Chapter Text
His eyes were heavy.
They always were, with how much he cried, or at least how much he wanted to. The weight of tears ever present, yet never falling created a pressure that made him perpetually exhausted. The bags beneath his closed lids often felt packed at night, the strain of the past following him in each waking moment.
Though this time, they were just heavy. Not as if he had been holding back tears, but rather stemming from pure unbridled fatigue. The kind that just followed you no matter what you did to get rid of it. The kind of exhaustion that sat on your shoulder, leaning its heavy head against the side of your temple. Not moving, not speaking, doing nothing. Pure enervation that felt just as heavy as the tears.
Hawks gulped back, taking a breath that felt as strained as the muscles along his forehead. The headache is as piercing as the cough that forces its way out of him. Then again, another cough, far worse with air that infused itself with dust and debris. He had been half laying on his back while slightly turned to his side, now he had doubled over entirely as he pushed himself to his knees. His body jerked up as he let out a wet, ragged cough that had an overarching wheeze in its tone. It hurt. It hurt to cough. His chest squeezed at the sudden action.
Breathing in felt like a chore, and he could hear the layer of phlegm in his throat reverberate with an ugly sound, it only made him cough out again. One hand raised to cover his mouth while the other pressed to his chest tightly, brows pinched as spittle flew from his lips. Forcing in another breath he straightened his back, raising his head as if to let the air enter him easier. He could hear the struggle as his body did everything it could in letting it in. The fresh air gracing his lungs, desperate for its comfort.
It took about a minute of pained, trained, labored breathing until he could breathe past the layer of dust infused mucus and inhale air that felt clean enough to relax his physical form. Once it was taken in he let his eyes open, that exhaustion from earlier making itself known. In that moment, opening his eyes he felt himself freeze, looking over the landscape in his view Hawks felt his heart stop. There was nothing left.
At least, in terms of fallen buildings and rubble, there was plenty, but there was nothing. He let his head turn around, looking amongst the debris of it all. Unable to tell where he was as he felt a burst of panic within him. A sharp intake echoed out as he took it in, willing the pressure behind his eyes to dissipate where he sat. Hands raised to try and apply pressure to his head, but he paused.
Blood.
He was covered in blood.
The panic built, but he remained calm. What would they say if they knew he panicked over some blood?
Gulping back his saliva he lowered his hands, forcing his limbs to be still for just a moment. To cease the tremors and to ignore the pain stretched through his chest. Not only did he not recognize where he was, but it was destroyed entirely.
He pressed blood stained palms into the dirt, pushing himself to stand despite the tension it applied to his legs. Hissing out Hawks ignored the pins and needles that ran up his calves, screaming at him for their overuse. Nearly stumbling over, Hawks leaned back to regain his center of gravity before going upright, foot stance wide to lessen the risk of falling. His head turned around.
He was in some kind of forest. The once tall trees pressed into their sides into the ground, and in the distance he could see the rubble of a freshly destroyed building, and if he squinted his eyes he could see movement. There wasn’t a lot, not many people seemed to be over in the destruction, but it struck a chord in him all the same. Should he go to them? See what’s going on? Figure what happened while he was knocked out?
His feathers twitched. With a pinched face he knew he couldn’t, his wings were at the lowest point they could be, meaning if he used any more feathers it’d only cause long term damage.
Bringing up his arms to cross them, his hands pushed at the fabric of his clothes. He paused, looking down. It was similar to a prototype of his hero suit, yet it was far too large for him as he was now. Blinking back he found himself to be more confused than he was before. How did he change?
His brain raced, despite the training, despite the practice, despite everything else he had been put through in life his brain raced. Hawks could feel his breathing pick up, heart rate speeding in the silence. Wind whistled around him, birds had the audacity to chirp, but his face twisted, the pain in his chest growing to ensure its presence was known.
He was in an unfamiliar place, in unknown clothes, surrounded by severe destruction, with not a person he recognized in sight.
His head throbbed, stomach twisting as he bit the inside of his cheek. Nothing made sense. Nothing in this inconceivable situation made sense. He wasn’t trained for this. For once, he didn’t know what to do.
His feather twitched and his head whipped to the side, eyes wide to stare at the figure. The person stood a few meters away, a grim yet surprisingly gentle expression resided on their face. There was solidarity in the air around the man, as well as a soft understanding to a complex issue. Hawks’ breath stuttered as his eyes remained on the other, unmoving and tense.
