding the bag out.
"I don't know, birdie, you're tripping over your words and telling me I'm here all the time. The hell else do you mean?"
"I'm not asking you to leave. I'm trying to give you a present."
"No."
There's a beat where they're staring at each other. Hawks looks downright baffled, before his eyes narrow.
"The fuck do you mean, 'no'? It's a present. You take it, you say thanks, that's it."
"I don't want it," Dabi says, because there's thoughts about potential futures knocking on the proverbial door of his mind. It's not great. He knows for a fact that he does best if he can keep his mind clear of unnecessary clutter. When there's things in the way, he can't see the goal as clearly, and then he'll find himself wondering if it's worth burning himself to cinders just for revenge and other disturbing questions, which is why he tries somewhat desperately to calculate the odds of making it to the front door before Hawks' awful feathers can catch up.
It's not looking great.
Hawks draws a deep breath, before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
It's really quite uncalled for.
"Dabi. In this bag there's pyjama pants and tshirts and a few hoodies. In your size. Rin thought you might like it, seeing as you're here on our weekend mornings when we watch cartoons, and the two of us wear our pyjamas while you wear your edgelord villain outfits-"
"Hey."
"- and since you've refused to say when your birthday is, despite him asking you repeatedly, I might add, except that wonderful detail of how it's 'in the winter' and it's now spring, he worried that we missed yours and you'd be sad because everyone deserves to be seen and celebrated on their birthday. So we bought you pyjamas. So you can hang out like a normal person and not like some punk band reject."
Hawks shoves the bag into his chest, pushing him and the bag backwards until he takes it.
"I swear, you're such a fucking asshole. Why'd you make everything so damn hard?"
"Childhood trauma," Dabi says automatically, opening the bag to have a look, only to shudder with revulsion. "I'm not wearing a fucking Hawks fanmerch sweater."
"Dabi," Hawks smiles, and the sharp promise of death makes a shiver run down Dabi's spine and his dick twitches in interest.
Goddamnit.
"You're gonna wear the fucking gift he picked out for you, and you're gonna thank him, and then, if you're good, maybe I'll make it worth your while later. Okay?"
"Okay," Dabi says. His mouth has gone suspiciously dry.
"There are fuzzy socks too." Hawks turns, heading towards the living room. "I expect to see you wearing them in ten minutes, if you ever want to not wear clothes in this bedroom again."
The socks turn out to be absurdly comfortable.
He vows never to tell Hawks.
"Hey kid," Dabi says, hanging up his coat and taking off his boots.
Said kid is already standing in front of him, excitedly stepping from foot to foot in some weird little tip-tappy movement. His wings are poofy with excitement.
It's decidedly not cute.
He does talk to Dabi now, when he has to. Every day he's a little braver about it, but mostly he makes his wishes known through his feathers and by bodily hauling Dabi where he wants to go. Today, that seems to be the living room, where – yep, he should've seen this coming – a pair of pyjamas pants, a sweatshirt and fuzzy socks are already laid ready for him.
"We're having a movie night," Hawks says in greeting.
Dabi notes the lack of an actual question there.
It's maybe not so strange Rin doesn't see the need for words. Clearly he's picked up his father's tendency to just order everyone around to suit his wants.
There's an impatient tug at his sleeve again.
Not so fond of being overlooked, the littlest bird.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Dabi says, surrendering to his fate. "You better have gotten the good snacks this time, though."
The kid grins bright enough to light up a city.
The movie's okay. The snack selection looks god-awful, until Hawks reveals a bag of Dabi's favorite cookies that neither he or Rin likes.
It's not so bad, really.
Even with the red and gold Hawks-sweatshirt on.
"Oh what the fuck," Dabi says.
"Uhm," Hawks says.
Someone in the background screams, a bloodcurdling shriek that Dabi swears makes his bones crack a little from the sheer volume of it.
"Maybe this isn't the best time for this," Hawks tries, taking a step back. "Maybe you can take Rin back home, and I'll help sort out everything here?"
