Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Hawks wakes up at five o’clock that Tuesday morning, his feet hit the floor like a prize fighter’s. Muscles tingling, veins buzzing, and wings actually twitchy with the need to move. Practically skimming the carpet of his bedroom, he hits his routine with efficiency and a kind of frenetic energy that just can’t be explained. 

Showering is usually a luxury in the morning, but he treats himself. Briskly washing off and shivering a little as the water hits his hypersensitive skin. It feels like being low-key electrocuted. It feels like being alive. 

Keen golden eyes track the droplets trailing down the contours of his tanned arm. He flexes his forearm under the spray, letting the muscles jump beneath his skin and watching the water go way off course. For some reason, the visual makes him grin - like it’s going to be a day for upsetting the natural order of things.

He sends a feather out for his towel and rubs down with a brisk energy that doesn’t usually hit ‘til his third cup of coffee. But Hawks isn’t complaining. He’s twenty-two, a top hero, and a fucking beast at his job. He’s allowed to feel like a young god every once in a while. 

When he catches sight of himself in the mirror, towel slung low around his hips, hair damp against his forehead, and massive red wings flared out behind him, his smile turns damn near cocky. Days at the gym had paid off.

And he’s got the vitality to prove it.

There’s an intense need to move under his skin. Even knowing he’d be meeting with Dabi later that day didn’t dissuade his abnormally ‘on’ mood. And when he meets his own eyes in his reflection, his smile widens at the fire he sees there.

He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t bother questioning it.

Today is just going to be a fucking good day.

----

Dabi curses under his breath when he opens the door to the League’s current hideout. The smell of mold and days-old pizza hits him like a physical blow to the guts, and his weak stomach turns violently.

“Fuck, Twice - clean up your shit, man.” 

A wimpy noise of not-agreement comes from the vicinity of the couch and Dabi scowls down at the pathetic blanket bundle of their resident cloner. A week’s worth of stubble and bloodshot eyes stare up at him out of an excessively aggrieved face.

“Dabi, thank fuck. You speedy bastard, where have you been? The hot water is broken again.” Twice’s lip actually trembles a little. “Please heat some water?”

The flame villain looks down at him incredulously. “That’s the shit you’re on? Fix it yourself. And clean up all this crap while you’re at it,” he gestures expansively to the stacks of cardboard pizza boxes and nasty, half-torn trash sacks. Possums and raccoons (varmints in general) had nothing on Twice. If it weren’t below freezing outside, the place would be crawling with bugs by now.

Shit, you leave these idiots for one week and look what happens.  

Twice snags his sleeve. “Come on, man. I don’t know how to fix it. Not all of us have freezing cold quirks.  Please, be a bro?” Dabi shrugs him off, grimacing at the grime Twice knocks off his leather coat.  

Okay, so he’s not exactly the picture of spotless hygiene himself.

“No can do,” Dabi quibbles. “Scoping out one of our potential members today.”

“Oh?” The voice of his crusty leader sounds behind him. Dabi shoots a stink-eyed look over his shoulder at Shigaraki, who was wandering into the living room looking two steps away from an actual hobo. “Who’re you scouting today?” The decay villain scratches absently at his midsection, raising his shirt to show an almost concave stomach. Dabi’s not surprised. Three square meals a day was a pipedream nowadays. Not all of them were willing to join Twice’s scrounging in the pizza place’s dumpster, after all.

Not yet, anyway.

It’d been a low month for the League, okay?

“Someone new,” Dabi hedges, breathing shallowly through his mouth. Shigaraki had walked by and... 

Maybe he should heat some water. Goddamn.

“You gonna toast ‘em?” Twice asks. “Without even freezing our water for us, you asshole.”

“No,” Dabi protests too quickly, with perhaps too much nervous sweat. “Those last fuckers had it coming. This one actually has…” - he pauses, dismissing “brains”, “cool wings” and “a killer playlist on Spotify” as too lame and not portentous enough - “potential.”

“Cool,” Shigaraki states. “We’ll come with.”

Dabi backpedals.

“Pure, unadulterated dumbass potential, at least,” he says, aiming for a dismissive jive. His jive either comes off weak, or Shigaraki’s too bored to care. 

“Mmm, whatever - go get Toga and Spinner and the others and we’ll meet at the van.”

“We ran out of gas two days ago,” Dabi reminds him, latching onto the excuse. He hasn’t told anyone he was scoping out/meeting with/lowkey fraternizing with a pro hero. No one. Not a soul. Not even his little ball of moss that he kept in a jar as a pet, and he told Eisley everything.

“Oh,” Shigaraki pauses, still scratching his belly. “Kurogiri can take us then.”

“How many times must I tell you,” a voice sounds from the doorway behind Dabi, making him startle so hard he pops a staple. “I cannot teleport to places I have not been to or cannot see.”

Hah, Dabi thinks. Suck on those misty toes, Shigaraki!

“What if we have a starting point and binoculars?” Shigaraki asks casually, like he hadn’t just come up with a pretty clever workaround. Dabi would gape if it weren’t so undignified.