The others' faces told a story of conflict and uncertainty. As if he wanted to say so many things, but had to be careful in his decision. Calloused hands were placed forward and his palms faced out, as if to comfort, but also so the other could simply see them and where they were. Hawks could see the way the man breathed, how his shoulders moved with each breath. There was a hardened guise to him. A living oxymoron looked at the blond, and the blond looked back.
The dark haired man spoke first, voice low and steady, “My name is Eraserhead.”
That blared alarm bells in his head. Hawks knew all the heroes that there was to know about, he’s studied every style, every pattern, learned everything about them down to their favorite food and blood type. This man, claiming to be Eraserhead, was simply too old. The lines on his face are deeper than the photos, no matter how dark and grainy they are. A hint of uncertainty rang in his head, maybe he got his information wrong? No. The Commission, his handlers would never allow it.
“You are Hawks.”
His throat pulled tight on itself.
No one was supposed to know about him. Not yet. How did a fake know him? This wasn’t possible. This isn’t supposed to be possible. Pressure built up behind his eyes again, and for once fear overtook him. His very being threatened to shake, yet he willed himself to remain as still as he could. He couldn’t show weakness. He’d be crucified and on top of it this person would use it against him.
The man looked at him, a pleading and tired expression made itself known and Hawks had no idea how to react in response. This was wrong, so much was wrong and made no sense. This wasn't right, this had to be some kind of test. Realization sparked in the back of his head. This was a test. It wouldn't be the first pop quiz that they've given him and it likely wouldn't be the last. Though, it was certainly the most intricate they've come up with.
How was he to respond?
Did they want him to go along with it? Fake understanding until he found a way to report to them? Does he run off instantly to make his escape and report to them? His heartbeat picked up the pace and for a split second he feared the other heard it. This version of Eraserhead looked to him with such caution he wondered if maybe this was real. If something unspeakable happened and this was a genuine emergency.
He wanted to ask if it was a test, and if so what kind. More importantly, how to pass. But it wouldn't make sense if this was a test. Not after what he just did a few weeks ago. Unless they would? Unless they were testing to see where he was mentally now? He didn't know. He didn't know.
Shit, he didn't know.
Eraserhead was watching him, and Hawks wondered what was going through his mind. Wondered what was eating at the man in the grating silence. Biting at the inside of his cheek he really hoped that he was making the right decision at this moment, closing his eyes as he thought.
“Hawks?”
The teens eyes snapped open, looking over to the man with tension straining the blonds neck, gaze hardened as he remained perfectly still. The other man seemed almost taken aback at the sight, as if it was something so out of the ordinary it could shock a hero out of stupor. Yet Eraserhead didn't show that. Despite his own mask cracking for just a second his expression remained the same, “Something strange has happened, which I'm sure is something you've already realized, right?”
The man waited, watching. It took Hawks a moment before he realized the other was waiting for him , which is something his trainers never did. After the awkward silence he nodded curtly, eyes fixated on the other as the older man spoke, “And I'm sure you're confused on where you are, and what happened. I can help explain but first I need to get you to medical. Get you checked out. Make sure everything is fine.”
The man's eyes nearly dropped to the blood staining his hands, and if Hawks didn't know any better he'd think the other simply didn't notice. But he knew better, Eraserhead is more impressive than that, even if he doesn't let the world see it. And right now, in this moment, he was looking at Hawks as if he were a deer about to scamper off at the sound of the lightest noise. Yet rather the blond was the opposite. He couldn’t run, rather he's a deer in headlights, frozen in place. An underground hero in front of him with a worried and almost pitiful look to his expression.
“I know it's confusing, and you don't know who I am, but you're going to have to trust me so we can make sure you're safe.”
Hawks’ gaze looked over the placating man, his own countenance hardened in its blank slate, before snapping back up to meet the gaze. Taking a breath in through his nose he let himself breathe, jaw clenched before opening his mouth, “You're Shota Aizawa,” Eraserhead blinked back, “You were born on November eighth in Tokyo, your blood type is B, and you have an unusual attachment to cats. You're twenty four. Entered UA under general studies but your scores from your first year sports festival moved you to the hero course. Due to the fashion of your quirk you rely heavily on physical prowess and your support items. Primarily you use your capture weapon and keep eye drops on hand. After you graduated you went MIA from society to work as an underground hero that rarely made headlines. Only rumors that circulate is that your ability and low profile has led you to be recruited for a teaching career at your alumni, but nothing has come to fruition.”