The kid, apparently forever dedicated to not helping, takes a hold of Dabi's sleeve and then, as if to emphasize the need for someone to take him away from here, sniffles a little.
"You said it was a clone thing," Dabi hisses, not even remotely in the mood to let Hawks escape this particular conversation. Which they are having, even if he has to murder every single person that tries to interrupt them himself.
"No. You said it was that, I just said we could call it that."
"Oh, don't even try to talk your way out of this, birdie, what the hell were you-"
Another scream.
"I really do need to go," Hawks says. "You'll take him home, right?"
"Home?! You want me to take him back to the apartment like this?!?"
"It's just cause he got startled. It'll go away when he calms down or he runs out of energy. He can only keep it up for ten minutes or so."
"Hawks!"
"I'll see you later," Hawks says, and then smiles at the kid. "Okay? Just stay with Dabs for now."
"Okay," the littlest traitor says, apparently not even remotely interested in stopping his father from running off.
The moment the kid gives his okay, the hero's off, disappeared into the fray to solve whatever-the-fuck is happening further down the street.
He's going to kill the fucking bird later.
Rin tugs at his sleeve, wanting attention.
"How does that even work?" Dabi asks him.
The kid shrugs, and then looks towards the nearby fucking ice-cream parlor, and back to Dabi.
"No."
Big, pleading eyes get that very distinct stink-eye vibe again, and honestly, he should've fucking recognized that look the first time, shouldn't he?
He's not dumb. The signs were totally there.
"Kid. You can't have ice-cream right now."
The look turns into a glare.
God, it's so fucking familiar now that he sees it properly.
"Make your dad get you some later, okay? We're going home. Now."
Apparently the kid knew ice-cream was always a long shot, because he gives up his staring contest. Small shoulders sag a little, and there's a somewhat performative pout happening. Sucks for the kid that his current babysitter – shit, wait, can he even call himself that now? Isn't that like, inherently wrong, considering? – is a renowned villain who is immune to both puppy-eyes and quiver lips and whatever else little kids use to get their ways.
Even with all the noise from the fight down the street, people do a double-take when they spot Dabi and the kid. Used to be, he'd worry that they'd seen through his disguise.
Right now?
Yeah. No. He kinda feels like staring too.
It feels kind of dumb to ask, but he has to know. It's just. He knows this, all too well, and all he can think of right now was his teenage self hiding the burns he got every time he used his Quirk. He always pretended the pain didn't matter, because compared to his goal it didn't – but it was still pain.
"Does it hurt?"
Rin shakes his head.
Well. That's something, at least.
"Can you control it at all?"
Rin shakes his head again.
"Okay," Dabi says, trying to keep his voice normal. It's just another day. Nothing special. No earth-shattering revelations here, nope. "I can maybe help with that, if you want."
"Okay," Rin says, reaching out to take Dabi's hands as they reach the crosswalk. When Dabi steps down from the curb of the sidewalk, the kid does a small jump.
On his back, great wings made from blue flames beat as if on instinct. Like a young bird, learning how to fly. The heat they give off is immense.
It is dreadfully familiar.
"Is it only flames?" he asks. "Never ice?"
Rin nods.
"Okay," Dabi says. "Okay. Well."
Rin gives another little hop, beating his wings as he does. He actually stays in the air a little, and fucking hell if that isn't fucking terrifying.
He understands that uncompromising threat in Hawks' voice back when he came looking for Dabi a little better now.
The future stretches out before him, big and unknown and full of possibilities.
The only thing he really knows is this:
As much as he understands why – and, fuck, might've done the same himself – he's going to kill Hawks for hiding this from him. Fuck if he's ever wearing the bird's damn hero merch again. He's not doing the dishes for a fucking month, at least.
That, and the certainty that no matter what, he will not repeat Endeavour's mistakes. He will be a better father than Enji Todoroki ever was.