Kurogiri’s misty head sputters for a second - his version of a surprised expression. “That could work. Where is our starting point?”

“Good question,” Shigaraki mutters, eyeing an increasingly uncomfortable Dabi. “Who are we stalking?”

All three of the villains turn to Dabi as one, and his fight or flight response triggers really hard. He turns on his heel and practically skitters away.

Only to walk directly back into their little powwow with black mist melting away behind him.

“Uhh,” he says smartly in response to their expectant-turned-suspicious faces. “It’s a hero.”

Looks are exchanged. They vary from “Is he serious?” to “He’s finally cracked”. That second one comes from Twice, which is particularly insulting.

“Listen,” Dabi says with just a bit of indignance. “I’ve been recruiting for a while - and I’ve got some good people to show for it.”

“You brought in Moonfish,” Twice reminds him unhelpfully. “I woke up to him chewing on my kneecaps at the camp.”

Disturbing. But not Dabi’s point. “I also brought on Spinner, Mr. Compress, that beefy guy, and the little poison kid.”

“And Magne,” Kurogiri points out, much more helpfully. 

“And Magne,” Dabi says enthusiastically. Or as enthusiastically as his 1 to 2 expression face allows for. “Shigaraki, you owe me for that - she’s the one who got us electricity for your ridiculous gaming setup.”

“She’s also the one who broke the hot water,” Shigaraki returns stubbornly, crossing his arms like a 5-year-old. Dabi, who’d been about to make the same gesture, sticks his hands in his pockets instead.

“Again, not my point. Don’t you guys trust me?"

“Nope.”

“Hell no. Of course Dabibro.”

“I think ‘trust’ is such a complicated word for what we feel for you, young Dabi.”

Oh yeah? Fuck you guys too!

Literal steam coming out of his scarred ears, Dabi once again turns on his heel and once again is about-faced by Kurogiri. He glares at the three people highest on his shit list. 

(This list obviously did not include Endeavor. He had his own list. Entitled Fuckers to Launch into the Goddamn SUN).

“What did you think we were going to say?” Shigaraki asks, almost, almost sounding amused. Dabi isn’t having it.

“That you’re going to trust me to do what’s right for the League.”

“Dabibro, you don’t even do what’s best for yourself,” Twice snickers. “Besides, we all know how much you love heroes.”

“That’d better be your simple side talking, Twice, or so help me,” Dabi mutters darkly. Shigaraki cuts off the threat with a negligent wave of one of his five-fingered death hands. 

“Who is it you’re gonna recruit? Edgeshot? Gang Orca? Gotta be one of the scarier heroes for sure,” Shigaraki trails off, almost looking thoughtful. “I will approve immediately if you somehow manage to get Ectoplasm on our team.”

“His teeth are not a replacement for Moonfish, Shigaraki Tomura,” Kurogiri chides. Then looks at Dabi, “Though I will second that sentiment if you succeed in getting Wash on our side.”

Dabi looks at him narrowly, “Because the laundry is piling up?”

“Because the laundry is piling up,” Kurogiri assents, sounding resigned.

“So who is it? Better not be some hyped-up pretty boy. We already have Shigaraki for that.”

Shigaraki scowls at that remark but still turns to look at Dabi expectantly. They all do.

Dabi sweats.

Crud.

“It’s Hawks,” he says. And, as expected, chaos ensues.

----

“He really is an idiot, though,” Dabi tries to insist, though he can tell it’s falling on deaf ears. Or wisps, in Kurogiri’s case. “Seriously - I’m recruiting him mostly because I think he’s dumb enough to give away trade secrets. I don’t actually want him to join.”

Because that’s the problem - about half the League wants exactly that.

Thank god Shigaraki and Kurogiri were still on the fence about it. Though not for the reasons Dabi was expecting.

“Anyone who uses that much product in their hair can’t be trusted,” Shigaraki mumbles from his position perched on the edge of the roof across from Hawks’ agency. He’s got a set of binoculars clutched in eight fingers of near-death and is apparently fine with living on the edge. Dabi and his vertigo stay well back, refusing to be impressed. 

“You sure it’s not because he sponsored for League of Legends last year and couldn’t name all the characters by heart?” Spinner shoots back from where he’s squatting on the water tower, trying desperately to dig dirt out from between his scales. Shigaraki snorts but doesn’t respond, a sure sign that the lizard man has his number.

Toga stands at Shigaraki’s side, somewhat patiently waiting for her turn with the binoculars. Shigaraki’s comment about the hair product, however, puts her patience on a diet. She jabs him lightly with a stiletto. Shigaraki yelps, teetering precariously.

“I wanna see the cute hero with the good hair!” She whines, her own space buns looking more like the sad deflated Dunkin' Donuts variety than their usual Cinnabon glory. A lack of shampoo would do that to a girl. 

“In a minute,” their hand-clad leader returns petulantly. “I want to see what Dabi thinks is so good about this guy.”

“I have literally been telling you how stupid he is for the past hour,” Dabi propounds with the weariness of a man unheard. As predicted, he is ignored.

Hawks, however, is not. Not with that entrance, anyway.

