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“Go fuck yourself, Hawks!” Dabi yells as he plummets to his death.
Hawks cackles from somewhere way too far overhead, and Dabi screams out his rage as he pours firepower from his feet, trying to slow his descent.
The villain knew Dabi hated using his flames like this. It was why the fucking bird had snatched him from the streets to begin with. Apparently, he liked seeing Dabi fall ass-over-tea-kettle and almost splat on the asphalt every other Tuesday.
Gonna fucking murder him, I don’t care what the HPSC says about my image, Dabi seethes, finally righting himself in the air a mere twenty feet shy of the little park below. Which is a good thing, because he’s got a ten-foot trail of fire blasting out from his boots and an even deeper pile of paperwork from the last time Hawks did this over a dry-ass forest.
Dabi hovers unsteadily in the air, glaring down at the civilians below and wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to land with them rubbernecking at his subpar flying skills.
“Move!” he hollers, gesturing vigorously with a half-flaming hand at the gawkers below. Several of them wave, cheering on Cremation Hero Dabi.
“Having fun yet?” an annoyingly familiar voice asks from above. Dabi blasts upward on instinct, trying to hit the body attached to said voice.
“Woah there, tiger,” Hawks laughs, falling back in a graceful backflip to avoid getting brained by Dabi’s ascent. Crimson wings beat at the villain’s back with almost insulting ease, and Dabi - wobbly and fuming - glares at them.
From below, cries of “it’s Hawks!” and “a villain!” and “stop him Dabi!” reach both the hovering men. Hawks arches a bushy eyebrow in question, his gold eyes dancing with glee.
Dabi grits his teeth, knowing for an absolute fact that he can’t best the villain in the air, and also knowing that his support equipment can only take so much more sustained flight.
“What do you want this time,” he grinds out, skin beginning to sting with the strength of his quirk.
Hawks grins, flapping in a wide, lazy arc around the hero, just far enough out of reach that he could dodge Dabi’s fires if he decided to attack. Just close enough that Dabi couldn’t let his guard down.
(They’d done this dance enough times to know each other's limits.)
“Feisty today, huh?” the villain laughs. “I want a lotta things, you know. For right now, I’ll settle for you meeting me on the roof of the Suntory building. You can blast off a few shots to make it look like we’re fighting or whatever, but I just wanna talk.”
Dabi scowls, quickly weighing his options.
While not a murderous type of villain, if one discounted Hawks’ snatch-and-drop routine, Hawks was still dangerous. Unpredictable. And while his quirk was a bad matchup for Dabi’s on the best of days, the hero hadn’t yet come out of a confrontation with Hawks feeling like he’d won. Especially not from an aerial battle.
“Fine,” he snaps, jerking his chin toward the Suntory Museum of Arts that Hawks had indicated. “Lead the way, chicken boy.”
Hawks grins, gold-tipped incisors flashing in the sun. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”
Then he takes off in a flash of crimson that literally leaves Dabi dazzled, and the hero growls low in his chest as he forces his flames to jettison him across the open sky in pursuit.
Below, onlookers gasp and cry out, like they’re watching some sort of high-speed chase, and Dabi just knows he’s gonna be all over YouTube by the end of the day. Fuck, if he sees one more compilation video of “So Dabi let Hawks go again… are we gonna talk about this?” he’s gonna fucking move to Hokkaido. Make himself useful in avalanche rescues or some shit.
“Wow, for someone with such a fiery quirk, you sure ain’t lookin’ too hot!”
Of course Hawks beats him to the rooftop. He’s one of the fastest villains on record, which was why Dabi would never be stupid enough to challenge him in his own element.
But now that the villain has landed and is casually watching Dabi from the rooftop while the hero sweats and pants from even trying to keep up, Dabi readies himself to attack. After all, the villain has just cut his own escape routes in half.
Something makes Dabi hesitate, though, hovering in the air, sweat stinging his already-blistering skin. Hawks isn’t making a move to attack in turn. He’s just standing there, wings drooping in what looks like exhaustion.
Dabi lands on the roof, tamping down on his fires as best he can to avoid scorch marks before just cutting them off about five feet up. The landing, as always, jars his knees and ankles unpleasantly, despite the support equipment.
All the while, Hawks watches him, golden eyes sharp and a loose smile playing at his lips, belying the bags under his eyes and the grubby, unshowered appearance. Dabi takes in the details better now, with solid ground beneath his boots once more. In the bright light of the midday sun, the golden villain, the poster child for the evil underground, finally looks the part of a societal degenerate.
Dabi doesn’t like it.
He can’t say that though.
