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When Hawks is caught sneaking out of his office by Miruko, in full beanie/hoodie/sunglasses incognito, he doesn’t expect her to be interested in joining him in his “sus” activities. Isn’t able to shake her off, either, since all protests at her tagging along fall on deaf, fuzzy ears.
“Ahh, haha, I’m just doing some boring volunteer work!” He says, conveniently leaving out the fact that said volunteer work - which he’s also financing, under an alias - is in his old neighborhood, tripling his need for anonymity.
“Sweet, I love volunteering,” is her amused reply. Cool. Awesome. He knew there was a reason he liked her. Still, even the Commission didn’t know about his monthly trips to good old “home seedy home”. So other heroes knowing..?
But he can’t think of a way to dissuade her, and with the Nomu fight still costing him in ibuprofens and bandages... a big part of him doesn’t want to.
So to the station they go - Hawks bundled up in a jacket meant to hide his sixteen-foot wingspan (currently more in the sixteen-inch range) and Miruko with ears stuffed in a ball cap and rocking a retro bomber jacket that covers her tail.
Just two young people, going to do some good in the world.
They arrive in Hawks’ old neighborhood thirty minutes later, stepping onto a platform much grimier and neglected than the one outside his uptown office. But something in Hawks settles at the feel of cigarette butts crunching under his tennis shoes and the smell of ragweed poking up through cracked concrete.
“This way,” he gestures to the group picking up garbage bags and brooms on the corner of the street, casually avoiding Miruko’s curious gaze.
He hears her thoughtful hum before she bumps shoulders with him.
“You grew up here, huh?”
He blinks, startled.
And they say I’m fast, he thinks ruefully.
“How’d you know?”
Her capped head tilts to one of the many graffitied walls, where an enormous pair of red wings were artistically styled across the entire length. “Man who never stops, taking time to volunteer? In a neighborhood that seems to love those red wings you stuffed outta sight? Please.”
Hawks stares at the wide, red wings - fresh, considering they haven't been painted over yet. He wonders who put the clues about the little winged boy Keigo and the Pro Hero Hawks together after all this time.
Another nudge on his shoulder has him following Miruko’s pointing finger, “Check it out, there’s another one!”
And sure enough, across the side of an old brick bar is another painting of his wings with wide block letters underneath that proclaim: “OUR HERO.”
Hawks doesn’t know what to say. The paintings were clearly done by different artists; the styles were totally unique. Which means… it must be something of an open secret in his hometown. Who he is. Who he was.
A voice reminiscent of his handler scolds him for his rashness, but Hawks ignores it and says instead, “This is where we pick up our supplies.”
Leading Miruko over to the little booth that’d been set up, he points, “You get a choice between painting, street sweeping, repairs - uhhh, looks like we’re doing entryways today, with winter getting closer - or working in the community garden.”
He glances over at her, still uncertain, only to see Miruko rolling up her sleeves with a broad grin on her face.
“Didn’t you know? They called me the Carpentry Queen back in high school.” She picks up a pen laid out by the signup sheets and scrawls “Rumi” on the list for repair workers. "Might be rusty, but a saw ain't too hard.” She winks at the volunteer handing out gloves and safety glasses.
“We need all the experience we can get over here,” the man grins back, using such a thick Fukuoka drawl that Hawks’ nubby wings flutter with familiarity under his jacket. “And how ‘bout your friend here - any specialties?”
Pretty good undercover agent, Hawks thinks with a wry smile. “Put me where ya need me, chief.”
He ends up on the painting team. The team designated to… touching up and restoring… the graffiti. Specifically, the graffiti of his wings.
The irony is not lost on him.
“You see Hawks’ fight a few days ago?” A teenager assigned to his team asks, flicking red paint onto the cracked concrete in her enthusiasm. Hawks grins behind the bandana wrapped around his face.
“I saw some of it, yeah,” he says easily enough. “Seemed pretty violent - sure you’re old enough to be watching that stuff?”
The girl’s spiky hair bristles even further, almost like a porcupine. “Hey, I’m fourteen! Just because I’m not ancient…”
Hawks laughs, stroking his brush through an elaborate set of swirls. Enjoying the mindless rhythm of bringing vibrancy back to the art before him - even if he was the subject.
He chats with the teens a while, laughing and flicking paint at each other under the bright afternoon sun. From the carpentry station he hears the echo of whirring saws and Miruko’s maniacal laughter; from the back of a car being loaded with garbage he hears a radio playing; and from the community garden at the end of the street he sees a mud-war erupting. All in all, it was far more lively and… homey than he ever remembered it being.
An empty window across the block catches his eye at that thought, reminding him of the empty family who once lived there. Gripping his brush tighter, he shakes the memory off with steady strokes.
As expected, his team finishes first, and he grins when the kids exchange knowing looks while one runs off to fetch a ball. They rush to the area already cleaned by the terrifying street team, and Hawks gets the honor of being the goalie between a couple of lamp posts.
He does just fine - spectacular, even - until Miruko joins the opposing team ten minutes later.
“Ah,” he laments during a time out. “It was a good game. But we’re gonna die.”
He’s not wrong. Miruko and her team of burly teens freaking annihilate them while the parents cheer and laugh, setting up for a block party.
“You tried your best, townie,” the painter teen tells him, patting his arm in a commiserating way. Hawks gives her a sweaty one-armed hug that she squeals and tries to duck away from. Which is, of course, when Miruko snags him in a headlock.
“Yeah, c’mon townie,” she crows. “Loser has to make me a veggie burger.”
Hawks laughs, taking the ribbing in stride. As the sun sets with all the volunteers eating and chatting together on the curbs and picnic blankets, Hawks catches Miruko watching him - cheek bulging with a mouthful of victory burger. She glances at the graffitied wings across from them and raises an eyebrow, clearly wondering if the Winged Hero would say something.
But hanging with his people - working alongside them? That’s something Hawks would never get to do. Media storm aside, he knows he’d never get away with losing a game or spilling paint on the street and getting sassed by the cleaning crew for his clumsiness.
So he shakes his head and breathes in the brisk evening air, allowing himself to just be Keigo for the time being.
