Work Text:
Hawks is late. It's not the first time but he's usually not that late. In any case, he has the annoying habit to text Dabi about his ETA, as if Dabi actually cared, which he absolutely doesn’t.
Dabi is about to ditch the bloody pigeon to go back to HQ when he hears the familiar flap of massive wings behind him. The tongue lashing Dabi had prepared during the last half hour dies as soon as Dabi takes in Hawks’ appearance. Except for this time where they met in the warehouse after the High-End fight, the hero has always shown up perfectly put together: purposefully tousled hair, pristine spandex, and shiny feathers, almost as if he was permanently on his way for a stupid photoshoot.
Not tonight.
Hawks slows down with a few beats of strangely smaller wings and his feet touch the ground in a half-controlled slide rather than the usual graceful landing. His face is bruised, his visor is cracked in several places and he’s lost his headphones somewhere. Even in the poor light, Dabi can spot the dark stains on the white fur lining the collar of his jacket. Something’s telling Dabi that it’s probably not some leftover bbq sauce.
Despite looking like he’s been hit by a truck or ten, Hawks manages to give Dabi a half-smile, far from his toothpaste commercial grin. “Hey Staples. Sorry, I’m late. Lost my phone, been held back by the cops, you know the drill.”
Dabi doesn’t smile.
Something dark bubbles in his chest, something he’s very familiar with, an old friend he never managed to let go of. Fire simmers under his skin, ready to lash out. Without realizing it, Dabi takes a step forward and when Hawks tries to stumble back to keep some space between them, wings flaring to maintain his balance, Dabi reaches out and stabilizes Hawks with a hand on his shoulder.
Hawks freezes, his usual friendly expression briefly replaced by surprise before falling back to neutral. From up close, the hero looks even more beat up and the dark feeling coiling in Dabi’s gut expands, invades his chest and courses through his veins like poison. For some reason, the blond strands sticking to Hawks’ temples with a mix of sweat and blood don’t sit well with him. The hero’s right cheek sports a cut half patched up with shitty butterfly closures, not even cleaned properly. Dabi carefully catches Hawks’ chin between his index and thumb to get a better look at his swollen lower lip.
“Who did this?”
With a weak swat of his hand, Hawks gets away from Dabi. “I’m fine, no need to worry your patchwork head.”
“I’m not worried,” Dabi snaps back with a frown. “I just like my assets in shape. You’re useless to me if you’re half-dead.”
Hawks shakes his head. “Useless, huh?” There’s no bite in his tone, just exhaustion. Hawks never shows his exhaustion. He hides everything behind his perfect mask but tonight, Dabi starts to see the cracks and he’s not sure what to do with it.
“Whatever,” Hawks sighs as he fishes a USB stick from an inner pocket. Dabi only notices the bruised knuckles at that moment. “Here, the data you asked me.”
Dabi takes the device, still frowning and something is pushing him to pester Hawks. “Are you going to see a doc?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine. A long shower, a good night of sleep and I’ll be right as rain.”
Dabi raises an eyebrow. “Right.”
“What is it, Staples? You want to kiss my owies better?”
The joke falls flat when Hawks wavers on his legs, eyes suddenly glazy and wings drooping.
Dabi catches him once more, annoyed. “Oy, don’t faint on me, chickenshit.”
“I’m fine,” Hawks slurs.
“Yeah, right, and I’m Colonel Sanders.”
Hawks takes a step back with a wince, putting all his weight on his right leg. “Don’t say that, I could commit arson for a bucket of wings.”
Dabi follows Hawks’ motion. “That’s my line.”
Hawks levels him with a flat stare, obviously not amused. “If we’re done, I’d like to go home,”
“You’re not flying back. You’re going to crash into the first lamppost.”
“I’m fine,” Hawks repeats, but it sounds more like a mantra to convince himself.
“You’re not.”
“Why do you care, anyway?”
Dabi huffs. “I don’t. Come on, I can call Ujiko to get us at least closer to your place.”
Hawks blinks, uncertain. His wings quiver, whispering like leaves in the wind, a sign of Hawks’ nervousness. Since when did Dabi become fluent in wings? Better not dwell on this for too long.
“I’m not showing you where I live.”
Dabi rolls his eyes. “I already know where you live, birdbrain.”
Hawks’ eyes comically widen. “What?”
“Who do you take me for? I did my homework.” Dabi comes closer and wraps his arm around Hawks’ waist. He’s smaller than Dabi thought - not that he really paid attention anyway. Dabi presses the communicator on the collar of his coat. “Hey Doc, a ride for two to Hawks' nest.” He tightens his hold around Hawks and notes how the hero leans against him to relieve his probably injured leg. “The process isn’t pleasant, I’m warning you.”