Literal fireworks go off as he hurdles by, chasing down a man with a jetpack and giant roman candles for fingers. The glitz and noise dazzles the League for a moment as they collectively flinch back from the explosives. 

The Winged Hero doesn’t flinch, flee, or fumble. Instead, he beats his massive wings once and blasts out ten precise little heat-seeking feathers to smother the sparking fingers. Dabi and Shigaraki both take an unconscious step back at the brutally efficient death of the hot hands.

The next move has the whole League blinking in mute consternation - because the villain (and it’s apparent that he is one, though they’re all loathe to lump him in the same category as themselves) literally drops his trousers. With his back to them, they can’t see where the new rocket is being launched from, and frankly, not a single one of them wants to. 

(But they all know.)

Hawks, again, doesn’t hesitate. As a matter of fact, he’s smirking a wide, aggressive smirk as he sharpens another feather. “You trying to impress me? Because uhh, newsflash - I don’t date duds.”

And indeed, the rocket that had been about to pop off from the man’s, err, launchpad, fizzles out into nothing - trailing to the ground far below. The feather Hawks had been holding was nowhere to be seen.

All the dudes of the League take another collective step back. 

The zip of crimson red that whips up and around the villain and back toward Hawks, moves so fast that most of them don’t register it until Hawks casually catches it out of the air. He holds it out horizontal in front of his eyes, which are glinting gold and fiery in the morning sun.

“Light show’s over, my guy. You’re coming with me.”

Something else trails from the front of the air-borne pyrotechnic villain.

Twice stage-whispers, “Did he just piss himself?”

Dabi nods without meaning to, eyes transfixed on the almost godlike image Hawks strikes, with his powerful wings keeping him aloft, and the bright sunlight illuminating his Midas-touched hair and skin, and the energy radiating off his athletic form - 

“Hey, should we hide?” Spinner asks, kind of obviously, since they’re like 10 feet from a hero on an exposed rooftop. All of them freeze like a record had audibly scratched.

“Stealth mode!” Shigaraki hisses, which means approximately zilch as there’s very little to hide behind atop the roof. Fortunately, someone in the League still had a brain, even if they couldn’t see where he kept it.

Kurogiri activates his quirk just as Hawks glances their direction. 

---

Weird shadows today, Hawks thinks, before dismissing it as afterimages from being flashed by the villain. Literally and figuratively.

“Gonna have to wash my eyeballs,” he mutters to himself, sending out a wad of feathers to bundle up the weird pyrotechnic nudist to drop off for the police.

His pocket buzzes, distracting him from his thoughts, which is a blessing. It’s a message from the Governor of Kyushu’s office - reminding him that he’s due to receive the “Brightest Young Hero” award very shortly. Hawks grins, glancing at the time. Fifteen minutes to make it thirty-five miles?

Piece of cake.

----

“Whoa, and he’s off!” Twice yelps from under Dabi’s boot. “That’s gotta be the slowest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

Dabi spits out some of Toga’s greasy hair, careful not to comment on it. He has enough scars, thanks.

They’re all on the next floor down from the roof. Kurogiri had been able to warp them since he’d used the restroom approximately three times since they’d begun their stakeout of Hawks’ agency.

Old people and their wussy bladders, Dabi thinks uncharitably. Probably because Kurogiri had dropped them all in an undignified heap.

Magne shifts on top of him, landing a hand directly on his ass as she tries to push herself upright. Dabi waits for her to move it, giving her the grace period of exactly 2.5 seconds.

“Oi,” he grunts, wriggling. He stops when she makes a little embarrassed noise, and mortification blooms throughout his shriveled soul.

“Uhhh -” 

“Gerroff me!” Spinner’s voice is muffled and squeaky. A perfect reprieve. Magne rolls off Dabi in response.

“Sorry, Spin!” She calls toward the bottom of the villain pile. “Boss, you alright down there?”

Shigaraki is down there? Dabi thinks in a panic. Rotty mcfuckhands?!!?

Dabi rolls off so fast he cracks his teeth against the side of an unused office desk. Toga performs a near-perfect rolling dismount and lands on her feet, the fucker.

Twice is next, followed by Spinner. Then, at the very bottom, lies Shigaraki. Face blank, with a gross bootprint across his cheek. Dabi winces in sympathy for himself. They’re all going to fucking die.

Kurogiri stands to the side, pristine and mildly apologetic.

“I am somewhat sorry for how we were forced to escape,” he says, peering down at his trampled charge. “Are you quite alright, Shigaraki Tomura?”

“Don’t you,” Shigaraki hisses, voice like escaped air. Possibly a punctured lung. How sad. “Don’t you start.” He points a quivery decay digit at Twice, “Did you see where he went?”

“Uhhh,” Twice passes on the pointing trend and jabs his thumb over his shoulder toward the south-facing window, “Thatta way!”

“Spinner?”

“Already Googling it, boss man,” Spinner says, clearly trying to earn brownie points. Dabi suspects it’s because only his feet were dainty enough to cause that shoe print on Shigaraki’s face. Even Toga had a bigger foot.

