Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hawks meets his first Todoroki long before he ever even hears the name ‘Hawks’.

He’s six years old, still going by the name Keigo, and hiding behind a tree across the street. His eyes are wide wide wide as they watch his father’s struggling form being pushed into a police car. There’s a man standing there, a hero, with flames shooting off his skin and a scowl etched across his face. Keigo’s heart is beating fast fast fast in his chest as he clutches his only toy--his most prized possession--to his thundering chest and feels a new world start to take shape around him.

A world with heroes .

Later, when the men in suits come and offer him the chance to join this new world, Keigo says yes. Keigo grips the Endeavor doll tight to his chest and lets the men strip away everything he once was. His name, his mother, his past. They erase it all. 

And when someone finally comes to take the toy away, Keigo-- Hawks-- lets himself have one more moment to close his eyes and remember the way Endeavor had looked that day, the day he changed Keigo’s life, and whispers a promise into the plush surface of the only hero he’s ever known. 

“I’m gonna be just like you,” he says. “I’m going to save people.”

In the end, only one of those promises would come true.

***

Hawks has his first in-person meeting with a Todoroki when he is eight, although he doesn't know it at the time. Won't know, for many many years. 

Training has been brutal and hard and painful, but Hawks doesn't regret saying yes. Hawks is clean and clothed and fed, and maybe someone else wouldn't think that he's safe, but he is really. Hawks has rules, clear and simple and well-defined. Hawks knows the rules, so he knows when he deserves to be punished. 

For the first time, Hawks has something that counts as stable, and he doesn't regret that. 

Still, training can be tiring sometimes (all the time) and Hawks sometimes feels like the very wings that give him flight are actually dragging him down like weights on his back, grounding him and pulling at him until it's all he can do just to put one foot in front of the other. 

He's supposed to fly back, not walk. But Hawks is tired, and he's down several feathers, and he's pretty sure if he tried to fly back he'd end up falling right out of the sky, his hero legacy over before it even begins. 

"Hey!" he vaguely hears a voice say. "HEY! Duck!"

Hawks is so tired that his first, completely irrational, thought is: I'm a Hawk, not a duck.

Then his brain catches up to the words and his head whips up, eyes widening just in time to see a small red ball slam into his face. Ow. 

"Oh, crap, man, sorry! I'm sorry, that probably hurt, oh my god."

There's a kid standing over him. Did Hawks fall over? Huh, yeah, guess he did. 

Hawks squints into the fading sun at the kid who most likely just hit him in the face with a ball. The boy's hair is as red as his toy, his eyes a brilliant turquoise and full of concern. He's wearing long sleeves, but Hawks can see the edges of white bandages poking out by his wrists and collarbone. 

He's beautiful. Backlit by the setting sun and with his hair fluttering in the breeze. It reminds Hawks of his feathers. He thinks he might be staring. 

A hand stretches out towards him and he lets the kid drag him to his feet. Hawks is shorter than him, the boy's fluffy red hair a few good inches above his own tangled blonde locks. To be fair though- Hawks is usually shorter than most people.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't even see you there," the boy says. He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. They're....probably close to the same age?  

"It's fine," Hawks says. His cheek is oddly warm, likely from the impact. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Oh crap, that's gonna leave a mark." The boy leans forward, hissing through his teeth as he pokes at Hawks' sore cheek. "Ohhh, I'm so sorry."

"It's really no big deal," Hawks assures. "I've taken way worse hits than a toy ball before."

The boy laughs again, tossing the ball in the air and catching it. "Yeah, well, I bet most toy balls weren't on fire a few minutes before hitting you." He winks at Hawks and seconds later the ball--and the kid's hand--bursts into flame.

Hawks gasps, leaning forward as his eyes go wide. The boy yanks the ball away, surprised to see him reach out. "Hey! Don't you know not to play with fire?" He watches the shorter kid with sharp turquoise eyes.

"That is so cool!" Hawks squeals. His wings are fluttering, a buzzing energy coming off him as he grins. He's not seen too many fire quirks in person before. The HPSC only had one on staff, and she couldn't make flames appear, she could only manipulate fire that was already burning. Hawks' quirk was spectacularly ill-suited for being around flames but-

"Your quirk is like Endeavor's!"

The boy winces, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck again. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I'm not anywhere near his level, really."

"He's my favorite hero," Hawks reveals. "He's the best!"

"Really? Isn't the number one All Might, though?" the boy is watching him, some odd emotion hidden in the quirk of his eyebrows. Hawks isn't sure which one, though, and he's too busy shaking his head to think of it.

"All Might might be number one, but Endeavor is my favorite. He's the reason I'm training to be a hero. I want to be just like him someday."

"I've heard that before." The boy mumbles it under his breath, but Hawks still hears him. He tends to hear a lot of things that probably aren't meant for him.

"Do you want to be like Endeavor too someday?" he asks. Hawks has spent very little time (read:none) with other kids. Is this how people make friends? 

"Huh? Oh, uh, I guess. Not really, but- sorta."

Well, that's not super confident. "Do you want to be a hero?"

"I- yeah, I do. Yes."

Better. Hawks nods seriously, eyeing the way the ball is still glowing with flickering flames. This boy is skinny and scrawny and barely any older than Hawks himself, but he almost kinda looks like Endeavor in that moment with his red hair and blue eyes and beautiful, amazing fire. 

Hawks finds himself a bit enchanted, really. Like a moth drawn to a flame...or in this case a hawk.

"I want to be a hero more than anything," Hawks whispers. "I want to help save people. Just like Endeavor."

The older boy seems almost wistful when he nods and answers, "I want to help people, too." He extinguishes the flames with a sigh, shifting the ball to one hand and flexing the one that was just alight. It's bright red, and for a stupid moment, Hawks thinks it's because of the ball. 

"Are you- did you hurt yourself?"

The boy sighs again. "Not really. It's just warm, see. It wasn't enough to hurt my skin." He lets Hawks run gentle fingertips over the warmth of his palm. "That's the drawback to fire. It burns."

Hawks frowns and eyes the bandages that he can just barely see under the kid's shirt. He doesn't like the sound of that. It doesn't seem right for this boy to be burned, to be hurt. It strikes him suddenly that he hasn't seen the boy smile yet, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to make it happen. 

"Your quirk is really cool, too, though. I love your wings. Can you fly?"

Hawks' wings ruffle happily at the praise. Not too many people like his wings, and he can't help the small blush the words brings to his cheeks. "I can, yeah! Um, not right now though because I'm super tired and I lost a bunch of feathers training earlier."

"Oh, that's a bummer. Do they grow back?"

"Mm hm."

The boy's head tilts, eyeing Hawks and his smaller-than-usual wings. "You mentioned training earlier. What are you training for?"

"To be a hero, of course!" Hawks grins. He's not a very good trainee, not by a long shot according to his handlers, but he's still proud. Hawks will be a hero someday. He will save people. He just knows it.

The boy is giving him a really weird look, though, and Hawks is starting to wonder if this is one of those topics that he's not meant to bring up in public. His heart starts to beat a little faster the longer the kid goes without saying anything. Will he get in trouble? Oh no, he really doesn't want to get in trouble. Not again. Not so soon after last time.

Hawks hates water.

"You seem...happy. To be training," the boy says, hesitantly. Almost like it's a question.

Hawks nods quickly, shooting for reassuring with his smile. Nothing wrong here, nothing odd at all. "Yeah, I love it. I really want to be a hero someday."

The boy nods. "Cool. Um. Yeah. Just- be careful, ya know? Training is really meant to be for the big kids."

Hawks wants to say he is a big kid. Hawks wants to say that he's not much younger than this boy, who is clearly already in training himself. Hawks wants to tell him that he can beat any staff at the HPSC in a race and can rescue ten people from a collapsing building at the same time without even thinking. That someday that number will be in the dozens. Hawks isn't some little kid. 

But there's that strange look in the boy's eyes as he trails them up and down Hawks body. He ruffles Hawks' hair, running the hand down his shoulder and arm like he's discretely checking for injuries. It feels...kind of nice. Hawks knows he's uninjured. Anything surface-level doesn't count, so he'll be perfectly functional once his feathers grow back.

