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“You’d said you’d grown wings for me, huh pretty bird? Well that’s lovely, but feathers are no match for fire.”
The harsh smell of burning skin and feathers filled Keigo’s senses as his eyes shot open. He blindly swiped his arms out in front of him, hitting nothing. Of course he wouldn’t hit anything. He’s alone. Instinctively he tries to wrap his wings around his body for comfort, and nearly cries out at the painful burns on his back.
He clenched his teeth and hissed through the pain, feeling blood ooze from the wounds through the bandages. The tender wounds on his skin only sting worse by how quickly he had moved. Cremation. Something too powerful for someone so out of control. Fierce Wings. Strong, and protective. But as Dabi had said, feathers are no match for burning hot flames.
Keigo slowly relaxed his muscles, still pained from the movement. He gripped the sheets of his hospital cot tightly, the thin fabric did nothing to keep his nails from digging into his palms. He winced at the pain of the new injury, desperate to distract himself from his back. The constant pain only worsened with the flashbacks and nightmares.
They thought he was ready to be taken off the sedatives. Thought he was healed enough to be able to fall asleep on his own. Every time he closed his eyes, a too-wide cheshire cat grin of staples and burnt skin popped into his vision. And every time, he panicked.
He tried to breathe in, coughing and spluttering from the smoke that had made its way into his lungs. He felt so blind without his precious wings. His feathers. They kept him safe. Kept other safe. Made him feel powerful. That pretty fantasy had been harshly ripped away from him by the manic fire user.
He looked up to the window, hoping to find some small comfort in the moon or stars. Something he could always count on to be there for him, right? Wrong. Dark clouds covered the sky. Dark clouds that were too long, too wispy, too smoke-like- Keigo’s heart beat faster and faster, he tried to scream but nothing came out.
His eyes wandered to the thin white curtain hung over the window. The window, opened so he could get “fresh air”, blew the curtain around. “Even the curtains can fly huh?” He thought bitterly, before turning away from them. But still, that irritatingly thin material cast moving shadows on the ceiling.
Keigo watched them for a while, eyes closely focused on the movements and swirls of the shadows. Then, the curtain’s shadow curled in on itself and Keigo snapped. He shot up out of bed, ignoring the continuing tearing of his wounds. He ripped the curtains down, staring at the fabric now knotted in his fists.
Keigo Takami does not cry. He’s a hero. Heroes don’t cry.
And yet, seeing this fragile fabric, he can only think of another person who has let him down. Endeavor. Enji Todoroki. Dabi... it couldn’t be true. He couldn’t be his son. The world couldn’t be that cruel.
Could it...?
He tightened his hold on the fabric before throwing it away from him as hard as he could. It seemed to mock him as it slowly drifted towards the floor. It laid there, unmoving. No life left in the simple fabric that had seemed to fly. Keigo forced himself to lay back down, ignoring the stabbing pain in his back.
Because Keigo doesn’t cry. He isn’t weak. He doesn’t let his emotions show. No. Not like his father. He would never be like that man. He wanted to be like Endeavor... right? The hero he’d admired for so long...
He would never be able to get Dabi’s face out of his mind. The way he screamed Keigo’s name at him, before letting out a manic laugh and grabbing his face. He smiled too wide again, before whispering close to his ear his true identity. Touya Todoroki. The eldest son of the number one hero. Endeavor.
No. Keigo will not cry. Not for his father, nor his hero, nor his lover. He will not let his pain show to anyone, even if he is alone. Because he never truly is. The memories and flashbacks make sure of that.
His mind slips back to when Dabi had first toyed with his wings, gently twisting feathers between his fingers. He’d laughed when Keigo blushed and whimpered, but not a manic laugh. Something affectionate. Something loving. He’d let go when Keigo made a pained noise. Hushed him gently, stroking his hair. Calling him beautiful. His pretty bird.
His Hawks. Not Keigo. Hawks. He’s Hawks right? The number two hero. The Wings Hero. With his powerful quirk. His Fierce Wings.