“So?” he asks curtly, tilting back on his heels to let the heat off his boots. No point in melting through the loose gravel atop the roof.
“So, so, so,” Hawks repeats ironically, still with that air of confidence as he folds his arms and tucks his wings in close to his back. That, more than anything so far, lets Dabi know the villain might be serious about just wanting to talk.
Abruptly, Hawks turns on his heel and walks to the low railing at the edge of the roof. Sunlight reflects off of the deco metal, and the brightness shimmers back on Hawks as he leans against it, giving him an almost ethereal glow while he gazes out over the city. Dabi hesitates before joining him, wary of this moody, angelic-looking Hawks.
“According to the HPSC, I gotta hear out villains when they say they wanna talk,” Dabi says after a long moment, arching an eyebrow at the man next to him. “Not gonna lie though, I’m not the most patient guy on their payroll.”
Hawks shifts to look at him, the tip of his wing trailing over Dabi’s mostly-cooled boot. The hero hadn’t even thought about whether or not it was safe to stand so close. Hawks with his guard down was… dangerous.
“Heh,” Hawks huffs. “I know. Got your quirk early, got your license early, graduated early. Ain’t nothing about you patient, hot stuff.”
Dabi twitches at the endearment and at the information. Probably pulled from his Heropedia page, but still… irritating.
“That’s not what you wanted to chat about,” he points out, trying to keep his temper in check. It’s made easier by his training in criminal psychology pointing out a lot of alarming red flags with the villain. From his claws tapping restlessly on the railing with little tinging noises, to his unkempt appearance, to his unusual reserve - it’s all painting a picture of a man at his breaking point.
When Hawks doesn’t say anything for a long moment, Dabi draws in a deep breath and reaches for that training.
“Talk to me.”
Hawks’ eyes flash as he cuts his gaze over to the hero. His expression is unusually serious as he stares at Dabi like he’s searching his soul. It’s kind of creepy because the villain doesn’t blink.
Then he turns his unnerving gaze down to Dabi’s bare forearms, resting on the warm metal railing beside him. His bare, scarred, forearms. Dabi fights not to withdraw them from sight.
Finally, Hawks blinks. Then a huge sigh bursts from the villain as he scrubs a hand down his tired face.
“You don’t remember me, do you? From when we were kids, I mean.”
Of all the things Dabi had been expecting to hear, that certainly wasn’t near the top of the list. Confused, he stares at the villain.
“Think I’d remember seeing wings like that,” he says slowly. “Sure you don’t have the wrong guy with a fire quirk?”
Hawks snorts softly. “Wasn’t the quirk I remembered.” He glances once more at Dabi’s scarred arms before meeting the hero’s eyes again.
Scars... injuries? Was he at the training field or…
Oh. The hospital.
“You were that kid,” Dabi says slowly, the pieces clicking into place with uncomfortable certainty as he recalls wide eyes and a tremulous smile in the bed across from his. “You said your mom..?”
“Tried to sell my quirk to the highest bidder,” Hawks finishes without any inflection, though a shudder ripples through his wings. “I guess you do remember.”
Dabi hesitates, mind struggling between wariness, training, and outright human sympathy.
“Why are you bringing this up now?” he asks. “You’ve tried to kill me half a dozen times this year alone and you pester me any chance you get - like when you stole my pizza last week. What fucking gives?”
Hawks plays with his fingers, not looking at Dabi, but instead at the people far below. “To be fair, pineapple on pizza should be a crime worse than stealing.”
Dabi glares. “Hawks.”
The villain sighs, once more running a hand over his face before planting his chin into his palm.
“Some kid - little girl by the name of Eri - is getting used by her dad for her quirk,” Hawks says, fists clenching inside his fingerless gloves. “Getting used to make quirk-canceling bullets for the yakuza, and I can’t just…”
Dabi goes very still, realizing quite suddenly why Hawks has decided to come to him.
“I thought about goin’ to the League. I know some of them have gotten fucked over for their quirks too,” Hawks continues, still not looking at Dabi. “But… I found out they’re lookin’ to work with the yakuza. Kinda makes for a conflict of interest.”
“So you came to me,” Dabi states quietly, mind going back to that conversation in the hospital so many years ago, about parents who wanted more than their children could give. Recalling the boy he had so much in common with.
Dabi takes a deep breath, pulling in clean air and holding it in his chest before blowing it out in a long sigh. The HPSC is gonna fire him for this - he’s sure of it.
Worth it though, he thinks, glancing over at the villain who now watches him with something like cautious hope in his pretty golden eyes.
“Only one question then, I guess,” he says with a rueful smile, already thinking of all the ways this can go wrong.
“When do we start?”