Still. It's kind of nice to know someone cares. Even if it's just some stranger who hit him in the face with a ball.

"I gotta go now. My dad will be mad if I don't make it back by sunset. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Hawks nods, only realizing his own troublesome predicament after the boy mentions it. He's lingered too long, and now he'll probably be punished for lateness as well. "Same!"

The boy nods, squeezes his shoulder once, and turns to jog off the way he came. He's made it several strides away when he suddenly turns and shouts over his shoulder. "Hey, what's your hero name gonna be?"

It takes the kid a second, but: "Hawks!" 

The boy laughs, and his first smile of the evening breaks over his face. It makes him look younger, a little less ethereal and a little more real, and something warm tangles in Hawks' chest a the sight. "Nice meeting you, Hawks! I'll make sure to look out for your name on the charts in a few years, yeah?"

And with that, the beautiful stranger with the fire and the bandages and the loveliest laugh turns around and runs out of sight. Hawks' wings are fluttering, red feathers floating around his face. He's grinning the whole rest of the way home, even his impending punishment not enough to dim his joy. It's the first time someone's called him by his new name other than a handler.

It isn't until a couple of days later that Hawks realizes he never learned the other boy's name.

***

Hawks' next interaction with a Todoroki comes a few years later when he is eleven.

He’s not really supposed to be downtown like this, but he was tired of being cooped up all the time, and his handlers kept saying he needed better interpersonal skills anyway. How was he supposed to have good people skills if he never interacted with other people??

So Hawks is eleven, and he’s downtown without a handler, when he ducks into a small shop to browse for snacks. It’s not the snacks that grab his attention, though. It’s the wall of assorted heroes, action figures and posters and keychains and more, that lines one side of a shelving unit. Hawks can’t help it- his feet pause in front of the Endeavor display almost without his permission. 

He doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t touch one, doesn’t flip one over and look at the price tag. He knows better than to think he’d be allowed to keep anything he brought back. But- he can’t stop looking. 

Hawks still remembers the feeling of the soft doll against his fingers, the way it would hide his tears and his pain and his sorrow. The way it would keep him company through his father’s rages and his mother’s moods.

He doesn’t realize that he’s been leaning forward, drawn to the sight of flame and fire, until a voice speaks up beside him and he almost topples into the display.

“You should pick someone else.” The voice is short and clipped and coming from a girl near Hawk’s own age. She’s got funky hair- mostly white but with bits of red thrown in. Her eyes are steely gray and too serious for her age when they turn and meet Hawk’s own.

“Seriously. All Might would be a better choice.”

Hawks finds himself shaking his head. “Endeavor is my favorite hero!” he says. He saved me, he doesn’t say. 

But the girl’s nose scrunches up like she smelled something rotten. “He shouldn’t be. All Might’s much better. Or even someone like Best Jeanist or Gang Orca.”

Before Hawks can protest again, a woman with the same white-blonde hair comes around the corner. “Fuyumi? I told you not to wander off.” She seems a bit flustered, and she’s holding the hand of an utterly tiny little kid.

Hawks wasn’t good at ages. Fuyumi's just a bit taller than him, but this kid would barely reach his waist. And Hawks wasn’t very tall. He was cool looking though- half his hair was red and half was white. Hawks had never seen that before.

“Oh, hello,” the woman says. Hawks straightens up at the attention and gives her a little bow. “Fuyumi, did you make a friend?”

The girl’s nose scrunches up again and she shakes her head. “No, he’s weird. He said Endeavor is his favorite hero.”

“Oh.” The woman looks even more flustered now, laughing awkwardly and telling her daughter that not everyone has to have the same favorite hero. She’s fidgety and nervous, tugging at her sleeves, and letting her eyes flick around the store from her kids to Hawks to the shelves and back.

Hawks is surprised by the way Fuyumi starts arguing with her mother. It makes alarm bells go off in his head, makes him want to tug the girl behind him and shut her up before she gets herself in trouble. His back and ribs ache with sympathy pain at the punishment that will surely be awaiting the girl when he sees the mother tug her to the side. 

His wings shuffle restlessly, caught in the awkwardness of the scene, and he’s contemplating leaving or stepping in when a tiny hand tugs at his shirt. The little boy is looking up at him with eyes as mismatched as his hair.

“All Might?” his tiny voice squeaks. The toddler points at the shelf where a row of All Might dolls sits. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure kid.” He reaches up on his tiptoes to grab a soft plush version of the number one hero. His wings give a tiny flap to help him out--man, Hawks really is kinda short--and when he turns back around they swish through the air behind him. 

He’s grinning, about to hand the kid his toy, when he sees the way the boy flinches at the movement, curling into himself when Hawks’ wing passes in front of him. It sends an ugly prickle of wrongness down his spine. 

Hawks used to do that. Hawks used to shy away at the slightest motion, head turned to avoid what he was sure would be a slap or a kick from his father. Even long after his father was gone, Hawks’s brain still believed that people coming toward him meant pain, even as the actual action of flinching was trained out of him. 

His fingers tightened around the All Might plush, and he found his gaze flicking one column over. Hawks was training to be a hero. Like Endeavor. The kind of hero who would help create a world where little boys didn’t have to look so scared when bigger people moved. 

With a soft smile, he dropped into a crouch so he’d be eye level with the kid. “You sure you don’t want Endeavor instead? He’s my favorite. He always makes me feel safe.”

He succeeds in getting the kid to perk back up but is surprised when he immediately shakes his head. “E’deavor a meanie. I want All Might.”

Hawks just blinks at him for a moment, thrown off by the surety in his high-pitched voice. Sure, Endeavor didn’t go around smiling all the time like All Might, but that just made him even cooler in Hawks’ opinion. He definitely wasn’t a ‘meanie’ and he was usually pretty popular with little kids. 

Frowning, Hawks shakes his head. “Endeavor is a really cool guy, and he’s saved a lot of people! He’s not mean, he’s a hero.”

Some part of Hawks is aware that arguing with a four year old is probably not displaying good interpersonal skills. But he can’t help but feel defensive over his childhood idol. Who do these kids think they are?

There’s a small moment of silence where Hawks realizes the girl and her mom are now listening too, and he stands back up with an embarrassed flush. The girl frowns, marching over and grabbing the All Might plush for her brother. “You wouldn’t get it,” she grumbles at him. 

“Wouldn’t get what?”

The girl opens her mouth again but is cut off by her mom. “Fuyumi. Leave it.” The woman looks…sad, almost, and that itching sense of wrongness comes back with more strength. This whole situation feels weird.

Fuyumi’s eyes are cold as ice when she leans in close, so close Hawks finds himself leaning back on instinct. “Trust me. You should find a new favorite.”

With that, the little family is gone, the mother ushering the kids over to the counter to pay and sweeping out of the store. Hawks blinks, still trying to process what just happened, and he turns back to the shelves with a frown. 

Years later, Hawks won’t remember meeting the trio. It was just one random, unimportant day when he was eleven. It would fade entirely from his memory, not a single detail sticking around. 

But without him even knowing, deep in his mind where the itchy feeling of wrongness was pushed, a tiny seed of doubt had been planted. 

***

The time when Hawks is thirteen probably doesn't count. Or at least- it didn't at the time. Mostly because he barely remember it happened, the memory fuzzy on the edges like something he might've dreamed up.

It's dark out and it's pouring rain and Hawks is pretty sure something is broken. A bone, most likely. One of his, he's pretty sure. 

To be honest, Hawks' brain isn't quite up to figuring it out at the moment. All he knows is everything hurts. 

The great thing about Hawks being able to fly, is that his handlers can send him into or outside of the city for additional training without having to worry about him being able to get back home. The problem with that thinking, however, is that it assumes that Hawks will always be able to fly at the end of training. 

The large scale facilities like the one he'd just left are known HPSC properties used by other heroes and heroes in training to test their quirks. Because of their public nature, his handlers generally don't want people to see Hawks coming and going from them. He's an open secret amongst HPSC staff, even those who don't work closely with him, but he's still a secret secret to the pro hero world. 

All that to say- Hawks is meant to fly home. It's not far. It would take him barely ten minutes if he was in the air. It's taking him hours by foot though. There's barely anything left of his feathers, and what is left, is hanging in tattered, rumpled clumps, sticky with blood and dirt. His head is pounding so hard he can barely keep his eyes open, stumbling like a drunk man down streetsides and alleyways, trying to stay hidden in the shadows.