Black goo surrounds them, cold and unpleasant, and Hawks gasps in surprise, tensing against Dabi. The trip is short, over in the blink of an eye, but Dabi feels sick nonetheless. When they reappear in the alley leading to Hawks’ apartment complex entrance service, next to the conbini, Dabi has to take a few deep breaths to calm his churning stomach.
Hawks detaches himself from Dabi, blinking owlishly in the sudden lights, almost blinding after the relative darkness of the rooftop. The hero clears his throat, wings tightly tucked against his back. “Thank you. I can manage from there.”
“Certainly not,” Dabi retorts as he starts walking further in the back alley. “Those injuries need to be taken care of and I have the feeling that you won’t do it and go straight to sleep.”
“Again, why do you care?”
“Again, I don’t. Let’s go.”
Without waiting for Hawks, Dabi makes his way to the service entrance. Dabi had been thinking about dropping by the bird’s place a few times, mostly to see his stupid face when he’d realize Dabi knew where he nested but also because he was just a little bit curious. So no way he’d pass the chance to check out Hawks’ fancy-schmancy place.
Dabi punches the numbers on the pad next to the door.
“How —”
Dabi smirks at Hawks. “I have my ways. After you.”
Hawks stares at him but he’s visibly too tired to fight. With a sigh, he passes the door, limping his way to the service elevator. He slumps against the wall after pressing the button for the top floor.
Nice.
Dabi follows him in the silent corridor, scrunching his nose at the eye-sore burgundy colors of the walls. The sound of their steps is muffled by the equally atrocious carpet and Dabi wonders if the designer who decided on this was colorblind. Kind of killing the fancy vibe of the whole building.
Hawks finally stops in front of a large door, fumbling with his key with a curse. He glares at Dabi when he lets out a mocking snort before stepping into the dark apartment with a quiet tadaima.
Dabi takes in the large living room, the high-tech kitchen, the large windows opened on an equally large and empty balcony, and the high ceilings. It’s definitely pretty, no doubt about it but for some reason, Dabi would have thought that Hawks’ place would be — well, livelier? warmer? Instead, it looks like one of those mood boards Toga likes to put together, for when they will be rich. Great taste, but soulless. It doesn’t look like a home. But what does Dabi know about homes anyway? He hasn't had one in years.
Hawks doesn’t pay attention to Dabi lingering behind, switching on lights as he goes, before disappearing in a room on the right.
By the time Dabi joins him, Hawks has gotten rid of his jacket and baggy pants, offering to Dabi a not-so-unpleasant sight of his lean body clad in dark spandex. Dabi forces himself to look away and bats Hawks’ hands away from the first aid kit he pulled out.
“Sit,” Dabi orders, pointing at the edge of the stupidly large bathtub.
Hawks doesn’t move for a heartbeat, before finally obeying. “I don’t get it. Why are you doing this?”
“I don’t have anything better to do,” Dabi mumbles as he pulls out of the small boxes everything he needs.
Hawks looks at him, his expression indecipherable.
“I don’t understand you.”
“It’s not in your job description.”
“I wonder what’s in it then.”
“Tell me what I want to know,” Dabi answers as he slathers gauze with antiseptic. He crouches in front of Hawks and gets rid of the useless bandaids on his cheek. He cleans the cut thoroughly, ignoring Hawks’ grimace.
“And what do you want to know?”
Dabi locks his eyes on the golden ones, pressing the gauze on the wound. “Who did this?”
Hawks remains still, unblinking eyes looking down at Dabi. “Why?”
“Because reason. So?”
“Villains.”
“Oh really? I thought it was some of your rabid fans.”
Hawks gives him a half-smile. “It could have been.”
“I’m sure. So?”
“They’re behind bars now.”
“Where?”
Hawks sighs. “It doesn’t matter, Dabi. It really doesn’t. It’s not the first time I’m being a bit roughed up. Not the first and not the last.”
Dabi removes the gauzes and dresses the wound with practiced gestures. He looks at Hawks, the dark, angry feeling he managed to shove down for a short moment comes back. “Not on my watch, birdie.”
Later that night, once the number two hero is passed out in his bed, knocked out by painkillers and his alarm clock carefully unplugged to prevent him from waking up at ass o’clock in the morning, a precinct mysteriously catches fire. The blue flames devour the building, turning the prisoners and a few cops into ashes.
Among them, four villains waiting for their transfer to a high-security prison.
Their crimes? It doesn’t matter.
They just messed with the wrong bird.