Hawks breathed. Letting it sink in that he knew the other better than anticipated.
The hero seemed tense now. A bewildered expression desperately wanting to make it to the surface. Maybe it was because Hawks knew him far more than expected. Maybe it was because Hawks wasn't blinking. The teen grit his teeth. This scenario wasn't right. The hero seemed too genuine to be a test, and Hawks had mastered the art of lying and persuasion, as well as how to spot it. Even his handlers couldn't get it this right. He needed to test the other, pull at the strings in his mind to see if they aligned.
He remembered a fact an old friend once shared, a fact that the Commission didn’t know, and while it hurt to use it against the other he had to know if he could actually trust him, “You lost a friend in your teens, a horrible accident,” the man went rigid and Hawks went quiet. A deep part of him knew that if anyone did the same to him he’d have become a villain that day, “You use his capture weapon now.”
Eraserhead paused, brows furrowed. The kid had gotten everything right about him, except that. The blond was too tense when speaking that false fact out into the air, he knew it was wrong but said it anyways. Aizawa let his tongue swipe over his lips as he corrected him, voice small, “It was his goggles.”
The moment those four words were said the teen visibly let out a breath, shoulders drooping slightly. That high defense mask he wore seemed sheer for just a moment, his expression still unreadable but not nearly as strained. Aizawa felt his jaw clench as he watched pin prick eyes looking up to him through furrowed brows, feathers puffing out as if he saw the other as a threat. Slowly Eraserhead lowered himself, bent at his knees so he was in a squat, making himself appear smaller so to not trigger the terrified teen any further, “There was, something else you got incorrect, but if I tell you what it is, you have to stick with me for a bit, okay?”
Hawks felt his face twitch, eyes following the man as he lowered himself. Chewing the inside of his cheek he had to come with the terms of the situation he's in. The Eraserhead in front of him is real, and Eraserhead is notorious for not being real friendly with the Commission, so this probably isn't one of their tests. Because if he’s real there is no way he would have agreed to be a part of such a thing. Yet, that's never entirely out of the realm of possibility for Hawks and his luck. The man seems genuinely worried, his infamous stoic expression half faded where he knelt. The teen felt as his heart clenched tightly in his chest, painful enough it felt as if he couldn't breathe. He had to make a choice.
“.. okay.”
He cursed himself for sounding so meek.
But it seemed to make the hero sigh out in relief, something soft but resided within him. Tired eyes met Hawks’ as he spoke carefully to him, “I'm not twenty-four. Not anymore. Currently I’m thirty-one.”
Keigo sucked in his teeth slightly, doing everything he can to remain emotionless, though he knew he was failing. His handler would have been so disappointed in him. The blond teen said nothing, rather he waited for the other to continue. Aizawa felt heavy just speaking, “And, to some extent you're no longer seventeen, but, you are again.”
Hawks could feel that traitorous pressure behind his eyes, grit teeth and a locked jaw did their best to hide it, “What happened.”
Thankfully his voice hadn't betrayed him, but some part of him knew the other could read him all too well, “I'll,” he paused, “I'll avoid the exact details, because the information will be a lot to take in at first-”
Hawks cut him off, his emotions still high from the previous few weeks, “What. Happened.”
Aizawa blinked back slightly, clearly thinking of the gentlest way to put this. The hero didn't want to lie, but in such a delicate situation he felt that the use of a white lie might be acceptable, “A quirk went off, reversed a lot of people's age to seventeen. A lot of heroes. You are, were, twenty-three, but you were in radius and got affected.”
Aizawa left out the reason as to why specific people were rewinded so far back and others weren't. Hawks still reacted more than how he should have, a bit more sincere emotions shined as he furrowed his brow, mind struggling to wrap around the situation and everything it meant.
Meanwhile the hero wanted to kick himself. Hawks had always been on his radar for being so young and excelling so quickly, with and without the help of the press, under the pretense that he had private training of all things. He always struggled to accept when any of the younger heroes got hurt, but with the situation they're all in, they really did just look like teens despite barely being sent back in their age. Right now Hawks was barely six years younger than he was the day before, but it made it all too clear for Aizawa.
God he was just a kid.
Aizawa could see the way his expression contorted, fear, worry, uncertainty, an array of emotions ever present on the teen. His mouth opened and closed, eyes downcast, and for a moment Aizawa thought the kid got lost. Lost in his own busy mind as he processed the unwanted information, mumbling to himself so softly the hero nearly didn't hear him, “I made it to twenty?”