It's late enough by now that there's not too many people around to see him. Still, it wouldn't do to get caught like this. Hawks can barely breathe, every gasp of air sending a painful shock through his chest, and he doesn't know if he'd be able to defend himself or even talk to someone if they bumped into him right now. 

Which, of course, meant someone had to go and bump into him. 

Hawks hits the ground before he processes anything else. At first, there is only the white hot spear of pain, the sharp cry exiting his mouth before he can get a handle on it. He's not supposed to cry out like that. His handlers had always admonished him for it.

"A-are you okay?"

No, no Hawks is not okay. Hawks would very much like to be home. In bed. And not curled up in a pathetic lump on the ground of some alley, dirty and wet and feeling very close to crying for the first time in years.

"Hey, should- do I need to call an ambulance? Can you hear me?"

Yes, Hawks can hear him. No, please don't call an ambulance. Hawks would be in trouble. Hawks doesn't want to be in trouble, he can't, they'll hurt him, he doesn't want to be hurt anymore, Hawks wants to go home, please, please don't call an ambulance.

"Okay, okay, relax, I'm sorry, I won't call anyone."

Huh. Hawks must be speaking out loud. Everything hurts.

"Yeah, I bet. You look awful, kid, is there anyone I can call? I think you're bleeding."

He is. He definitely is. But-

"I'm fine," he manages. He's pretty sure those words were out loud. On purpose this time.

"You're really really not. Oh my god, that does not look good, please let me call an ambulance."

Hawks' breath hitches in his chest and panic thrums low in his stomach. He's a bit too numb and removed to really feel it, but he's pretty sure his eyes are wide and his pulse is pounding. He shakes his head, the world spinning and turning and grey on the edges, and coughs weakly. 

"No," he tries to say. "Please," is what comes out.

He's still on the ground. He tries to focus, eyes wandering until they land on the shape of a tall boy crouched over him, worried blue eyes flickering over his crumpled form. He looks...familiar.

"You need help," the boy whispers. His hair is white, plastered to his forehead and the sides of his neck. It makes him look a bit like an ice prince, which is a dumb thing to be thinking right now. Great, now Hawks feels even colder.

"Cold," he whimpers. He struggles to get his legs to respond so he can get back to his feet. He needs to keep moving. He needs to get home. 

"Whoa, hang on, let me help you!" A pair of calloused hands slips under his arms and help heave him off the ground. Everything spins, and Hawks groans as he struggles to keep hold of the meager contents of his stomach. Oh god, he hasn't puked after training in ages. 

Hawks slumps in the boy's strong hold, his forehead coming to rest upon the teen's shoulder. He's much taller than Hawks, skinny and lanky and long limbed. He's soaked through, just like Hawks is, and it finally occurs to him to wonder why the other kid is out in the pouring rain at night like this.

"Why're you...here," he mumbles. "You're warm."

He is warm. The points of contact--hands, shoulder--against Hawks feel way warmer than his freezing, rain-slick skin. He leans toward it on instinct, wings shuffling as he tries to burrow into the offer of heat.

"I should really be asking you that. You should be in a hospital bed. I think you're getting blood on me."

"S'rry."

"No, it's...it's fine, I just- let me at least help you get home. Do you live nearby?"

Hawks whines and shakes his head. He does, reasonably so now that he's made most of the journey on his own two feet, but the thought of going any further seems impossible right now.

"Kid, I really think you need help."

"I'm fine." That, at least, is easy to say. Drilled into Hawks through hundreds of training days, the standard answer to any question thrown his way. Hawks didn't have the option of 'not fine'. He was either functional or he wasn't, and he never wanted to see his handlers when he wasn't considered functional. They did not appreciate failure.

The taller boy is running his hands up and down Hawks' back and arms and...oh. Oh, that feels good. His hands are warm. Hawks chirrups softly and presses further into the teen's hold. A few minutes pass that way, neither boy saying anything, and Hawks feels a little more life return to him. This feels good. This feels safe. Hawks kind of wants to stay here forever. Except...he can't.  

He pushes gently out of the teen's hold, swaying but managing to stay on his feet. He doesn't try to smile, knows he wouldn't be able to, but he does let his head dip in something that could be sorta taken as a bow. "Thanks," he whispers. "I g-gotta get home."

The teen is watching him, eyes too bright and too serious and too full of a type of concern Hawks isn't used to seeing. There's a colored stretch of skin across the taller boy's neck, shiny when it catches the light and wrinkly looking in a way Hawks is familiar with. A burn, his mind supplies. He latches onto it, staring at where it disappears into the the teen's shirt so he can avoid those knowing blue eyes. 

"Let me at least help you get there," the teen suggests. He says it firmly, no room for disagreeing, and Hawks is too tired to fight him. He just turns and starts his stumbly way home again, wings fluttering to try and keep him on his feet. The teen follows immediately, slipping an arm under him in support.

Everything. Hurts. 

At least the teen is warm, and for all that he looks as thick as a twig, he's surprisingly sturdy and strong. Or maybe Hawks is just tiny. It could be both. 

They've made it another couple of blocks, the building in sight, when the teen breaks the silence again. "Who did this to you?" he asks quietly.

There's not really a good answer to that. The HPSC? He's not allowed to talk about them. His handlers? Sounds just as a suspicious. Could he get away with saying he was mugged? ...maybe.

Hawks decides on a shrug. There's a laundromat just a block ahead, and Hawks can get entry into the building from there. It will look like he lives in the apartment above it. He's so close. He just wants to be home.

"I know, kid, I'm trying. I'm sorry."

It takes a second for Hawks to realize he's making noises, soft and pathetic and high pitched. He hasn't been this out of it in a long while. Certainly never while he was out in public. He hates it, hates that someone is seeing him like this, but at the same time- he's never felt quite as safe as he did those few brief moments when the teen had held him in his arms. 

The taller boy seems a little confused when Hawks steers him to the locked door of a dark and empty laundromat. Hawks is insistent though, even if he's losing his ability to really string together true sentences. The problem, it becomes apparent, is that the door is locked and Hawks doesn't have a key. 

"You sure this is right? Does anyone live with you?"

Hawks nods, but then whines long and low. "They can't...I need to get in." He paws at the door as though it will suddenly open as if by magic. He usually flies right into the main building. This is a problem he didn't forsee in his messed up state.

"Okay, okay, um, let me think."

Hawks can't think. His brain is mush, is jelly, is about as helpful as water on an oil fire. He just needs to get inside. Once he's inside, someone will come get him. Someone will come put Hawks back together. For all the pain his handlers cause him, they always put him back together. They have to.

"Alright, I really hope this is actually your place, kid, because I'm pretty sure this is illegal. Don't move, okay?"

Hawks nods. Does he nod? Hawks tries to nod. Either way, the teen shuffles him to one arm and reaches out his now open hand to hold under the lock. It's an old fashioned one, metal and ancient and mostly there for looks. Very few people actually use this door, after all. Hawks is lucky it's been on his mind since he left the training dome or he probably would've been too out of it by the time the teen arrived to have drug it out of the depths of his brain on his own. 

Without further warning, the teen's hand suddenly erupts into blue flame. It's...mesmerizing. Hawks finds a little of the pain pushed back by the awe that takes over as he watches the fire flicker and dance in the teen's hold. He's never seen such a beautiful quirk before. He's never seen blue fire at all before. 

It must be hot, though, because the metal turns red almost immediately. The teen winces slightly, but keeps going until he can take the lock in his fiery hand and yank it off the door. It clatter to the ground, sizzling and steaming in as the cold rain pounds down. 

The fire still flickers. Hawks watches, enraptured, as it casts a strange blue glow over the teen's pale skin. Amazing.

"Okay. Okay, c-can I help you inside? There's no way you can climb stairs like this."

Right, the door is open now. Hawks shakes his head, regrets it just a bit, and manages to very definitely say, "No." The teen doesn't look all that pleased by the answer, trying a few more times to convince him, but Hawks pulls out of his arms and keeps repeating himself. He can't let the teen inside. Can't let him see where it leads.