“Hah,” Dabi snickers to himself. “From hands to feet, really taking a step down.”

Magne catches what he says and claps a hand over her mouth. Shigaraki’s murder-red eyes glare up at Dabi from the floor.

“You wanna repeat that?” And man, with the gurgling undertones, their resident handyman actually sounds frightening. Dabi finds himself unusually concerned for his boss's lungs now.

“Hey, do you feel like anything is… I dunno, stabbing you through the lungs right now?”

Kurogiri’s sputtering head flares up in alarm, “What! Shigaraki Tomura??”

“Got it!” Spinner crows, doing a little boogie with his phone in hand. Dabi refrains from telling him how idiotic he looks. Spinner already knows.

“Well?” Shigaraki prompts, still dead-eye staring at the ceiling. It’s getting a little creepy, if Dabi’s being honest with himself. Since he’s rarely honest with himself, he just courts death and reaches a hand out to help his erstwhile boss up from the crater they’d formed. 

“Big ceremony down south, honoring the greatest influencers in Fukuoka. Hawks is a special guest of the governor, since he’s based here.”

“Pfft,” Dabi scoffs, “See? I told you guys - not worth your time. Probably should just head on back - I can finish this on my own.”

“So what you’re saying,” Shigaraki says thoughtfully. Dabi notes the decay villain hasn’t released his hand yet. “Is that Hawks has the ear of the government.”

A group “Ooooooh” of understanding. Except from Dabi. He’s too busy being alarmed.

At this rate, they’ll actually want me to recruit the number two hero into our ranks. There’s no way that’s happening. Not if he’s the stool pigeon I think he is!

“Here’s a picture of the place!” Spinner announces, whipping his phone around for Kurogiri to see. The mistman nods regally.  

“Very well, let us go to our next stop then.”

And it all goes black, again.

Chapter Text

Hawks lands with only a minute to spare and is immediately swept in by a hair and makeup team. Apparently, the event was being broadcast, and they wanted him looking as good as possible.

The makeup lady grips his scruffy chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning his head from side to side. Her fingers linger, and Hawks notices the blue of her irises getting thinner as her pupils blow out. So he grins at her, watching in delight as catastrophic failure cascades through her features. 

“Umm,” she squeaks, obviously flustered. “You’re good to go.” Behind her, the hair guy snorts and pushes her aside. He’s a tall guy, so Hawks has to crane back a bit. The hero quirks a wild eyebrow.

“Well? What’s the verdict?” He asks, knowing his hair is probably unbelievably windswept - the hazards of pulling 2G to get somewhere on time. The hair guy looks down at him, professional expression going just a little slack when Hawks tilts his head, golden tresses perfectly tousled and model perfect scruff lining his killer jawline. 

The guy blinks, dazed, and again the Winged Hero can’t help the broad smirk tugging at his lips - not while adrenaline was still pouring straight-up intoxicating endorphins directly into his bloodstream.

“What - what she said,” the guy manages, face as red as Hawks’ wings. The young hero nods in acceptance before glancing around.

“Cool - thanks, guys! Any chance you know where the stage is? I’m up soon.”

They both point down the hall wordlessly, and Hawks sets off without hesitation, only glancing back to waggle his fingers in appreciation. He’s pretty sure he sees the makeup lady swoon.

Must be fans, Hawks thinks, breaking into a light jog. There’s a big staging area behind the platform, and he can already see some of the most important figures of Fukuoka gathered in the waiting area. The Chief of Police, one of the famous drama actors who’d been born and raised literally in the heart of the prefecture, a couple of politicians that Hawks had rubbed elbows with for the Commission, and…

“Rumi!” He calls, a full-blown grin lighting up his face. She turns and immediately raises her hand to shield her eyes. 

“Ahh, too bright, Hawks!” She complains, glaring at him through her white gloves. She’s in her full hero getup, white rabbit ears pristine and leotard absolutely divine, as usual. Hawks leans back just to take her in.

“Damn, I need to work my leg routine more - you’re gonna make me look bad,” he teases, without really joking. Because holy geez, those quads should be illegal. 

“Hah,” she scoffs, but something about her tone isn’t quite as mercenary as it usually is. And she’s side-eyeing him kind of funny. 

“What?” He asks innocently, shifting his weight.

“I dunno Hawks,” she says, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Just something about you today - seems like you have a lot of energy.”

“With the schedules we have?” Hawks laughs, missing Rumi’s widening eyes. “We gotta have energy or we drop dead, right?” One of his beautiful wings reaches out and nudges her playfully, and Rumi shivers slightly at the softness of the feathers. 

She clears her throat and turns to look pointedly at the large schedule posted up over Hawks’ shoulder.

“Yeah, well - no dropping dead yet. We’ve got a joint award to receive on the Zira villain we took down last week, ya know.”

Hawks blinks and turns around, backing up to see the massive posting. He only stops backing up when he runs into Rumi herself, who goes stiff. The Winged Hero runs his tongue over his teeth and risks a glance over at her - but she’s still looking stubbornly overhead. With them being about the same height though, he’s got a very clear view of the red burning across her dark cheeks.