Eraserhead took note of the mumbled statement.
Shota Aizawa did everything in his power to keep his emotions in check because of what he said.
Biting down on his tongue he nodded, forcing a small smile as he looked at the teen, “You did,” It seemed to startle Hawks, in a strange unreactive way, but his eyes did snap up to meet the older man's gaze once again, “You hit top ten in your first ranking. Stayed at number three for a while. You just hit the second place spot a few months ago.”
Hawks, while on Eraserheads radar, never set anything off for him. He was boastful and egotistical on camera, relishing in the spotlight every time a lens turned his way. So Aizawa told him these truths in hopes of reassuring the other of his ability, and getting him to lighten up enough to effectively start coercing him into going to medical. Except, the blond deflated, chest falling as he breathed, as if he was distraught over the news. He looked down to the ground, an almost disappointed amazement overwashing his expression as he processed the information.
In all honesty it was chilling to see just how far off Aizawa's perspective of a person was. Moreso it hurt to see this kind of reaction. A teen, braving the trials to become a hero, distraught at his own success in the industry. A person believed to be so self centered now boiled down to how his younger self would have seen him. Part of the older man wondered if Hawks felt this way when he was an adult. Aizawa sucked in his lips for just a moment as the teen looked away from him, trying to calm his own inner monologue that was whispering words of uncertainty into his being.
“Hawks,” the boy looked up quickly, as if remembering the eyes still on him, looking up to meet the hero's gaze. Eraserhead let his face melt into its normal stoic expression, maybe a sense of sincerity would help, “We have to get you checked out. Safety first.”
The blonds face hardened, into something that wasn’t Hawks but whoever had laid beneath the persona, or at least, the one who was trained to be under the persona. Yet, even with the strangeness of it all the boy nodded. After a curt breath in through his nose the hero in training went completely silent, pulling the oversized jacket around him tightly as his arms were pulled in. Blood stained the fabric in wake of his touch. Walking towards Eraserhead silently, and Eraser only remained close, careful to not accidentally touch Hawks as they moved.
After a minute of silence Eraserhead hummed out a soft groan, looking forward, “What’s your name kid?”
The blond remained quiet, keeping his mouth shut as he thought to himself, shoulders rising with the air, “Hawks.” He said simply.
Aizawa turned his head slightly to the other who strode beside him, expression controlled as he asked again, “No, what’s your name .”
Hawks ran his tongue along his teeth, darkened eyes looking back up to the other.
“My name is Hawks, sir.”
Eraserhead felt his jaw lock as he looked forward again and didn’t say anything more after that.
“I feel marooned in this body. Deserted, my organs can go on without me. You can’t fly these wings. You can’t sleep in this box with me.”
His eyes felt heavy.
Everything hurts. Every piece of him is in pain.
A cough sputtered out revealed nothing but dust as it exited his lungs, followed by a deep groan fueled by nothing but pure agony that erupted through his chest. Forcing himself over onto his side and then eventually his stomach, hair covered his eyes as his hands balled into fists that braced him against the ground below. His coughing only got worse, spittle being hacked up and flying down onto the stone below. It felt like an eternity as he heaved out, struggling to breathe in as his shoulders shook.
Tears pricked at his eyes, but he knew those couldn’t be tears, he couldn’t cry anymore. It was blood. Fuck. It was blood. It was his blood.
He was coughing so hard he was straining and blood pooled from the small tears.
Touya wanted to end it all at this moment. To call it quits on life and to just move on to the next. Ever since Sekoto Peak, he’s only been a glimpse of what he once was, and he was tired. Tired and angry and in pain. It all hurt so much.
But then he’d leave Keigo, and Keigo didn’t deserve to survive this hell alone. Whatever this hell even was right now.
Narrowed eyes raised themselves as he looked over the scene before him, surrounded by destruction and rubble, the soot and ash polluting the air, the pain of it all weighing down on him aggressively. White brows pinched together. This wasn’t right. There was no way he would have just ended up here without noticing. No, he would have known if something was going on.
Last he remembers it was past midnight and he was being summoned for some kind of late night training, but he doesn’t remember anything after they started walking. Had they drugged him? Would he put it past them? He really wouldn’t.
In the short amount of time Touya Todoroki stayed in the Commissions GT program he could say with certainty that he didn’t trust them.