The HPSC building looms over them, and Hawks knows that someone is probably watching them. Probably waiting for him. He hopes they didn't see the beautiful boy's fire. That was a sight Hawks wants to keep all for himself. 

The teen seems torn at the idea of leaving Hawks, of not knowing whether he'd be alright. Hawks wishes there was a way to reassure him. He...never did find out why the other boy is out this late, soaked to the bone and running into people in alleyways. 

"Thank you," Hawks says. He means it. His head is pounding, chest aching and vision blurry, and he's not sure he'll remember the teen's face by morning. But his words are sincere.

The teen gives him a tiny, crooked grin, worried and soft. "You know, this is the opposite of what I meant when I told you to be careful," he says. He sighs, running a hand through his pearly white hair. His turquoise eyes shine in the moonlight. "Take care of yourself, okay Hawks? You don't deserve to live like this."

With that, the teen leaves him, shuffling off into the shadows and being eaten up by the night. Hawks makes it inside, makes it to the panel on the wall and slams his hand on it until he's pretty sure it's done its job. He slumps against the wall and tries to breathe, eyes closed and mind whirring. 

Take care of yourself, okay Hawks?

The teen had known who he was. Had known his name. Hawks had never told anyone his name before, had he? He was pretty sure he'd remember meeting someone like that, with his icey hair and his gorgeous blue flames. How had the teen known who he was?

I told you to be careful. 

Had they met before? Hawks can't remember. He's trying, but he can't remember. White hair, blue flames. He can't recall a thing. 

He's still thinking about when he eventually slides into unconsciousness, and he's still thinking about it when he wakes back up. The pain is better, he's clean and warm and dry now. White walls and disinfectant and frowning handlers. This, Hawks is familiar with. This, Hawks knows.

White hair, blue flames. Hawks holds onto it. Holds on to the memory of the teen. He doesn't want to forget again. Even when they punish him. Even when his ears are ringing and his screams are so loud they turn silent. Hawks repeats it over and over in his head. 

White hair, blue flames. Take care of yourself, Hawks. 

In the end, Hawks won't recall the teen's face. Won't remember what his voice sounded like or how tall he was or what color his eyes are. But the flames. Those beautiful, blue flames. Hawks won't ever forget those.

***

Hawks is fourteen the second time he sees Endeavor in person.

He’s already forgotten that day in the shop, and the night in the rain feels like a fever dream, hazy and washed out and too impossible to be real. Today isn't the time to be thinking about such things anyway. Hawks is much too excited to be pondering over the past. 

Hawks is a teenager now. His handlers have been letting him have more and more freedom downtown outside of training. Soon, Hawks will be old enough to try for a provisional hero license. He needs to get to know this city, its twists and turns, its ups and downs, and most importantly: its people. 

Well, he’s certainly found a bunch of those people right now. They’re crowded up on all sides of him, pushing with excitement as they eye the action unfolding right before their eyes. There’s a villain on the loose. And Endeavor is here!

Hawks is so excited he can barely breathe. Or- maybe that has something to do with the bruising force of bodies around him. His toes are being stepped on and his feathers crushed. He knows he’s not supposed to draw attention to himself, but…Endeavor is holding everyone’s attention. Hawks slips out of the crowd and lets his wings spread out, taking to the air so he can get a better glimpse of the fight.

It’s incredible. Hawks has never seen a true fight before! He’s watched them on TV, sure. Studied them during training. He’s gone up against dozens of different quirks in his years under the commission. But- this is different. This is real. 

Endeavor is shouting, flames shooting sky high as he crashes into the villain of the week. Glass shatters and brick tumbles to the ground as they hit the side of a building and leave behind a sizable dent. Hawks’ wings are quivering with excitement, his breath coming in quick little gasps. 

The fight doesn’t last very long. The villain is no match for the number two hero, and the cops show up within moments to snap a pair of quirk-suppressing handcuffs on the guy. Endeavor stands by the car, his flames reflecting the bouncing red and blue lights, and it reminds Hawks abruptly of that day when he was six years old.

He’s grown up a lot since then. He’s learned a lot since then. He’s…suffered, a lot since then.

But Hawks still remembers his promise. He wanted to be a hero like the kind he’d seen in Endeavor that day outside his house. And watching him now, that resolve only hardens. 

Hawks’s back is aching where he’d taken a beating during sparring that morning. There are cuts littering the side of his right arm. His shoulders burn where they’d yanked the unwanted feathers straight from his skin, and his ankle nearly gives out when he settles back onto the ground.

Hawks’ every day is filled with pain. He’s been slammed into plenty of walls himself, thrown onto cold hard floors, punched so hard he couldn’t breathe, and knocked unconscious too many times to count. 

But they’re making him a hero. One of these days, so very very soon, Hawks is going to be able to stand where Endeavor is standing. He’s going to be the one shoving a villain into the police car to the cheers of the crowd. 

He’s going to be the savior for some little kid who hadn’t even know such a thing could exist in real life.

“I’m going to be just like you,” Hawks whispers. 

Wherever that seed of doubt is, it’s long buried by now.

***

Their next encounter comes not even a year later. Hawks has had his provisional license for barely two months when the HPSC gets him an invite to some fancy shindig that requires him to wear a suit.

Several of the top twenty heroes are here, mingling and chatting and clearly feeling much more comfortable about the whole thing than Hawks. He’s not old enough to drink, nor old enough to look like he’s old enough to drink, so he’s stuck nursing a glass of sparkling water as he scans the room for people to talk to. Guess it’s time to put those interpersonal skills to the test. 

By the time a couple of hours have passed, Hawks thinks he’s doing a pretty good job, all in all, especially considering he’s the youngest one here by at least five years. Or- scratch that. Maybe not…

There’s a kid here. He’s roughly elementary-aged (Hawks isn’t good at ages, remember?) and standing awkwardly in a shadowy corner away from the tables of food and drink. There’s a tall hero with a flashy silver suit trying to strike up a conversation with him.

That’s not what catches Hawks’s attention though. It’s the kid’s hair. It’s half red and half white in a way that sparks a tiny sense of familiarity in Hawks’s brain. Almost like he’s seen it before. He’s already making his way over before he catches sight of something even more distinctive.

Whoa. The kid has a large red patch (birthmark? scar? part of his quirk?) that covers his left eye. It blends into the red of his hair on that side and makes the brilliant shade of his single blue eye stand out even more. 

He’s really striking looking, Hawks can’t deny. The kind of pretty and unique that the cameras and media would love. He’s itching to know what kind of quirk the kid might have, because if he’s here- that must mean he’s related to one of the heroes.

“Hey, Ingenium-san, long time no see. What’s with the pipsqueak?”

Ingenium is one of Hawks’ favorite heroes. He’s several years older than Hawks, but has a laid-back attitude that makes him easy to get along with. Plus- he’s just plain cool. Hawks worked with him about a month ago and found himself grinning from ear to ear when he realized the turbo hero was quick enough to keep up with him.

“Oh, hey Hawks. Didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.” 

“Mm. Me neither. I don’t think these gigs are really my thing.”

Ingenium laughs easily, matching Hawks’s grin as they peer out of the corner toward the mess of mingling heroes. “Yeah, they’re a bit of a chore, but the jobs gotta have some downsides, right?”

See, Ingenium’s cool. Below them, though, the kid is watching and Hawks finds himself endlessly curious as to why, exactly, there’s a child at this event. The kid’s wearing a tiny suit that looks perfectly tailored, his hands loose by his side as his eyes stare blankly in front of him. 

He looks bored. Which- yeah, Hawks can certainly understand that.

“Right, Hawks, this is Todoroki-kun. He’s about my brother’s age, so I was just telling him it’s a shame I didn’t bring Tenya along.”

Hawks hadn’t even known Ingenium had a brother. Especially one so much younger than himself.

“Nice to meet you, Todoroki-kun. I know why I got dragged here, but how’d you end up so unlucky?” He shoots the kid a winning smile, but it fades a little when the kid just stares at him. 

Maybe he read the situation wrong? Perhaps the kid had really wanted to come along and then just got a little overwhelmed. That would make total sense.

“My dad brought me,” Todoroki finally replies. 