They’re only bumping shoulders. It’s not like it’s even the most compromising position they’ve ever been in. Not after last year, when he’d miscalculated a midair catch and ended up with her legs wrapped around his face.

But she’s warm and he’s still running high on whatever insane energy he’d woken up on and he can’t help but grin at her when he finally catches her eyes. 

“If we’re gonna drop dead anywhere,” he confides in a low voice, “It should definitely be on a dancefloor. What d’ya say to the Blowout tonight? First round on me?”

Rumi’s eyelashes actually flutter in surprise, which is absolutely charming. Then she plants her palm across his face, and shoves him away, saying quickly, “Okay, fine, geez . If it’ll help you burn off some of that energy.”

“Hawks?” Someone calls from the stage. “You back here? You’re up in five!” 

The Winged Hero glances lazily in the direction the call came from, waving his hand at them. “Be right over!” He calls back. Then he turns his golden eyes on his... friend. The one he’s had a crush on for years but never felt confident enough to ask out. Today though?

Today he’s unstoppable.

“It’s a date then,” he says smoothly, reaching up a hand to brush back a strand of her absolutely stunning snow-white hair. Her matching eyebrows go up and then she’s smirking pure ferocity at him.

“We’ll see - depends if you can keep up with me,” she challenges, bright red eyes definitely intrigued. Hawks’ blood is practically singing, wanting to take up that challenge right here, right now. But he just pulls back and has the deep satisfaction of seeing Rumi follow slightly in his wake. He sticks his tongue out at her, back to playful.

“See you la~ter,” he sing-songs, then makes his way over to the stagehand who was gesturing vigorously to him. 

He misses a wide-eyed Rumi actually fanning herself behind him.

----

“He just scored a date with this year’s hottest female hero,” Spinner says in awe. “How is this his life?”

“Why the hell does he want to join us again?” Magne asks weakly. It’s the question they’re all thinking, but only she was brave enough to ask.

Dabi rubs his forehead, unwilling to admit what he suspects. That Hawks was an undercover agent sent to infiltrate the League. It’s why he’d been trying to get the League to lose interest this whole damn time. He’d never taken the bird-hero seriously! It’d been a joke! A lark! Something to make himself feel better after another shitty day of homelessness and week-old pizza of questionable origin. 

And making the League let it go should have been easy to do too! At Hawks and Dabi’s last meeting together, Hawks had shown up with pigeon shit all over his jacket because he’d fallen asleep on a roof banister and had been mistaken for a gargoyle. The meeting before that Hawks had been attempting to be intimidating but kept sneezing every two seconds with the dust in the old abandoned building.

Dabi’s definitely petty reasons for stringing the hero along aside, he’d weighed the hero's usefulness to the League against his inevitable betrayal and come up short. Even if the hero was actually serious about joining, he was just too casual and flighty to make it as a villain.

But then! Hawks had to go and act like… this. Like he was literally made of swag and competence.

This is so not fucking fair.

“I don’t care why he wants to join us! I just want some of that unlucky juice he’s on.”

Dabi sees every single member of the League, even hidden in the shadows of the staging area, nod in agreement, and knows he’s screwed.

“C’mon,” Spinner says eagerly, “There’s gotta be a viewing room around here somewhere that’s empty!” 

Shigaraki ‘hmms” slowly, chin pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and Dabi has a brief, fluttery moment of hope, like a butterfly in a spider’s web, that Shigaraki is thinking about dropping this whole gig.

“Y’know, he’s popular with the kids too,” the Leader of the League says thoughtfully, ignoring the fact that he, himself, is little more than a teenager. Then he turns to Dabi, “Think of all the dreams that’d be crushed by his betrayal.”

“And all the merch recalls!” Twice chips in enthusiastically and Shigaraki gestures at Twice vigorously, like he’s just brought up a great point.

Dabi groans, feeling his will to live seep out through his seams.

Steeling himself to admit to semi-recruiting a dangerous, traitorous, hero for shits and giggles, he opens his mouth only for a massive loudspeaker to override him.

“And next onto the stage, the wonder kid himself, the Guardian Angel of our beautiful prefecture, and this year’s recipient of Brightest Young Hero award - HAWKS!”

Cheering, loud and insane, actually causes a low rumble to vibrate through the villains’ feet. Spinner and Shigaraki take one look at each other and tear off down a hallway, uncaring as to who sees them. The rest of the League zooms after them and Dabi is left in the dust, mouth hanging slightly open, martyrous confession going unspoken.

Fine then! He thinks, stuffing his hands in his pockets petulantly. These guys deserve the inevitable betrayal!

----

The award ceremony-turned-mini-interview goes unbelievably smoothly, and Hawks is just a little in awe of how good he feels about it. Generally, the dog-and-pony shows actually make him a touch uncomfortable - especially with the questions regarding his family or the Hero Commission (that he legally could not answer). 

Even without the scary legal team hovering ominously over his head, the questions could get a bit personal and vaguely impertinent at times, and Hawks wasn’t always the best after a long day’s work at keeping his answers on the straight and narrow.