They were sketchy as fuck and offer no explanation for anything they did. Touya grit his teeth as he began to push himself up. Other people in the program, less than a dozen teens, had given up their names and identities as young as six years old. A breath was forced out of him as he hissed, the edges of his skin graphs pulling at his healthy skin. Those teens, those kids listened to them with no questions, and if they did question anything they would face unjust punishment. Bile threatened Touya as he stood to his knees, heaving as he did so. The Commission remained hidden in the dark underbelly of hero society, knowing that there were families who needed help, to be saved, but those families never were to save face of their “heroic” abuser. He forced his leg under him so his foot was firmly planted on the Earth below. They’re wrong. He pushed himself up straight. They’ve had teens killed to fulfill their duty.
Touya stood.
They’ve killed kids before.
Looking around the fire user took in his surroundings with a frown, which only deepened as he saw a rather large figure approach him. His vision was still blurry; he couldn't make out who it was. Despite his weakened legs he felt himself widen his stance, lowering himself slightly to take a defensive position. There was no way he could out run another person right now, but he had no idea who was rushing over to him.
As the other got closer Touya could start to make out a face filled with apprehension and concern. Large, round, and friendly. It was so painfully familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Couldn’t put the face to a name. The mask and bright yellow jacket was all so familiar, but the teen just couldn’t recognize the incredibly outstanding figure. Until he did.
His brows shot up, and he felt his stance falter. Pro hero Fatgum was rushing towards him, his signature smile strained as if he was worried about approaching Touya at all. As if he was scared of him. Well, Touya couldn’t blame him. A lot of people are afraid of him.
Moreso he looked different, older.
“Hey kid!” Despite his chipper voice the hero seemed pulled back somehow, like he’s containing a piece of himself to avoid startling the other. Touya lowered his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the other intently, “Bit of a weird situation right now! How about you come with me and we get you checked out by a doctor!”
The hero smiled brightly at him, but Touya could only feel the pit in his stomach grow. His face contorted into something angry and defensive, voice practically growling as he spoke, “What kind of fucking test is this?”
Fatgum blinked back, smile faltering as he looked to the other strangely, “Test?”
“Yes, fucking test!” Touya screamed back, strengthening his position in case someone jumped out at him, “Whatever bullshit my handlers put you up to I’m uninterested and I want to go back! This isn’t funny.”
He could see pieces of the hero crumble behind his eyes, confusion and nervousness building, his hands raised to mimic a kind of placating gesture. Words now lost and Fatgum’s mouth hung open before he cleared his throat, “There, there is no test kid! No, what did you say, handlers? None of them are here. A tragedy happened, and I’m here to make sure you’re alrigh-”
“No!” Touya yelled back, “We were walking in the hallway! At night! All sketchy! And suddenly it’s day and I’m surrounded by destruction? You’re Fatgum but you sure as shit don’t look like him! Was I fucking drugged?”
The hero’s stance shook before straightening, worry being the only viewable emotion on his expression, “Listen, that sounds like a terrifying perspective, and I’ll be here to help you look into it. What, what can I do to try and convince you that I’m not with one of your handlers?”
Touya could barely breathe, each intake of air felt labored, the lining of his eyes trembled both out of pure exhaustion mixed with a hint of terror. Sucking in his tongue so hard he felt his neck strain at the action, mouth hanging open again as he thought. What would convince him that the other wasn’t with his handlers? The white haired teen has to think hard on that one, too unsure of his own answer. All he could do was remain still, curling in his lips as his brows furrowed, chest falling inwards on itself.
“What is something only Fatgum would know?”
It came out more as a statement than a question, breathy heavy in the statement as he glared at the hero. The hero who wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.
“I won my second year Sports Festival-”
The hero attempted but, “Everyone fucking knows that.”
Fatgum paused, “My internship was under-”
“The food hero based out in Kyoto, despite the fact that you were born and raised in Osaka, which made headlines when you cracked the top hundred, everyone knows that .”
A sigh escaped the hero, the kid certainly knew his stuff. Gritting his teeth he opened his mouth, “My parents didn’t like each other, they got divorced when I was little, but the public wasn’t made aware.”
The teen only glared harder, “But the Commission would know that.”
A piece of the hero cracked as the others voices wobbled, brows pulled taunt as his subconscious ran over what the kid could mean, why would it matter that the Commission knew that. The Commission just ran things. Yet some deep part of him had never trusted those emotionless faces and deadpan monotone voices that delegated the saving of people's lives, as if they didn’t care. Fatgum bit his tongue, voice swallowed in the moment.
