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Hawks’ wings are the color of the setting sun.
They’re also the color of blood, which should’ve been a warning sign for anyone that gets involved with him, but few people are able to see past that careless smile of his. They don’t notice the corner of his lips are as sharp as his feathers; they see his smile and think it’s as soft as downy.
It’s not. Hawks has known that his feathers are deceptively sharp since he was a child. One of his mother’s shittier boyfriends found that out the hard way when Hawks stepped in between him and his mother, and the guy tried to yank on his wings to toss him aside. It sliced his hand right open, forcing him to go to the hospital or risk not being able to use his hand again. The asshole never returned, and Hawks never forgot that the same soft wings his mother lovingly smoothed down to lull him to fall asleep could also cut someone.
His wings flutter in the wind, a gentle breeze gliding through the feathers. A long time ago, their hypersensitivity used to bother him, but now he could mostly push the sensation to the side of his mind, only pulling it to the front when he needed it. The wind feels good, like fingers running through his hair, and he takes a deep breath. On top of this building, nothing from below can reach him. He’s in another world, another place, far away from the hell that he’s found himself trapped in.
Up here, he isn’t Hawks the Hero or Hawks the Villain or Hawks the Spy. He’s not even really Keigo. He’s nobody, just someone who will eventually plummet down to earth and be buried underneath it like everyone else.
Or maybe not. He probably shouldn’t leave his body lying around for someone to tamper with. The fact that he has to worry about what happens to him after his death is exhausting and ridiculous in itself, but this last year has taught him that nothing is as simple as it seems. Reducing himself to ashes would be the safest best. He could probably have that arranged if he pushes Shigaraki’s buttons enough.
Hawks leans back, his hands resting on the edge of the building behind him, and sighs. He’s tired, but he’s not done yet. There’s still too much work to be done. A hero’s job is never over until they’re dead. As much as he talks up the idea of retiring and living in luxury, he’s never truly been able to picture it for himself.
“Nice view,” Dabi comments beside him.
“Yeah, I come up here sometimes to get away,” Hawks says, half to himself.
Dabi tosses him a faint smirk. “So this is where you hide from your adoring fans?”
“And annoying compatriots,” Hawks adds without any real heat.
“I’m touched you brought me here to your inner sanctum,” Dabi drawls in his typical dry tone.
“Well, I figured it was okay since you likely won’t tell anyone.”
Not hurt in the slightest by the frank comment, Dabi mock-winces. “You wound me.”
He didn’t, but Hawks can’t lie and say he hasn’t considered it a time or two. More than once, he thought his covered with the PLF might’ve been blown – that he grew too close to Dabi and allowed him to see a little too much of him – that there was one loose end too many, but no, he never pulled a feather out and stabbed him in the back. It would’ve been easy, but he didn’t, mostly because he didn’t want to in the end.
As much as Dabi annoys and frustrates him sometimes, he’s...surprisingly easy to get along with, even more to get involved with. It’s complicated but not at the same time. Hawks isn’t sure what that means. He’s never really had an actual relationship, so he’s got nothing to base it off of. This thing between him and Dabi is more real than most, so it’s essentially the only relationship he knows. It’s a little more than his usual flings. He can say it’s because of the mission and how much rests on his total infiltration of the PLF, but that might be a lie too.
And Hawks is really, really tired of lies.
“Why did you bring me up here?” Dabi asks as they watch the sunset.
“I don’t know,” Hawks admits.
Dusk is almost upon them. Soon, the moon will take the sun’s place in the sky. It’s impossible to see the stars from the streets below, but up here, on one of the tallest buildings in the city, they’re right there, just out of reach. He can hold his hand out and pretend to grasp them, but he’ll never get there. He’ll never get high enough.
“Guilt?”
“Don’t think I’m good enough for that.”
Dabi nods slowly. It’s a fair answer. “Pity?”
Hawks snorts. “I’m not sure I’m capable of that anymore.”
“A hero who can’t pity people?” Dabi whistles lowly. “That’s cold.”
“I’m not really much of a hero, am I?” Hawks counters, a grimacing smile tugging at his lips. It looks more like something Dabi would wear, which makes sense. He’s been around him for too long. Ah, but not much longer. The sun is setting on him, casting an orange glow over him that looks more like fire than his own blue flames. It’s the wrong color entirely, but for a moment, Hawks sees who he could’ve been had he been held up instead of beat down.
In another world, Dabi could’ve become something more than a villain bleeding out on a rooftop with a traitor.
Dabi lets out a breath and pulls his hand away from his side. Blood stains his palm. His white shirt sticks to his skin, wet and red with a hole in it that doesn’t look so bad. It hides the hole in his gut from a gunshot wound that Hawks couldn’t save him from. A hero known for being too fast for his own good, and he couldn’t save a villain. He would’ve tried, but Dabi cut him off with a wave of fire, forcing him to save Toga and Twice instead, full well knowing that it would end up like this.
“Fuck, this sucks,” Dabi ground out, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth.
“I can always take you–”
“No,” Dabi cut in harshly. “I’d rather die up here than go to a hospital and get locked up for the rest of my life.”
Hawks swallows. “We could break you out.”
Dabi opens his eyes and blinks slowly, staring at nothing in particular in the darkening sky. “No, I don’t want to go. I can’t… I can’t face them.” He could say that his family might understand – that they miss him and might even love him – but they feel like hollow words. It could be true, but Dabi doesn’t want their forgiveness. It’s not something that can be given freely – not something he feels owed. “I’m weak, you know?”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Hawks says lightly.
“Yeah, I fooled everywhere,” Dabi sighs. “The big bad with the grumpy attitude and scary flames.” He coughs, and it sounds a little wet. Hawks turns away when Dabi wipes blood from the side of his mouth. “It doesn’t matter. They can think of me however they want. I lived my life the way I wanted. I didn’t think I could have that before.”
Hawks wishes he could say the same thing. He wanted to be a hero, he thinks. It’s why the Hero Commission was able to scoop him up so easily. They promised his mother all the money she could have in order to send him to the best schools, give him the best clothes, feed him the best food, but in the end, she turned her back to them, bent down to his level, and asked him what he wanted to do. It was brave of her. He doesn’t think of his mother as brave very often, but she had her moments.
He said yes because he wanted to be a hero and they were going to help his mom and it seemed like the easiest way. Everything after that? He can’t be sure. He’s done everything asked and expected of him, and he doesn’t regret it, but he can’t outright say that he’s lived the life he wanted. He didn’t want to become a spy. He didn’t want to play this role or get tangled up in this mess or find humanity in villains and demons in heroes. He didn’t want to end up on the ledge with Dabi dying on him.
“You seem angry,” Dabi says tiredly.
“I’m furious,” Hawks replies in a flat tone, keeping his gaze forward.
Dabi closes his eyes again and leans over, resting his head against Hawks’ shoulder. The action would be startling if he didn’t know how much blood Dabi has lost. It’s a wonder he’s still conscious. He got to him far too late and took him away before anything else could happen or be done. Fuck, he’s left such a mess – he shouldn’t be wasting time on a dying man – but he can ignore whatever is down below while he’s up here.
“Think you could do something for me?” Dabi mumbles.
“What’s that?” Hawks asks, one of his wings wrapping around Dabi to shield him from the wind.
“Kill my old man?”
Hawks huffs. “Then I’ll be the Number One. That’s a lot of work.”
Something akin to a smile flickers onto Dabi’s face. “I’ve got faith in you.”
That might be the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to Hawks, but then again, Dabi is a villain. He shouldn’t expect anything less from a man whose death he had a hand in.