This time though? Well. To say he was on fire might be stepping on Dabi’s schtick, but if the feather fits, ya know?

“And I heard you wrapped up a villain encounter mere minutes before arriving here! How do you manage to fit it all into your schedule?” 

“It’s Alexa, my friend - she reminds me of all my upcoming tasks,” Hawks quips back, not-quite-joking.  "Hawks-kun, it’s time to eat. Hawks-kun don’t forget to wash your jacket, it reeks. Hawks-kun, the villain is getting away please stop preening…” 

There’s uproarious applause and laughter at his impressions of his phone nagging him, and Hawks flashes a grin at the gathered crowd. The pretty MC and the Governor laugh along with them, completely taken in by his good mood.

Thank you, Rumi, for making me watch all those Korean idol talk shows. These things are so much better when we’re all laughing together instead of talking… actual politics. 

“So, she calls you Hawks too?” The MC asks, giving him a mirthful smile. “Not even your personal secretary gets to know your real name?”

Ah, an old question, Hawks thinks in amusement as he glances at his watch. The interview time is almost up. Let’s try for a twist on the tired old answer.

“Oh no,” he says, mock-serious. “You wanna know what she actually calls me?”

The MC’s eyebrow quirks and even the Governor leans forward in his seat. Hawks leans in himself, gesturing for the others to listen close, like he’s sharing a coveted secret.

“I programmed her, you see,” Hawks says in a low, conspiratory voice, even though his mic can pick up everything he says. “Custom settings and all that. Android’s pretty cool about their customization options. So you can have her call you pretty much anything you want.”

“Uh huh,” the MC nods, leaning in further. The crowd seems to be holding its breath, collectively inching forward. Hawks’ grin is 100% pure grade, free-range evil.

Maybe this League stuff won’t be so hard after all.

“I have her call me…” 

----

The villains lean in too, without even realizing it, as they stare at the TV they’d commandeered for themselves in a back room. Dabi’s knee bumps the back of the couch and he scowls at himself, realizing he’d been drawn in too. Still, his eyes don’t leave the TV, wondering if Hawks had given an AI his real name or if he had some pretentious name like “Lord Supreme Number Two God Bird”. He snorts, but quietly, not wanting to miss what Hawks, and his mischievous smirk, have to say. 

Said god bird opens his mouth, golden eyes glittering with delight.

And the TV cuts to commercial.

Shouting echoes down the hall, but it’s not nearly as loud as the cacophony and actual damage happening in the villain’s purloined space.

“The fuck!” Shigaraki growls, slapping the TV and funkifying a hole straight through the side of it. He stares at the spastically flickering screen like he’s surprised while everyone else proceeds to go ham.

Spinner chokes on a Pringle that he’d shaken free from the vending machine earlier, and Kurogiri actually warps partway into the floor.  Magne yells “what!” and the force of her surprise activates her quirk, jettisoning Twice and Toga away from each other like squirrels touching a live wire. They crash into a foldable table (that lives up to its name under Twice’s bulk) and a kitschy make-up station, respectively.  If Toga’s buns end up resembling a squirrel tail because of the magnetic charge, Dabi’s still not going to tell her. Re: scars. He has enough.

Hawks though, with his perfect hair and his perfect teeth, and his fucking face still filling up the blitzing screen with his toothpaste advertisement, might end up with some questionable marks after this shit.

“That fucker,” he hisses, glaring at the TV screen as everyone around him either groans, moans, or curses in the wake of Hawks’ jackassery. 

Dabi looks over at Shigaraki and folds his arms in triumph. 

“See? He’s infuriating. We don’t actually want him working for us.”

Shigaraki really seems to mull that over, until a hacking and crumb-sputtering Spinner gets out, “Frame Perfect!”

The Leader of the League, owner of many hands and also of many gaming n00bs, bots, and mobiles, freezes, and his thoughtful face turns enlightened.

Dabi, a practitioner of ‘aloof nonchalance’ and ‘too cool to understand mainstream nonsense’, quails. 

“ A perfect execution. Yeah, ” the resident gamer mutters aloud, warming to some kind of thought. Then he snaps two plague-begotten fingers like he’s just had a brilliant idea. 

“We’re farming him, starting now.”

Dabi is fairly certain his isn’t the only blank face amongst the gathered delinquents. Even Magne has to shrug elaborately when Kurogiri turns to her. Over by the sketchy makeup stand, where Toga has been suspiciously silent up to now, Dabi hears the distinct, drawn-out whine of, “Neeeeeeerds.”

Shigaraki sighs in a way so eerily reminiscent of Kurogiri that the mistman himself sputters in indignation at the identity theft. 

“It means, you bots, that we’re recruiting him.”

Twice’s hand shoots up from the inversely folded table that he still hasn’t risen from. His voice sounds rickety.

“Isn’t Dabi already doing that? Flame face couldn’t catch a fly with honey. Probably because of his face.”

Dabi jerks back slightly and blinks, affronted. “Hey!” 