“I,” the hero froze, looking downward at the teen in front of him. Covered in scars, fear laced in his very being, eyes tired as he looked to the hero with such mistrust. Licking his lips Fatgum let his expression fall fully, the kid needed transparency more than anything in this moment. This kid needed help. This kid who’d develop into one of the most dangerous villains in the country, who looked mortified and desperate for a hand to be extended to him. A hand that couldn’t be like the others. Whoever he dealt with in his past hurt him. Whoever he was moments before now, the one he was brought back from would have been one of the ones to make whoever this teen was into Dabi.
This kid needed truth and some trust.
“I tried to take my own life once,” Taishiro spoke softly, words barely loud enough to hear. For a moment he saw the kids' hardened mask of anger crack, “Twice actually,” he corrected himself, “I was bullied so harshly. People hated me, no matter how nice I was to them. No matter what I did.”
He watched the other try to remain vigilant, “I, God, I tried pills first. But, it just, didn’t work. When I,” he paused, “When I tried something more physical I just, I didn’t have it in me.” Taishiro gulped, “I went to go put it all back but, I slipped,” The hero chuckled sadly at that fact as he slowly reached for his glove, slipping it back to reveal a scar, deep but faded with time, “I tell everyone I got it in a villain attack, because, well-”
“You can’t become a hero if you tried.”
Taishiro looked up, a sad smile on his face before nodding, “Yep, you can’t,” Fatgum watched in real time as a kind of strange relief washed over the other, but his suspicions would remain raised. Something Fatgum couldn’t blame him for. The hero looked to the other, a downed hopefulness in his expression, “Something that the Commission wouldn’t know, right?”
It took a few moments, a few minutes even, for the kid to let his arms fall, slow and unsure still. Fatgum waited. Whoever failed this kid in the past, Taishiro wasn’t going to do the same, “What’s your name kid?”
The teen sucked in his teeth, that rigidness returning to his form, “Nova.”
Fatgum tilted his head, “What’s… your real name?”
Nova paused, clearly thinking it over.
“...Touya.”
“Just Touya?” Fatgum asked playfully, a small genuine grin on his face.
Touya only seemed more weighed by the question.
Silence.
“Touya Todoroki.”
“I may never sleep tonight, as long as you’re still burnin’ bright. If I could trade mistakes for sheep count me away before you sleep. I’ll stay awake ‘til I trade my mistakes, or they fade away.”
Hawks remained quiet as he walked alongside Eraserhead. The hero not letting him trail behind, and silently insisted that the other at least walk along beside him. Something within Hawks told him it was because the other didn’t want him sneaking off somehow. He had mentioned that the blond got into the top ten heroes in his first half year, so it’s rather likely he knew of his physical abilities.
The teen was constantly running his tongue along the back of his teeth, a nervous tick he’d picked up with time. It was hard for his handlers to pick up on the movement, so it was hardly ever corrected. He found himself staring at the dirt and ash beneath them, unable to move his eyes away from it all. His brain repeating the information he was given again and again.
He’s twenty-three. Or at least, was twenty-three. He was the number two hero. Had that meant Endeavor became number one? Or, did he surpass him? That didn’t sound right to Hawks. Someone as faulted as himself shouldn’t be able to pass a hero like that in rank. Maybe Endeavor reached the top spot and then retired. Though, that doesn’t sound like the flame hero at all. His downfall was always his boastfulness. Maybe All Might had retired? Though, even if Hawks wasn’t a big All Might fan, even he could say that it didn’t sound like the symbol of peace. Not with all the threats to society the Commission spoke of.
Hawks suddenly jumped, putting several feet of distance between him and the other hero. Wide eyes staring at the raven haired man who had his arm stuck frozen outstretched. The hero had made an attempt to reach out to Hawks, clearly too deep in his own thoughts to have heard his hero name being called out. But, he could certainly feel the presence of the hand that was making its way to him. The teen suddenly felt sick to his stomach, quickly realizing that the older man was just trying to make sure he was okay.
Hawks had overreacted.
The blond's mouth was open, ready to sputter out a quick apology, but the hero had beat him to it. His voice low, yet gentle, a practiced tone he used enough to have it mastered, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have reached out. I was rather worried, you weren’t blinking for a few minutes and weren’t responding. I wanted to make sure you were okay, though that isn’t an excuse.”
Shit. Hawks immediately blinked, hard enough that his head dipped in the process, “I’m sorry for overreacting. It won’t happen again.”