But just as his childhood had, his hope for a bright or happy future was burned up. Though this time, the flames were hotter, and such a vibrant blue. Cremation. What a fitting name for something that kills. Killed his hope. His happiness. His love.
But that was a lie. Keigo loves Dabi. He loves his angry, violent, aggressive Dabi. HIS Dabi. Not Touya. Not Endeavor’s son. Just his Dabi. And that was all he wanted. Dabi all to himself. Because Keigo is selfish, and unrealistic.
Dabi was never his to keep.
Keigo is pulled out of his own thoughts by the persistent sting of his burns. He carefully rests his back on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling. There are no more flying curtains. No more beautiful shadows. No more flight. Just an empty darkness.
Keigo hasn’t felt this darkness so intensely before. Like it wants to swallow him whole. The pitch blackness is dragging him down. But it’s not all black. It’s purple, and rough, and the edges are stapled together.
Keigo’s vision is blurry. He won’t cry. He can’t cry. He’s a hero and heroes don’t fucking cry. But those tears still sting the edges of his eyes. Just another burn to add to the ones he will always live with.
Because he knows. Even if he survives these burns, there will always be stings when he tries to move. He won’t fly anymore. He can’t fly anymore.
He squeezes his eyes shut. But something new appears, instead of Dabi’s sadistic grin. A small child, sitting perched on a bridge. A ratty, oversized t-shirt covers his whole body. Bruises on his arms are a dark contrast to the pale skin of an underfed, unloved child. Scrapes and cuts peek out from the fabric too. The small bulges on his back would go unnoticed by anyone passing by, but who would be at this hour?
The small boy looked out over the traffic below, staring at the blinding lights before standing up. Keigo watched his younger self take a shuddering breath before stepping closer to the edge of the bridge. He wants to call out, promise the young child that he’s going to be okay, and that he’s gonna be safe.
His words fail him though, as he watches a tiny Keigo Takami leap forward off the edge and fall. His breath catches, he can’t speak or cry or scream. And then he’s in the air. Instead of falling, he flies.
Keigo remembers the feeling so closely. His eyes shooting open and feels the wind rush through his hair and feathers. Not being able to control his movements very well, but enjoying soaring through the air. His little wings pressing against that loose fabric, being able to feel each feather individually.
He remembers laughing, and smiling for the first time in so long. The way the air should be freezing, but he’s too overjoyed to feel it. He remembers feeling wind blow his shirt up enough for his wings to peek out. The way he gasped when they extended and let him fly even higher and faster.
He soared around in the air, laughing and happily watching the world below. He remembers the way it felt the first time a feather pulled away from his wings. He remembers gasping at the tear in the fabric of his shirt when it returned. Carefully, he lifts the shirt up even higher and smiles when his wings point up.
Flying, flying, higher and higher and... suddenly Keigo is yanked back to reality when someone knocks on the door. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, until he heard receding footsteps. He sighed quietly, thinking about the memory.
He looked at the cards and small gifts littering his bedside table. One in particular stood out. Eraserhead had been helping Eri to learn to write and spell, and with his help, she’d made him a card. A messy drawing of a feather bright red feathers, done in crayon. Scrawled at the top was “get better soon Hawks!”.
He carefully reached for the card, wincing at the movement. He ran a thumb over the drawn feathers. Of course the child hadn’t been told the extent of what had happened. Very few had been. But something about the feathers made him look closer in the dim light.
Each piece had been drawn individually, rather than just scribbles. He guessed Eraserhead had probably helped with that too. But behind the feathers, there seemed to be a very softly drawn gold tint. He squinted, unsure if he was imagining it.
Coming to the conclusion that it was too dark to see, he set it back down, and laid back with his knees pressed against his chest. His eyes slowly fell shut again, meeting Dabi’s smile again.
Hawks doesn’t cry. The number two hero doesn’t cry. He’s cocky, and brave, and bold. Heroes don’t cry.
But Keigo isn’t a hero. And so, for the first time in his adult life, Keigo Takami lets himself cry.
Because who is the Wings Hero without his precious wings?