Rin starts dropping his hand once they've passed the crosswalk, like they've always done so far.
Dabi squeezes the kid's hand – gentle, he has to remember to be gentle cause Rin's so damn small, fuck – and holds on.
"So what's the real truth?" Dabi asks later, once he's yelled at Hawks for running off and finished patching him up, because of course the hero came home without seeing a medic or anything. Idiot.
"I don't want to talk about it," Hawks says, studiously avoiding his eyes.
"Birdie. You kept my kid a secret from me for years. You owe me."
That makes the hero whip his head around to glower at him. Honestly, while Rin's stink-eye is in retrospect 100% The Todoroki Glare, Hawks does have a fairly decent one too.
"Okay, fuck you? One, that's our kid, not your kid," Hawks says, though he loses a bit of steam towards the end of that sentence.
Probably that hero conscience kicking in. Such a bothersome little trait, that. Easy to take advantage of though, which is a nice little treat for long-suffering villains who find themselves inexplicably tied to random hero birds.
"...and two?" Dabi can't help but say. There's a smile tugging at his lips, because as pissed as he was at first when he took Rin home, he does understand how the whole situation is. A lot. 'Complicated' doesn't even begin to describe it. It's easier to fall back on the tried-and-true tactic of annoying Hawks. "I assumed there'd be more, since you started counting there?"
It's funnier, too.
"I hate you so much," Hawks groans.
"Sure you do."
Dabi shifts, tugging Hawks closer so he can run a hand carefully through that golden hair. The touch is a kind of softness that's deeply unfamiliar to him. Not really something they've done a lot of so far, but they have a kid together. They should probably try to figure their shit out.
It does make Hawks go all boneless in his lap, nuzzling into his touch.
Kinda cute. Still weird.
He keeps it up though. Slow, repetitive movements.
"'s a connection thing," Hawks says eventually. "The Quirk needed two people to work."
"Okay," Dabi says, trying to keep his voice soft and soothing. Not his best skill, but since Hawks neither bristles nor shuts down he's counting it as a success.
"I said it wasn't that long after you guys left the PLF, which is true. I guess it was close enough, that. Well..."
Hawks trails off and goes quiet again.
"Okay," Dabi says again. He's starting to get an inkling of where this is going. "Are you saying we have a kid cause you were out fighting villains right after we slept together, and it used my-"
"NO," Hawks breaks him off, raising his head and looking legitimately offended. "Why do you keep having the weirdest ideas of what Quirks might be out there?"
"When you keep avoiding the issue, it leaves me to fill in the blanks," he shrugs.
Hawks drops his head again, twisting so he's facing away from Dabi.
"...emotional connection," he says, voice soft and strange.
…what.
Dabi sits very, very still. This is definitely new territory. Despite the many pairs of pyjamas in his size currently sitting in Hawks' wardrobe, despite all those slow mornings with cartoons and cereal, it's not a territory he's entirely comfortable with.
At all.
Except, well, the proof's here, isn't it? Sleeping down the hall in a bedroom decorated with garish colours and a bunch of hero posters, because that poor kid has been sorely lacking any real role model in his life. Dabi already decided he wasn't going to be anything like his own father, so it's not like he can just fuck off and pretend he doesn't know, either.
Fuck it.
"So…" he starts, but doesn't get much further.
"I really do not want to talk about it," Hawks interrupts. "We can just pretend it's one of your weird Quirk-suggestions."
Cute – but Dabi refuses to be deterred. Especially because this is opening up a whole new avenue of things to tease the bird about.
"So you're saying he's literally a lovechild."
"Shut up."
"Living, literal proof of your feelings."
"I will murder you, see if I don't."
"I don't believe you," Dabi grins. "You wouldn't kill the father of your child."
"You're such a fucking asshole," Hawks sighs. "I swear, everything always has to be done the hard way with you."
"Pff. You love me," Dabi says, and for the first time in a long, long time, he's absolutely sure he's telling the truth.