Eraserhead only shook his head though, “There is no overreacting, just reacting with reason. Don’t sweat it kid.”
The pair resumed their walk, and this time Hawks was better on not letting his bird traits show. He was conscious of his blinking, being sure to not let his secondary eyelids do the work for him. People would think he’s weird. His handlers would be furious with him if he let it happen.
At least Eraserhead wasn’t a part of them.
The pair didn’t spot anyone else immediately when they finally made it past a line of trees and rubble, the question of what happened ever present in the teens mind. As an opening came into view Hawks is quick to take everything in. Sharp eyes jumping from one thing to the next, surveying over them with precision. Pin pricked pupils landed on a group of three heroes, whispering amongst themselves.
All of which Hawks recognized. First was Best Jeanist, ever present on every magazine Hawks has ever seen, which admittedly wasn’t many but to him that says enough as it is. Next was Present Mic, also a friend of Eraserhead, a rather loud and overwhelming presence but right now he was uncharacteristically quiet. Lastly was Fatgum, who seemed the most worried out of the three. Hawks couldn’t hear him, but the man moved his hands quickly as he spoke, a kind of fearful uncertainty behind his eyes as he did so.
Just before they got into hearing range Eraserhead cleared his throat as the pair approached. The trio looked over and, for lack of a better word, they deflated. A pained expression in each pair of eyes, Fatgum’s suddenly lined with tears. Hawks couldn’t understand it. He was just one of the unlucky few within the range of this strange quirk, at least that’s all Eraserhead said.
Though, every training he’s been a part of they always tell him to never let the victims know the worst of it immediately or else you could have a rather complicated situation on your hands that therapists are better equipped for. Heroes placate and calm down citizens, even if it means to lie or stretch the truth. The blond's eyes looked over to Eraser’s face, stoic as ever, but hardened. As if he had to be strong.
Looking forward again, the trio had also strengthened themselves in the time Hawks had looked away. His stomach sank. There was an unfortunate truth they were hiding, and something within him said he wasn’t going to be able to handle it.
Present Mic had waved, that cheerful and overpowering personality on display, “Greetings Listener! Nice to meet you-”
While he wasn’t at full volume, Hawks couldn’t help but flinch back a bit, suddenly incredibly aware of his lack of headphones. Not enough for the trio to really notice, but something told him Eraserhead did, “Quit it Mic, he’s not up for it right now,” darkened eyes looked to the other, still adult heroes, “He already knows anyway.”
Best Jeanist remained unphased, as if he knew a part of Hawks that typically he wouldn’t share. Though who knows how much he really changed over the years. Present Mic had cut out, yet Fatgum seemed the most surprised, “Does he,” the large man paused, “Does he know? ”
“He knows enough.”
It was a simple yet relatively vague response. It piqued a curiosity in the smaller blond, his tongue running along the backside of his teeth. The heroes have to be hiding something, there was no way that they weren’t. Hawks desperately wanted to push his fingers onto each other and rub them together, another nervous tick that he didn’t do nearly as often as the teeth one.
Present Mic was looking like he was going to say something, yet Eraserhead beat him to it, “I’ll take him to medical. You three can continue to conspire about whatever you’re speaking of.”
Best Jeanist was the one to respond, injecting what is likely much needed information, “All members of the League are also at medical with a similar condition. All except Himiko Toga, she escaped and no one has been able to find her yet.”
This seemed to garner Eraserheads attention much more than anything else, “All of them?”
“All main members except her. Yes.”
Eraserhead had fallen silent. Eraserhead had gone still. Hawks ran his tongue behind his teeth. The underground hero merely nodded, “I shall keep that in mind as we make our way over.”
Best Jeanist nodded in acknowledgement. The other two raised their hands to say goodbye. The pair were off again, this time passing people. Citizens and other heroes. Pitied looks kept getting thrown his way and slowly he found himself to grow self conscious, though he knew better than to show it.
Part of him wanted to ask the hero what they were hiding from him. He deserved to know, he was the one who apparently got deaged six years, it was only fair. Yet, he also knew better than to ask out loud. Who knows how these people would treat him, heroes or not. It was a scary truth, but a truth to know nonetheless.
His tongue ran along the front of his teeth, and he looked back down to the ground. Forcing himself to remember to blink at least a few times a minute. He just had to put one foot in front of the other, and he’ll figure it all out. Eventually at least. There’s no way he’ll be kept in the dark forever.
His feathers felt prickly where they sat, growing restless as more and more presences were detected. Hawks refused to let it show though. He raised his head, people and doctors, victims and heroes, citizens and students. A wide array of personalities lay in front of him, a light anxious feeling rose in his chest, but he swallowed it down with grit teeth.
Eraserhead remained close, yet not close enough to accidentally touch, despite the space being rather cramped. Hawks remained as well guarded as he could be to himself. With a deep breath he let his shoulders raise slightly before popping his neck. Walking towards an open cot Hawks felt almost selfish for being offered a full mat when he was fine. Though he outwardly says anything, feeling as if it’d just be better to get it all over with rather than prolonging the inevitable.
So he followed instruction, sitting down as the nurse scurried about to collect her things. Eraserhead looked at him, a kind of knowing look in his eye, eyebrows knit together as that permanent frown remained clear on his face, “Is there anything else I can help with? I have to go work on something else if not.”
Hawks shook his head no. He’ll be fine. He’s always fine. He always finds his way out of these things, “I should be fine.”
Eraserhead didn’t seem convinced at the statement, as if it didn’t sit right with him. His face pinched for reasons unknown to Hawks. Yet, the hero merely nodded his head as he leaned back up, “I’ll speak with you later then.”
Hawks nodded back, forcing a strained smile of his own, just to calm the other as he finally turned around to leave.
Taking in a deep inhale Hawks let his shoulders slump downwards, a soft sigh escaping him as he finally straightened his head. Eyes closed to think for a moment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Opening his eyes he looked straight in front of him, but he felt his heart stop. His breath was taken from him in a matter of moments and suddenly every bit of self control and carefully curated masks of the past were crushed within seconds.
Blue eyes stared at him. Directly at Hawks, at Keigo. Nova stared at him. Touya is staring at him.
Touya is alive.
That isn’t possible. Touya died. Keigo watched Touya die in that vacuumed shut room, filled with smoke and flame. There was nothing left. Touya had died. Keigo watched him die. Touya is dead and yet that familiar set of white hair and blue eyes stared at him with that same worry he had mere months ago.
Keigo looked down. His chest suddenly heaving, arms shaking. The constriction of his heart hurt like no other and he could feel his nails dig into his chest because of the pain. It all hurts. It was all too loud, yet he couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t feel anything. His head swam as it throbbed. Touya is supposed to be dead, yet he’s staring at him a few yards away six years into the future.
It isn’t right. This isn’t right. None of this is right.
They did this once, were they going to do it all again?
Was this a test?
Fuck, was this a punishment?
A yelp sounded out but it wasn’t his own.
The feeling of blood could be felt weighing down his feathers.
He was breathing heavily, and nothing was in control.
Tears fell down his face as his hands came up to cover his ears.
It was too loud.
It was too loud.
It was too loud.
Suddenly a shadow fell in front of him, and when he looked up Eraserhead was already back. He covered his view, yet he hadn’t made any move to touch or move him again. Hawks’ wings felt heavy behind him, so much so he felt as they dropped. The man's hair was raised, his quirk in use. He’s using his quirk on him.
Panicked eyes looked to his right, the nurse now clutching her bloodied hand as she worked on it. The blond felt his throat tighten, “I-I cut her-”
“She tried to touch you when helping. It was an accident.”
Keigo’s voice broke down, any sense of control fleeting and gone, “I fucked up,” he half whimpered out, “I failed didn’t I?”
Maybe this was some kind of test. A test of loyalty, of his true character. They wouldn’t have brought in the ghost of Touya if it wasn’t. This had to all be a ruse of some kind. A test. A test was the only thing that made sense and he failed. He expressed weakness and vulnerability, and he cried of all things, he cried.
Hawks failed.
“You didn’t fuck up. You didn’t fail.” That same, low and calming voice spoke, “I am unsure what you think this all is, but it is only what I told you.”
Keigo looked to him, pained and teary eyed.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Don’t be. She’s fine.” He leaned his head in the direction of her, she offered the blond a small smile as she bandaged herself up. Taking in a breath hurt as he looked back over when the hero spoke again, “It all is going to be fine. This is only a world of heroes, I’m sure someone will find the solution to it all.”
Keigo didn’t have the heart in him to nod in return.
Slowly the man's hair drifted down and the feeling returned to Hawks’ wings.
“ You’re going to be okay.”
Keigo really wanted to believe him.
But Hawks knew it was too good to be true.