Their fearless leader turns his scary red eyes on Dabi, however, and jabs a finger at him, dead serious.

“You’re recruiting him. Do not mess this up for us.”

----

After absolutely wooing the audience and probably infuriating all the viewers, Hawks heads backstage again, fingers linked behind his head and whistling a merry tune. He only has one more award to accept with Rumi, then he’s good to go home and shower and eat before his date.

The thought sends little electric thrills of giddiness through his body, not unlike the ones he’d woken up with that morning.  Energy and confidence and full-on swagger. He could get used to feeling like this.

It even makes the prospect of meeting with ol’ crispy feel less like a chess game and more like a game of chicken. Poor Dabi won’t stand a chance.

Might even get introduced to the whole villain family, this time 'round, Hawks muses happily. And the thought, for the first time, doesn’t hold any of the anxiety that it usually does. In fact, if he ran into the League right now, he’s pretty sure he could take every one of them.

Ahh, let’s not count those chickens before they hatch, Keigo, he thinks to himself, wandering off down one of the back halls. Somewhere around here, there had to be a refreshment stand, and he’s dying for a sip of water. Taking out villains and winning the hearts of thousands was thirsty work.

Just down the hall, he spies a likely doorway. Out of the way, quiet, and with the bold print of “LOUNGE” written on the plaque. The Winged Hero smiles at his good luck.

The smile flips into something more “charming hero” as the door opens violently and unexpectedly. Before Hawks can wonder who was exiting in such a tizzy, Dabi of all people steps out into the hall. 

Then he has the absolute gobsmacked pleasure of watching Dabi, Mister Cool (despite his quirk), glance at him, double-take, and actually yelp. After which, he slams the door shut behind him and throws his arms across the entrance like he could actually bar the way for the Number Two hero. Hawks just blinks at him in total bafflement. 

And suspicion of course. Because despite his record with really shifty individuals, Hawks is pretty sure that’s the most suspicious thing he’s ever seen in his entire twenty-two years of life.

“Pretty sure that’s the most suspicious thing I’ve seen in my entire twenty-two years of life,” he drawls, crossing his arms to lean back against the wall of the hallway. Dabi’s widened blue eyes meet his like he’s the grim reaper come early. Then suddenly the villain is actually lunging at him.

Hawks, personally, has never seen Dabi move at anything more than the pace of an ill-tempered snail, so is therefore surprised to see just a little bit of zip in the villain’s desperate lunge. Not nearly as fast as himself though, so it only garners a raised eyebrow and a simple sidestep. 

Dabi doesn’t quite faceplant into the wall. He more kind of smacks his palms and chest into it, grunting with the impact. Hawks snorts at the ridiculousness of it, and turns his shoulder into the wall again, facing the flustered villain who was muttering curses into the sheetrock.

“Didja miss me that much?” He asks, a little bit more of his accent slipping out in his hometown turf. Dabi gives him an unreasonably evil eye that has Hawks’ grin stretching even wider. “If I’d’ve known, I’d’ve scored you an invite.”

Usually, Hawks doesn’t tease Dabi this badly. Not his only in with the League. But then, Dabi isn’t usually beet red and very clearly more in the “wet cat” range of pissed off. You know, as opposed to his usual “hair’s breadth from violent murder” version of angry.

“Aren’t you up for a photoshoot or something?” The villain asks petulantly, still elbows-to-wall. Hawks has the brief thought that Dabi might have pulled something in his tiny spurt of athleticism, and wonders if he ought to be concerned. 

“Naw, not at the moment,” Hawks waves his hand. “Up in a bit for the Zira award with Rumi, but otherwise, I’m all yours.” He flashes an obnoxious smile, unintentionally mirroring his earlier toothpaste ad. “So what’s up?”

Dabi mutters more angry imprecations into his forearms and Hawks takes just a moment away from his amusement to realize that they’re out in semi-public. Hmm, not ideal for the whole “undercover” part of this mission.

“Actually, before we start, we should go somewhere more private,” he says, pushing away from the wall with a shrug and taking a step toward the lounge. 

The hissing noise that comes from Dabi really could have come from a wet cat, though the actual smoke that comes off him is leaning more in the steam engine range. Either way, the villain makes another lunge for Hawks and the hero decides to roll with it this time.

Clearly, Dabi had some formal martial arts training at some point in his bizarre patchwork life. He keeps his hips low and his head down as he goes to tackle Hawks around the waist. 

The hero takes the wiry arms around his midsection, flares his wings out for balance to keep from being taken to the ground - and even as Dabi jams the knife edges of his hands into the backs of Hawks’ knees in an attempt to make them buckle, the hero snakes an arm around Dabi’s neck and lifts.

“Say uncle,” Hawks says playfully, not really putting any pressure on the villain’s trachea. Anyone without wings, and Dabi would have had a decent chance of taking them to the ground, which is a kind of interesting fact. But Hawks is more curious as to why the villain hasn’t used his quirk yet.

“Ya know, if all you wanted was a hug …” he trails off, because then he feels the heat starting up in Dabi’s palms, and he lets go rather than letting it escalate.