Hawks tries to wrack his head for which heroes had the family name ‘Todoroki’. He’s never been very good at remembering things like that. 

“Must be pretty cool having the number two as your dad! Hard to beat that at career day.”

Thank god for Ingenium. Now Hawks just has to remember who the number tw-

Wait. Wait wait wait. 

“Your dad is Endeavor?!”

Okay, so, that may have been said with just a touch more enthusiasm than was warranted. Hawks feels himself blushing at the looks Ingenium and Todoroki were giving him. “Ah, sorry. I just hadn’t realized Endeavor had a kid.”

His wings shuffle awkwardly behind him, and he sees Todoroki’s mismatched eyes following the movements. He doesn’t look much like his dad--he was tiny --but Hawks could kind of see it in the red of his hair and the blue of his left eye. Wonder if his mom looked like the other half of him. The white hair tugged at his memory, but Hawks pushed it aside for now.

“Yeah, I didn’t know either, and I come from a legacy family too. You should’ve seen the cameras earlier when Endeavor arrived. They were all over the kid!” The turbo hero tilts his half-empty glass in a mock cheer and winks at the boy. “Can’t say I envy having to attend stuff like this so early! I was probably closer to Hawks’ age before I was forced to come to one of these.”

Yeah, Hawks doesn’t envy the kid either. He’d shown up a bit late on purpose, so he missed the typical photo op that awaited the heroes as they entered the building. The few cameras that were left stung his eyes and had him fighting not to cover his face with his wings. He can’t imagine dealing with the full force of them at Todoroki’s age.

Todoroki doesn’t say anything, just looks at Ingenium with those blank mismatched eyes, and Hawks finds his wings rustling again with an odd, itchy feeling. It almost feels like deja vu. There’s something kind of…off, about this kid. Normal children are usually a little more expressive, right?

Eh. Maybe he was just shy.

“Hey, Hawks, I’m gonna go mingle some more, get my points in. You good to stay with the kid?”

Todoroki seems to object to the idea of needing someone to stay with him, but Hawks nods anyway and waves Ingenium off. Funnily enough, Todoroki is probably closer in age to Hawks than Ingenium is. 

“Sorry about that, kid. I can assure you I’m just here to eat and chat, not babysit.”

Todoroki’s nose scrunches up and it again strikes Hawks as familiar somehow. He shrugs his tiny shoulders in reply, like he doesn’t care what Hawks is there for.

“You wanna get some food? Might as well take advantage of the free catering.”

Todoroki shrugs again, but he follows Hawks when the teen makes his way to the nearest buffet table. There’s a long stretch of platters, and Hawks can feel his mouth water just looking at them. His meals are strictly monitored, planned and calculated for maximum efficiency. He eats exactly as much as given, nothing less and nothing more. 

Still- he’s been watching everyone else swing by for platefuls all evening, and without a handler here to stop him, he’s excited for the chance to eat his fill. He steps up eagerly and hands a plate down to the little Todoroki kid. Gosh, he still can’t believe someone so small could be related to Endeavor . 

Hawks makes sure not to take any more than he’s seen the other heroes go for, but it’s still enough to make his wings shuffle happily. He’s balancing a full plate in his hand by the time he checks in on the kid again. Who is…just watching. 

“Hey, kid, are you sure you don’t want anything more? Not every day you get good shi- uh, stuff like this!”

Well. Not every day for Hawks. Maybe Todoroki’s family always has fancy catering, who knows. At number two, Endeavor’s gotta be mega rich. 

Todoroki just shakes his head though. His plate has barely got anything on it. Just a few pieces of sashimi and a tiny scoop of soba salad. Hawks shrugs and decides to drop it, leading them over to a table to sit down.

He digs in right away, the food way too tempting to wait on. It’s delicious too, way higher quality than Hawks is used to. He knows he’ll need to work extra hard later to burn the excess calories off, but right now that seems totally worth it. 

“Eat up, kid. This stuff’s delicious!” 

Todoroki is just poking at his salad, occasionally moving the noodles around with his chopsticks. That weird itch is back as Hawks comes out of his food haze enough to really take the younger boy in. He’s sitting perfectly straight in his chair, not a hint of slouch, and he hasn’t taken a single bite. His face is totally blank, giving nothing away, but his eyes occasionally flit around the room and the fingers of his free hand open and close rhythmically in a way that speaks of hidden anxiety. 

Hawks had assumed he was shy. He feels bad for the kid, being left in a room of adults like this. He wonders why Endeavor isn’t keeping him close by. Hawks softens his voice a little before he speaks again. 

“Hey, it’s okay to feel nervous, ya know. This is my first time at an event like this, and I actually was feeling really anxious myself earlier.”

Todoroki doesn’t say anything, but he’s at least paying attention to Hawks. The teen gives him a gentle smile. “I’m not really great with crowds. Kinda ironic for someone who wants to go pro, huh?”

Todoroki gives a hesitant nod, and Hawks counts it as a win. “You know, I’m a big fan of your dad,” he starts. 

Any hint of warmth the kid was displaying immediately disappears. If Hawks thought his expression earlier was blank, now it’s a total sheet of ice. Cold, hard, and empty. Whoa.

“Uh, I mean- he’s a big reason I got into heroics. You must be really proud of him, right?”

Nothing. Todoroki’s shoulders are tense and he’s practically glaring at the table. Wrong, wrong, something is wrong, Hawks’s brain is saying. Why would he shut down like that just from talking about his dad?

His dad’s Endeavor! He’s the number two hero! If Hawks had a dad like that he’d be shouting it from the rooftops!

Regardless of the reason, though, Hawks decides it’s probably best to change the topic. Maybe the kid’s embarrassed or something- Hawks doesn’t know how kids think. He makes a fumbling attempt to talk about school instead, which is a bit hard considering Hawks never went to school himself.

“I’m homeschooled,” Todoroki finally speaks up. He pokes at his food. 

“Oh, uh, well we have that in common actually!”

The kid blinks up at him, a bit of the tension draining from his tiny frame. “Really?”

Well. Kind of. The HPSC at least made sure he could read and write and knew basic math and history. That counts, right?

Hawks nods. “Yeah, I never went to a true school with other classmates or anything.”

“Did you have tutors, too?”

Tutors, huh? Sounds about right for the son of a mega rich, mega famous pro hero.

“Sure,” Hawks agrees. “But I wasn’t a big fan of sitting at a desk. Flying is a lot more fun than studying.”

Todoroki’s head tilts, and Hawks can see him eyeing his wings again, though he ducks his head when he sees Hawks looking. The teen grins, stretching one out so the feathers come within reach of the table. “You can look. I don’t mind.”

The kid’s eyes light up, and dang- that’s adorable. 

Hawks is more than happy to answer a few questions. Todoroki’s voice is soft and shy, but Hawks can tell he’s got a pretty smart brain behind that fluff. None of the other heroes seem all too interested in bothering them, which makes Hawks feel a little like he’s been sat at the kiddie table, but he finds he doesn’t much mind. 

Todoroki is cute. And Hawks is delighted to see him open up a little more. He’s way too quiet and serious for someone so young. 

“So what’s your quirk, kid?” Hawks finally asks. They’ve been chattering on about his own quirk for several minutes now. 

He regrets it, though, when he sees the kid shut down again. Todoroki’s eyes flick across the room and then land back on their table. “I-I’m not supposed to talk about it,” he whispers.

“Oh.” Hawks wonders if Endeavor is keeping it secret or something. Kinda an odd move, but who is he to question the motives of a pro hero?

Todoroki shuffles in his seat and picks up his chopsticks again like he’s not quite sure what to do now. He still hasn’t eaten. Hawks looks around for something to help clear the strange new tension from the air, and his eyes pause on the dessert table. 

“Hey, kid, why don’t we go get some sweets? Looks like the dessert table has got something for everyone.”

Course, Hawks himself isn’t allowed any. Kids love sweets, though, right? That’s the type of universal thing that even Hawks is aware of. 

But like before, Todoroki shakes his head at the sight of the table. “You sure? They look really tasty.”

The kid’s eyes flick out over the room again, his fingers opening and closing around his chopsticks. “I’m not supposed to,” he says again. 

Hawks frowns. He doesn’t turn around, but he’s pretty sure he knows what hero Todoroki keeps looking at. His wings itch. 

“What do you mean?” he says, all false lightness. “You’re just as much a guest as everyone else.”

Now the boy is nibbling on his bottom lip. His fingers tug at the sleeves of his suit. Man, he’s sure got a bunch of nervous habits for someone so young. “I’m not allowed to eat tonight,” the kid confesses.

It’s really saying something that even Hawks knows that’s a bit weird. Hawks has been on a strict meal plan his whole childhood, sure, but Hawks was also a hero in training under the HPSC and even he had to eat a certain amount of calories a day to keep up with his training. 

Bringing a kid to a big social event and then leaving him to fend for himself is one thing. Telling the kid he can’t even eat any of the many offered dishes and treats is just downright mean. Hawks is about to open his mouth and say so, but the poor kid looks so uncomfortable that he finds himself changing the topic once again.

It’s one more odd thing about the Todoroki kid that Hawks ends up waving off. Maybe the kid has allergies. Maybe they have a family meal planned for after. But the wrongness sits with Hawks longer this time, and it makes him want to tuck the kid under his wings until that sad look is erased from his face. 

They end up talking about cats of all things. Apparently, small furry creatures are a safe conversation topic for Todoroki. He’s telling Hawks all about this little calico that he saw outside his window last week when a large shadow falls over the table.

Todoroki’s mouth snaps shut so fast Hawks could hear his teeth clack. “Shouto,” Endeavor’s voice is low but it carries weight. “I hope you’re not bothering this young man.”

Who, him? Is he a young man? Hawks might be losing it, just a little. Endeavor is right there. Like- Hawks had realistically known he was going to be at this event. But now he was right there. 

Hawks might pass out. This was fine.

“Sorry. You’ll have to excuse my son. He’s supposed to be staying out of trouble.”

Was Endeavor speaking to him? Hawks? Him? 

“Huh? Oh! Oh, no, no, it’s fine. He wasn’t any trouble. We were just chatting.”

Endeavor is looking at him. Oh my god.

Hawks is brought out of his tiny episode of hero worship, however, when a large hand lands on Todoroki’s shoulder. The kid’s whole body seems to jerk-- flinch, his mind whispers--and Hawks can’t help the way his focus narrows at the reaction. 

Todoroki’s face, which had been animated just moments ago when he’d been talking about cats, is back to being icy and blank. His shoulders curl inward, his head tilted away from where his father’s hand lays. 

Wrong, wrong, something is wrong, the itch says. Hawks’ sharp golden eyes dart from the hand to Todoroki’s face to Endeavor hovering over the table. There are no flames tonight, but his suit has been styled with orange accents.
“Actually, um, I was just offering Todoroki-kun some dessert! We were about to head to the table.”

Todoroki’s eyes flick his way, some unreadable emotion in their mismatched depths. Hawks gives Endeavor his most winning smile. This isn’t exactly the conversation he thought he’d be having the first time he got to talk to his idol. But Hawks can’t stop thinking of how skinny and fragile Todoroki’s bony little shoulder looks under Endeavor’s large hand. 

“It’s time for us to leave. Maybe next time,” the hero says. His gaze runs up and down Hawks body once, lingering on his wings. He can tell the man is trying to place him, probably wondering just how old he is. For a man who wields flames, his voice sure is cold.

“Yeah, totally, no problem. Guess I’ll see you around. You too, Todoroki-kun.”

Hawks settles back in his chair and tries to ignore the weird feeling in his gut when Todoroki rises stiffly and gives him a short bow. Endeavor’s hand never leaves his shoulder. 

It’s not his weirdest encounter with someone. It won’t even be his weirdest encounter with a Todoroki. But it sticks out in Hawks’ memory all the same.

His first real meeting with Endeavor. His first time actually talking to the man.
But more importantly- his first time really meeting his son. 

He’ll come to value one of those much more than the other over the years.

***

It turns out Hawks wasn’t lying when he said he’d see him around. Todoroki, that is, not so much Endeavor. The pro hero makes it a habit to drag the kid along to various social events, parading him in front of the cameras early in the night before abandoning him in some corner with instructions to stay out of the way. Hawks finds himself drawn to the younger boy, his presence easier to handle than the much older heroes. 

He hasn’t gotten the chance to work with Endeavor in the field yet. Hawks still only has his provisional license, at least until he turns eighteen in a few months, and Endeavor’s flames aren’t exactly the best match for his fighting style anyway. But it’s still a thrill to remember that they’re sorta, kinda colleagues now.

Bringing up hero work or his dad tends to be a bit of a sore spot for Todoroki, though. The kid doesn’t talk much, preferring to stay to himself in the corner unless approached by someone. He’s perfectly polite, flawless in his manners no matter the venue, but he doesn’t seek out any company. 

Ingenium does actually bring along his brother a couple of times. There’s a whole gaggle of legacy kids that appear a few times a year at the more laid-back events where there’s fewer paparazzi. It makes it even more apparent how stoic Todoroki is for his age when comparing him to the other kids. Plus he’s got pretty terrible social skills. And that’s coming from Hawks. 

Hawks learns to hate networking events. He goes to more of them than he expected, various balls and parties and auctions and charity events. Pro heroes are essentially celebrities after all, and they rely on people knowing and liking them in order to keep their place in the rankings. Plus, it’s a huge draw to have a few of them present for any big event. Various companies will pay good money to have the pros show up for their ribbon cutting or after party or anniversary celebration. 

Hawks has a feeling it will only get worse. He gets most of his invites through the HPSC, not by personal invitation, but his popularity score is growing by the month. He’s fast, flashy, and good at his job. The younger crowd loves him, and he puts those hard-earned crowd work skills to good use just like he’s been trained to. 

Still, it’s a lot easier to face down villains or do flashy flybys over a crowd than to be stuck in a stiff suit and shoved in front of a dozen cameras. Hawks still isn’t old enough to drink, though he at least has been around long enough for the other heroes to stop teasing him about his age. 

Besides, it’s hard to call Hawks the baby in the room when Todoroki is there. The kid’s probably due for a growth spurt soon, but for right now he’s still tiny. His suits are always perfectly tailored, not a rumple or wrinkle to be seen. He’s even begun wearing tiny watches, all dolled up for the cameras like a tiny version of his father. 

Hawks is pretty sure he hates it just as much as Hawks does.

That weird, itchy wrongness that follows the Todoroki boy hasn’t waned any in their many subsequent meetings. Hawks has found himself soothing down his own wings more than once, the large feathered appendages automatically moving to mantle themselves over the tiny kid. 

Something about Todoroki ignites every protective instinct left in Hawks’ body, and he’s not entirely sure why. It’s not just because the kid is so small. It’s not just because he’s so clearly uncomfortable and anxious at being at these events. It’s not even because he still hasn’t seen the poor kid eat anything. 

It’s something else. Something deeper. Something Hawks can’t quite put words on yet, but is honestly a little scared of what it will mean when he finally does. No one else seems to pick up on it, so it’s just Hawks, sitting at the kiddie table and trying to convince the kid that nothing will happen if he sneaks a bite of soba. 

Todoroki declines, of course. He always does.

Still, Hawks learns more and more about the kid through a series of social gatherings, spaced out over the months as the years pass and he goes from a rookie newbie to a nearly eighteen-year-old who already has more rescues under his belt than half the heroes in the room twice his age.

Todoroki is smart. He’s good at analyzing, and he enjoys running through Hawks' latest escapades with him, going over missions in a manner not too dissimilar to how he talks with his handlers but infinitely more enjoyable. Todoroki is training, too. He never outright says it, but Hawks can tell. 

He’s too controlled. His every movement calculated. He watches people move between tables and eyes exits and steak knives with the knowing look of someone who always has a plan up his sleeve. He references ‘tutoring’ in the kind of way that makes it obvious that he’s not talking about schoolwork. He mentions dieting and being sore and staying up late and how his father was in ‘one of those moods’ over the weekend in the same way that Hawks himself might talk about his days and his handlers. 

(If Hawks had been someone, anyone else, these things might have been red flags. These might’ve explained that itchy feeling. Hawks regrets a lot of things, later in life, but this is probably one of the biggest ones. That a young Todoroki was way less subtle about covering for everything, but Hawks was too blind to realize it)

The most obvious sign, though, is the way Todoroki sometimes winces like his ribs hurt. The way he rubs at his arm like there’s a bruise hidden under the cloth. The way he walks slowly like he’s hiding a limp. Hawks recognizes all of them. He’s an expert at hiding injuries himself, after all. 

He still doesn’t know what Todoroki’s quirk is. But he’s certain the kid is strong. And he’s certain the kid will make a great hero someday. 

Hawks makes sure to tell him. Often. Because he loves nothing more than the way it makes the kid's face light up at the encouragement. He has a feeling it’s not something he hears very often. 

“You sure you don’t want a bite, kid? The show is about to start and then we’ll be stuck in our seats.”

Todoroki predictably shakes his head. He’s playing with the salt packets on the table, moving them around and arranging them how he likes over and over again. He tends to like to keep his hands busy.

There’s a shadow of a bruise on the kid’s neck whenever he tilts his head just right. Hawks can’t stop his eyes from landing on it several times over the evening. It’s just a bruise, it’s probably not a big deal. Hawks himself is covered in them after all, hidden away beneath the fabric of the hero costume he’s been allowed to wear to this event. 

Still. His wings itch. 

This particular event should be a fun one for the kid, at least. Not only is his dad being honored--which is one of the main reasons Hawks himself is so excited--but there’s a big fancy stage with pyrotechnics and fancy lights and a small band that all adds up to what will surely be a good show. 

Todoroki seems to be in a bit of a mood tonight, however. It’s been several months since Hawks last saw him, and he’s probably only here because of how important the night is to Endeavor. All Might himself is in the building, which Hawks had thought would at least get the kid a little more excited than usual.

But Todoroki just stays curled up in his chair and plays with the salt packets, even as the cameramen perk up and the first speaker arrives on stage. There’s a large screen displaying Endeavor’s recent mission, and Hawks forgets about the kid a little as he watches with wide eyes. 

God, he’s so cool. The number two hero. Hawks hates to admit it- but he’s a bit jealous of Todoroki. He can’t imagine how great it would be to have Endeavor as a dad. He probably trains Todoroki himself. Hawks has been kicked around from one nameless faceless handler to another for so many years now that he’s forgotten what his own father’s face even looks like. 

He remembers his parents in flashes of pain and hunger and in the stench of alcohol and trash. He has no happy memories of them. He doesn’t remember any soft hugs or soothing lullabies or kind words. The majority of Hawks’ childhood has been concrete walls and screaming pain and desperate muscles straining to be better, to be perfect, to be enough. The cold faces of his handlers watch him, evaluate, judge, and analyze. They do not comfort. 

Hawks would give anything to have had Todoroki’s life he thinks. To grow up rich and comfortable. To know without a doubt that you’ve been set up for maximum success, a legacy position just waiting for you. To always feel safe and protected. To train under the best, to be pushed but also be loved. 

Hawks doesn’t resent the HPSC. Not really. They’re all he knows, and he trusts them. They made him a hero. But still…he can’t help but watch the screen and feel a little bit jealous. 

By the time it’s time for the award presentation, Hawks has scooted his seat several inches forward. He’s watching with sparkling eyes as Endeavor comes onto the stage, and he can see Todoroki sit up a little out of the corner of his eye. 

“Come on, kid. Sit up here with me,” Hawks beckons. 

Todoroki is watching the stage, his eyes tracking his father, but he doesn’t move closer. His fingers are curled around a salt packet, so hard Hawks would be worried he’d break it if he was paying close enough attention to see. But Hawks is watching the stage.

Hawks is watching his hero, voice booming, and Hawks is gasping in awe and delight with the rest of the crowd when large columns of flame shoot off around the stage in time to Endeavor’s speech. The hero’s own flames are flickering around his face, and Hawks is totally enraptured. The pyrotechnics are close enough to feel the heat and hear the rush of air and whoomph of the columns shooting off around the stage. 

It’s awesome. Hawks is loving it. He’s grinning widely when he turns to Todoroki and-

Hold up.

“Hey, kid, you okay?”

Another flash of fire burst into the air. In the orange glow of it, Hawks can see just how pale Todoroki has become. He’s shaking, his eyes wide wide wide, and his skin has drained of all color until he looks sickly and white. Hawks isn’t really sure he’s breathing. 

“Todoroki-kun? Kid, you gotta breathe. Can you take a breath for me?”

Somewhere on the stage, Endeavor shouts something. Hawks isn’t quite sure what because he’s too busy watching the way Todoroki’s body jolts in a whole body flinch and then suddenly, the kid is gasping for air, hyperventilating and looking on the verge of collapsing. 

Hawks is kneeling in front of his seat, wings up to cover them from sight, before he even thinks to move. Todoroki is shaking and sobbing and he grabs onto Hawks’ sleeve with a hand that is ice cold. 

Hawks makes the executive decision to leave the room. He might be bringing attention to them, he’s not sure, but he doesn’t really care in that moment. In a flash of red feathers, Hawks is in the hallway outside the auditorium, Todoroki’s back to the wall as Hawks stands in front of him with wings mantled.

“Todoroki. Kid. Breathe, okay. You’re okay, you’re safe, you just gotta take a breath.”

The kid shakes his head, slumped over with one hand gripping Hawks and the other clutched to his chest. “I c-c-can’t!” he cries. 

Each drag of air sounds like it hurts, raspy and wheezing and breaking around sobs that pull from deep in the kid’s throat. Tears are streaming down his pale cheeks, and he’s shaking so hard he’d have fallen to the ground without Hawks’ support. 

He reaches one hand out, intending to help prop the kid up a bit so he can breathe better, but Todoroki flinches so hard his head smacks into the wall behind him. He panics, struggling in Hawks’ hold, whining low in his throat as he gasps and coughs and stares at Hawks with frightened eyes that aren’t actually seeing him. 

“N-no, no, p-please, I d-don-, I didn-, please, no, I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry,” the kid pleads. He cuts off from lack of air, wheezing and doubling over, the hand on his chest moving up to cradle his head. Hawks lets him sink to the floor, curling into himself and struggling to get air into his tiny lungs. 

Whatever it is Todoroki thinks he sees right now, Hawks wants to kill it. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, kid. I promise. I just need you to breathe for me, okay? Come on, we’ll do it together.”

Hawks makes a huge exaggerated breath, letting his chest expand and holding it a few seconds before blowing it out. He does it again. And again. Todoroki seems to be trying to follow him, but-

“I c-can’t, it’s not work-king, I can’t,” he cries. The hand on his head wraps around strands of red hair and yanks hard. He keens, a noise that makes Hawks’ feathers stand on end. 

“Please,” the kid whispers. Hawks doesn’t know what he’s begging for, begging to, but the wrongness that follows the kid has exploded into a giant glaring red light that is flashing and screaming in Hawks’ mind. 

Something is so very very wrong here .

“You’re okay kid. You’re not there. You’re here with me, with Hawks remember? Just keep breathing.”

It takes several more long, painful minutes before Todoroki is able to successfully follow Hawks' breathing. He’s still got his right hand wrapped around Hawks’ wrist, and the older teen doesn’t think he even realizes it. It’s dark in the little ball that Hawks’ wings have created, and Hawks’ chest is rumbling in a way that he’s never heard it do before. Oh well. More important things to worry about. 

Hawks waits until Todoroki sits up on his own and wipes at his eyes before he drops the overexaggerated breathing. “You good, kid?” he asks. He keeps his voice as gentle as he can. Hawks has had more than his fair share of panic attacks before, he knows how terrifying and exhausting they can be. He’s never had someone to talk him through it before, never had a kind voice on the other side, but he knows it’s something he would’ve greatly desired.

Todoroki nods, sniffling and wiping at his cheeks. He’s still trembling a little and his pulse is racing, but now he mostly just seems tired. God, he really is a tiny thing. There’s cheering coming from the other side of the wall. Todoroki winces when he hears it, a flush creeping up his neck as though he’s embarrassed.

“Hey, it’s cool, kid,” Hawks is quick to reassure him. “Do you feel better now?”

Todoroki nods, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. It makes Hawks’ own chest ache, the raspy sound a little too similar to the heartbreaking pleas he’d been hearing just moments ago.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Hawks says. It’s a far cry from what he’s been taught about panic attacks. That they’re a sign of weakness, that he should be ashamed for succumbing to them, that it’s not the actions of a hero, Hawks, you can do better than this!

But Hawks isn’t a complete idiot. Clearly, that’s not what Todoroki needs to hear right now. And maybe…well, maybe it wasn’t what Hawks needed to hear back then either.

“Come on. How about we find somewhere a bit more comfortable to sit?”

Todoroki’s eyes widen again and he glances down the hallway frantically. “I-I don’t want to go back,” he says quickly. 

“It's cool, kid. We can hang out here for a bit.”

Todoroki’s large mismatched eyes meet his. “You won’t be mad?” he breathes.

Hawks frowns, trying to kick the many memories of his own childhood from his head at the words. Mad, they’ll be mad, you’ll be in so much trouble, Hawks!

“No, kid, I’m not mad. It was a bit overwhelming in there even for me, actually.”

It’s a lie, but Todoroki accepts it with a shy smile. He finally seems to notice where his right hand is and jerks it back with a gasp. He’s staring, and Hawks follows his gaze to see a thin layer of ice covering his sleeve in the shape of a handprint.

“Whoa,” he can’t help but say. Todoroki is still staring. Oh shit, is he panicking again?

“It’s fine, Todoroki-kun, hey, look at me. It’s fine.” Hawks gives his sleeve a shake and hides the wince at how stiff and cold he’s just now realizing his wrist. He smiles at the kid.

Ice, huh? Not exactly the quirk Hawks was expecting from Endeavor’s kid. Kinda ironic, honestly. 

Todoroki is nibbling at his lip, fingers pulling on each other. His eyes dart from the frozen sleeve to Hawks’ face and back. With cautious movements, he raises his left hand and hovers it over Hawks’ sleeve. He seems to be looking for permission, and Hawks just raises an eyebrow at him, not sure what he’s hoping for.

With a nervous swallow, Todoroki’s left hand lands on Hawks’ sleeve, and- Oh. Oh, wow. It’s warm. It’s very warm. 

The ice melts in an instant, and the heat seeps down into Hawks’ skin until it feels almost like he’s holding his arm too close to an open flame. Todoroki jerks back, cradling both hands to his chest, and runs worried eyes over Hawks’ face. 

Ice. And heat. Todoroki had…two quirks? Hawks takes the boy in, gaze landing on his mismatched hair and mismatched eyes. Red hair, warm hand. White hair, cold hand. Huh. That’s…that’s a really fucking cool quirk. 

“Thanks, kid. That’s pretty incredible,” Hawks says. He grins, trying to get the kid to look a little less frightened. “You have an awesome quirk.”

Todoroki nods jerkily. “Sorry,” he croaks. Hawks has no idea what he’s apologizing for now.

“It’s okay, my sleeve’s good as new now. No worries.”

Todoroki shakes his head, nose scrunching, but when no further explanation comes, Hawks drops it. He manages to get the kid to his feet, steering him down the hall until they get to one of those tiny decorative benches. Good enough.

He ends up spending the rest of the evening there, Todoroki leaning against his shoulder as they watch funny cat videos on Hawks’ phone. The kid’s clearly exhausted, but he seems to be a lot more relaxed by the time the event is over. Another pro hero, someone Hawks can vaguely remember is one of Endeavor’s sidekicks, comes to collect the kid once the ceremony is over. 

He thanks Hawks for ‘watching the kid’ and tells Todoroki his dad is waiting for him. Hawks watches, wings aching, as the icy mask Hawks is used to slides back over the kid’s face. He stands, bows stiffly to Hawks, and lets himself be ushered down the hall. 

It’s a strange evening, all in all. Hawks isn’t really sure what to think as he makes his way back home. That’s not…right, is it? Hawks is no expert on kids, but nothing about Todoroki’s actions tonight had felt at all okay. 

Up until now, Hawks had felt a sort of kinship with the boy. They had a lot of similarities, regardless of how Hawks preferred to keep an upbeat, camera-ready attitude and Todoroki preferred his icy blankness. Hawks had always felt like he understood the boy better than his peers.

He recognized the determination in his face, the bruises painting his skin, the bags under his eyes. He looked at Todoroki and saw a young Hawks, someone who was eager and desperate to do anything and everything it took to become a great hero. 

Hawks had always trusted the HPSC. Always trusted his handlers. Always believed that, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it scared him or beat him or made him want to cry, everything they were doing was to his benefit. Everything was to make him a better hero. 

Hawks had been grateful. Even when he was falling apart in alleyways and bathrooms in a way not dissimilar to Todoroki, he’d clung to his belief, to the guiding light of Endeavor’s flames, to the promise he’d made the day he gave up his only personal possession.

But…that was Hawks. Hawks wasn’t Todoroki. And for some reason, imagining the younger kid in the same position as Hawks had been in over the years, imagining him screaming in pain and sobbing in fear, it made a wretched, ugly weight curl in Hawks' stomach and slither up his throat. 

He hated it. It was wrong. Todoroki didn’t deserve that. Todoroki didn’t deserve to have every single feather ripped from his back to see if they grew back stronger. Todoroki didn’t deserve to be locked in a closet for three days, unable to see the sun, unable to feel moving air. Todoroki didn’t deserve to be strapped to a bed and poked and prodded and fed various drugs until he no longer remembered his own name. 

Todoroki didn’t deserve any of that. 

(...so does that mean Hawks didn't either?)

Hawks shook his head, tilting his wings to catch an updraft that sends him high into the sky above the city. Everything feels a little better from up here. The city is still celebrating, fireworks popping off in the distance and billboards playing the footage from Endeavor’s rescue in brilliant color. 

For once, the sight of his hero doesn’t make a squiggle of excited admiration stir in his wings. For once, that same itchy awful wrongness shivers down his spine instead. He watches the way Endeavor launches into the air, slamming into his foe with a flaming fist. 

He watches and watches and thinks and thinks. 

Todoroki is just a kid. He’s shy and quiet and so very smart. He likes cats and doing math and his favorite food is cold soba (even if Hawks has never seen him eat any). Todoroki has an awesome quirk, unique and fascinating and with amazing potential even if Hawks has only seen a glimpse of it. 

Todoroki could be a great hero one day, probably even better than his father. 

Hawks had been so jealous of him. Of his life. Of his privilege. He’d thought Todoroki had it all- the best parts of Hawks training and the missing parts of Hawks childhood. He wanted that. What Todoroki had. 

Now, he’s not so sure. Now, he thinks maybe Todoroki has missed out on just as much as Hawks has. 

Hawks angles down and lets the crisp evening air wash over him. He can’t stop seeing it. The fear in those mismatched eyes. The way the orange glow of flames had made it so clear. The way that every burst and pop had made Todoroki smaller and smaller, a tiny little bundle shaking apart in Hawks’ arms. 

Wrong, wrong, something is wrong here, his brain had been screaming. Red alarms. Red alarms everywhere.

Hawks has known Todoroki for almost three years. He’s sat beside him at every one of those fancy functions. Watched him fumble through conversation with his peers. Watched him mouth jokes under his breath like he didn’t understand the punchline. Watched him refuse any food sent his way. 

Maybe he’s shy, Hawks had thought. Maybe he has allergies, Hawks had told himself. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, his mind had whispered. 

Something is wrong here. Hawks knows it. He still doesn’t have the words, but he knows it, deep down in his gut in a way he can no longer ignore. 

God, he just can’t stop seeing it. 

Because really- there’s no other explanation for Todoroki’s freak out. There’s none. Hawks has gone over every ‘maybe’ he can think of, but none of them fit. He knows what it is. Now, he has to struggle with the weight of the meaning. 

What would this mean for him? For the kid? For the hero community? 

Who can he tell? Should he tell anyone? Would any good come of it if he does? 

Hawks closes his eyes and shrieks into the wind. The cold air hides his voice, and he slips between shadows until he slams onto his apartment balcony, the door rattling at his harsh landing. Below him, the city cheers, and orange fireworks burst against the inky night sky. 

Hawks watches and watches and thinks and thinks. There's no other reason.

Why else would Endeavor's kid....be afraid of fire ?