Dabi’s head pops up once released, furious, flushed, and with hair completely ruffled. Hawks grins despite possibly pissing off his contact past the point of no return. 

“You,” the villain gets out, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. “Are a menace.” Hawks blinks in surprise, never having been called a menace before.

“Really? Ya think so?” He asks, scratching his scruffy chin. “Most people find me charming.” Then he shrugs, “Point still stands though. Should head somewhere more private.”

There’s a long, drawn-out “oooooooh, kinky” from behind the door of the lounge that Hawks only catches by virtue of quirk-enhanced hearing. Dabi, standing closer to the door, practically deflates.

“If you ignore that, I will pay for your dinner,” the villain says, blue eyes wide and expression fatalistically resigned. It’s… it’s the villain’s version of the puppy dog eyes.

And Hawks, an animal lover (and lover of pathetic things in general), takes pity. 

“Alright then, I’ll pretend the walls aren’t talking to us then,” he smirks. “But it’s hero’s choice of dining, Dabi dearest. And I’m feeling sushi .”

The villain looks aghast, mouth dropping open and nose scrunching up as if he’s been personally affronted. But then he looks at the lounge door and seems to steel himself. Like this is somehow the lesser of two evils.

“You got it, asshole,” he grumbles. “Some fucking disgusting fish, coming right up.”

Overhead, the speakerphone pipes up again.

“Hawks, you’re needed at the main stage in 5 for your next award ceremony. Repeat, number two hero Hawks, you’re needed at the main stage.”

Hawks shrugs at the look of deepening distaste on Dabi’s face in a sort of ‘what can I do?’ gesture. “See you after the show then - I’ma hold you to that sushi,” the hero says as he turns back toward the way he came. He pauses, though, and wonders just how much he can push his insane luck. Then decides, in the logic of all twenty-two-year-olds: fuck it. 

He whips about, calling loudly, “looking forward to the date!” Shooting the villain an exaggerated wink, he has the pleasure of watching Dabi light his hands on fire.

But by then, he’s already gone.

----

“Two dates in one night, who the fuck is this guy?” Spinner groans, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes. “With one of the hottest heroes too!”

“And one of the hottest villains,” Magne adds mournfully. Dabi pretends not to hear either of them, instead choosing to pout at Shigaraki.

“Well?” He demands testily, trying hard not to tap his foot in impatience. “I did what you fucking wanted. Gonna meet with the asshole twice tonight, because of you.”

“And we feel so badly for you,” Shigaraki monotones, not really paying attention. According to Kurogiri, he’d been trying to hack into Google to find out what Alexa called Hawks in his downtime. Unsurprisingly, Google had some sturdy security that was giving their resident nerd more trouble than he was used to.

“Fucking corporations poach all the asshole tech quirk fuckers,” Shigaraki mutters at his phone, more cussy than usual in his displeasure. Dabi’s eye twitches.

“I feel like wooing the hero falls outside my job description,” he bites out, spitting a couple of flames as he does. Twice gasps in the background at the light show.

Shigaraki is less than impressed. “It’s about time you actually did your job and got us some fresh meat. And besides, if you actually managed to score him as a boyfriend, then we’d at least have some steady income.”

Dabi isn’t sure which offends him more - that Shigaraki doubts his wooing powers or that he’s being made into a sugar baby.

“Oh no,” Kurogiri speaks up unexpectedly. “It’s probably best that you stick to your professional approach, Dabi. We don’t want to lose this opportunity.”

Toga giggles loudly from her new place on the couch, where she’s trying valiantly to scrape various blushes, foundations, and lipstick stains off her cardigan. The fact that she’s doing it with a sharp knife while she’s still wearing it gives Dabi pause in retaliating. He picks the safer target and turns on Kurogiri.

“Well, mister mist man, since Compress isn’t here, how would a gentleman such as yourself go about not fucking this up?” He asks the question snidely, but there is actually a tiny part of him that really wants to not screw this up. Shigaraki would not be stopped by locked doors, and Dabi has a vested interest in not being disintegrated in his sleep, thank you very much. 

If he can get through this, then he can at least say he tried. Maybe finally come up with something the villains would buy that would get them to drop the idea of recruiting the walking honey trap that was Hawks.

Kurogiri regards the flame villain with wide, luminous eyes, and his misty wisps curl in on themselves in private satisfaction. Dabi’s eyes narrow in response, and he wonders a) when he got so good at reading the foggy fucker’s expressions and b) what’s gotten the warp villain all jazzed.

“Oh, Dabi,” the mist man says with pride. “I never thought you’d be mature enough to ask -” which evokes an indignant “hey!” from said villain that goes entirely ignored “- about such things as manners, and charm, and matters of the heart!”

Several of the villains guffaw loudly - Twice in particular, hooting like the loon he is - as Dabi’s face drains of blood.

“Now, hold on,” he says, backing away from the warp gate villain as if he could actually escape. “I didn’t say anything about any of that -!” His back hits the wall, and Toga - a gleeful expression in her lovey-dovey eyes, goes to block the door. The rest of the League watches him like dingos.

I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS!