Work Text:
The mission should not have ended like this.
Shigaraki had made a deal that went sour. Dabi had warned him against it, warned him the man seemed shady, but he’d been ignored. The result? Gallons of Noumu fluid lost, three useless Noumus that couldn’t stand on their twig-thin hind legs, and a missing box of cigarettes. The bastard had stolen Dabi’s cigarettes.
Naturally, the League had pursued the moron. Even Hawks had joined, at his insistence.
“You’ll need me,” he had said. “I want to help topple hero society in any way I can.”
Dabi had barely been able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The entire League knew Hawks was a spy; they weren’t idiots. But he played along. “Fine. You can come.” He ignored how Hawks’ eyes had lit up in triumph at that.
But because of Dabi’s decision—his stupid, reckless decision—Hawks was there, in a crumbling, abandoned factory, his left wing bent and broken behind him and a gaping bullet wound in his gut, lying in a pool of his blood.
It had happened in an instant. One moment, they were on their feet, fighting side-by-side. The thief and his cronies had stowed away in a dark factory covered in spray paint and graffiti and littered with rotting wood and rusted nails. As planned, the League had surrounded them: Toga and Twice in the building, Spinner and Compress blocking the North exit, Shigaraki blocking the East, and Dabi and Hawks in the factory across, fighting from a distance—Dabi with his flames, Hawks with his feathers. Through the radio transmitters they carried, Twice reported he and Toga had scared the thieves shitless, and Compress said he and Spinner had them cornered at the exit. Everything had been going smoothly—until the thieves had started using bullets.
In themselves, bullets were pretty harmless. Dabi could easily melt them in an instant, and Hawks was so fast, he could dodge the bullets or fly out of range. But neither of them had expected the thieves to use guns in the first place—why would they, when Quirks were so readily accessible—and so when the first pop, pop, pop of gunfire echoed across the empty buildings, all Dabi heard was a sudden shout and then he was being shoved out of the way of the open window.
He hit the cement floor hard. Pain flared on his wrists and knees as he came crashing down. He hissed as two of his staples on his cheek and abdomen ripped out, causing hot, sticky blood to dribble down his chin and side. With a groan, he sat up and pointed an accusatory glare at Hawks.
“The hell was that for?” he spat. “We had them! What’s a few bullets gonna . . . Hawks?”
Hawks was swaying on his feet, his face deathly pale. As Dabi watched, he turned, exposing a dark stain across his midriff. Dabi’s heart stopped at the sight, realization dawning on him.
Hawks had taken a bullet. For him.
Then Hawks toppled.
“Hawks!”
Dabi moved on instinct. With a burst of adrenaline, he lunged, hooked Hawks under his armpits, and dragged him to safety behind a cement wall. Behind them, peppered gunfire rained down through the open window, but Dabi could see and hear nothing through his blurry vision and the roaring in his ears.
“Hawks,” he gasped, shaking his shoulder roughly. Hawks’ eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. He didn’t respond. “Hawks. Please, Hawks!”
At last, Hawks groaned in pain, causing a surge of relief through Dabi’s veins. He nearly cried. “Hawks. Come on, Birdy, answer me. Can you hear me?”
Another groan. “Yeah,” Hawks grunted.
“Thank fuck.” Dabi sucked in several deep breaths to calm his hammering heart. “Fuck. Why the f—“
He was interrupted by Hawks coughing wetly, blood dripping out of the corners of his lips. The sight sent a flurry of fear through Dabi’s chest. The wound, it seemed, was more serious than he’d thought—serious enough to cause internal bleeding.
“I have to stop the bleeding,” Dabi said to Hawks as a warning, before he peeled Hawks’ shirt off. This alone was enough to drag a groan past Hawks’ lips as the fabric caught on the edges of mangled flesh. He cried out when Dabi pressed his palms against the open wound, reaching weakly for Dabi to push him away. Dabi dodged him, murmuring, “Sorry, Birdie. I have to. Come on, work with me.”
At that moment, static came through Dabi’s radio. “Dabi,” Shigaraki snapped, his voice low-quality and nasally. “Answer, dumbass.”
Dabi cursed and scrambled for the radio. His hand was slippery with blood, and his fingers fumbled the controls. “What?”
“Where are you?”
“Same place,” he grunted, concentrating on keeping pressure on Hawks’ wound. Hawks’ head was rolling back, his eyes drifting closed. Dabi shook him awake.
“Well, get out of there,” Shigaraki told him. “Heroes.”
Dabi cursed again, panic cutting a line across his heart. “I can’t.”
“What? Why?”
“Hawks is injured. I can’t move him. I can’t stop the bleeding. I can’t—“ Dabi’s breaths were coming short and sharp. “Shigaraki, I can’t—can’t save him—“
Static.
“Shigaraki?”
There was no reply. Shigaraki had gone silent. At the same time, Dabi heard a low boom of an explosion somewhere to his left—East, where Shigaraki had been blocking the exit. The walls shook. Dust fell from the ceiling.
“Shit.” Dabi didn’t know if Shigaraki was dead or injured or captured or worse. Whatever the case, he couldn’t help. Dabi raised the radio once more. “Twice?” he called, trying to keep his voice steady. “Spinner? I need someone, now.”
No response. Dabi’s heart rate quickened. “Hawks is injured,” he said frantically, not even trying to hide the tremble in his tone. “He’s bleeding and I can’t stop it or carry him out. I need help. Answer me, dammit!”
No reply.
The radio slipped through Dabi’s numb fingers.
Had they all been captured? Injured? Worse? Were Dabi and Hawks the only ones left?
“Hawks—“ he croaked, adding pressure to his wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, pooling around them in a large puddle. And Hawks—
Hawks didn’t respond.
His head had rolled back, his eyes closed, and his hair spilled behind him on the ground, a few loose strands red with blood. He looked almost peaceful as if he simply laid back to take a midday nap—but all Dabi could think about was how he may never wake up.
He couldn’t even remember his last words.
The full implications of their situation hit Dabi like a bullet train, and he nearly collapsed under its weight, trembling and shaking and gasping as cold terror crept up his spine. Hawks was injured. Hawks was bleeding. Hawks was dying. And there was nothing he could do. His hands on Hawks’ wound were the only things keeping him from succumbing to death. Shigaraki and the others had been captured and were beyond help—or helping him. Heroes were closing in fast, and without Kurogiri, they had no escape.
Dabi could see no way out.
“Hawks,” he repeated, shaking his shoulder desperately, though he knew he wouldn’t wake up. “Hawks. Please. Please. Please! I can’t—can’t—Hawks—“
The panic attack came in a flash, crashing into him like a bolt of lightning. Dabi couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds around him. His chest tightened, his senses numbed, his hands trembled, his vision blurred. His eyes burned as if he was straining to cry but his mangled tear ducts wouldn’t let him. Distantly, he realized he was cradling Hawks’ head, staining his cheeks red with his own blood. Dabi’s shirt was covered in it. His hands looked like a soldier’s on a battlefield. And he could not cry. He could not cry. He could not cry, he could not cry, he could n—
The door burst open. Shouts filled the room. Dabi did not move—could not move—as the first hero rounded the corner. They cried out in shock at the sight of him, but Dabi kept his eyes on Hawks, drinking in the sight of him, knowing that this could be the last time he saw him outside of bars—or at all. The thought made something twist in his gut. His breaths came quicker. Still, he could not cry.
The heroes were shouting something to him. Dabi gathered every bit of remaining strength he had to hear what they were saying.
“—hands above your head and step away now, villain, or we’ll attack!” a hero roared, a burly man Dabi didn’t recognize who had a nasty scar on his forehead and spit as he yelled. “Get away from him!”
“I can’t,” Dabi croaked. His hands on Hawks’ wound shook in desperation.
“Get away now!”
“I can’t.”
“GET AWAY FROM HIM, VILLAIN!”
“I CAN’T!”
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t cry. Hawks is going to die.
The heroes raised their arms. “This is your last chance, villain!” the scarred one snarled. His hands popped with some kind of explosion Quirk, like the one the Bakugou kid had.
Dabi’s eyes widened as he realized what he was about to do. “If you do that, you’ll kill him!”
“We make sacrifices,” he replied darkly, and Dabi knew he wasn’t bluffing.
Hawks is going to die.
“Step away on three!”
“I can’t!”
“One—“
“He’ll die!”
“—two—“
“PLEASE!”
“NOW!”
“STOP!” yelled a new voice, deep and forceful, as if the woman who spoke commanded an army. She barreled around the corner, a white-haired, bunny-costumed, muscled woman who somehow wore her costume like regalia—Miruko, the rabbit hero. Behind her was Shouta Aizawa, looking, as always, in desperate need of a cup of strong coffee.
Relief spread through Dabi like the first shot of a drug. For all their faults, Miruko and Aizawa would never sacrifice Hawks for the sake of his capture, not even if they suspected him of being a spy. He sagged, but his grip on Hawks tightened.
Miruko came to a halt a few feet from him. Her red eyes swept over Hawks, taking in the blood and Dabi’s hands on the wound, before she narrowed them at him. “Nice to meet you again, Dabi,” she said, her tone carefully measured.
Dabi didn’t move or reply, his eyes trained on her as non-threateningly as he could. His heart pounded in his chest.
For a while, they simply stared at each other in an odd, silent stand-off. At last, Miruko tipped her head in wordless recognition.
“This man is not a threat,” she called, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Hawks is injured and needs immediate medical attention. Do your duty as a hero and save him.”
The scarred hero frowned deeply but did as he was told. Dabi’s eyes widened in shock as the heroes approached him and blandly pushed him aside. One hero placed her hands on Hawks’ wound, while two others—including the scarred hero—grasped his arms and legs and lifted. Together, they carried him from the room. Dabi watched until they rounded the corner, his eyes lingering on his bloodless face and the small rise of his chest.
He’s alive, he assured himself, calming his pounding heart. He’s alive and he’ll be okay.
He hoped he was right.
“You understand we can’t just let you go,” Miruko said, drawing Dabi’s attention.
He lowered his gaze. “Yes.”
Tense silence followed. Dabi’s mind raced. Should he fight? Run? Allow himself to be arrested and turned in? If he fought, it would be him versus Miruko and Aizawa—one of whom could disable his Quirk. The odds were not in his favor.
But before he could decide, the League made his decision for him.
Toga came first, bursting into the room through the window with a piercing, “Weeeeeee!” She crashed into Miruko, syringe in hand. Next came Spinner, who crawled in after her. He bared his sword and charged Aizawa, who activated his scarf, otherwise helpless against him. Meanwhile, Compress and Shigaraki appeared around the corner on the other side of the room. Compress gestured for Dabi to follow.
“Come on!” he shouted.
Dabi stood in a flash, wiping Hawks’ blood on his jeans. He cast a quick glance back at Spinner and Toga—Spinner was holding his own, but Toga was rapidly losing ground. Paired against an opponent like Miruko, Dabi was not surprised. But he would never leave her behind.
With a furious roar, he raised his palms. Icy-blue flames shot at Miruko, white-hot and deadly. Her red eyes widened and she leapt aside in a flash, dodging Dabi’s flames by inches. She was on her feet in an instant, ready to fight once more, but Toga had already taken her chance and sprinted past Dabi, Compress, and Shigaraki. She disappeared around the corner with a high-pitched giggle, her blonde buns, which had come loose during the fight, whipping out of sight behind her.
Dabi couldn’t help a feral grin. “Let’s go!” he shouted to Spinner.
Spinner wasted no time. With a grunt, he dove for the open window to dodge Aizawa’s next attack.
Miruko leapt after him. “No you d—oomph!”
Compress had tossed a blue orb in her path. With a snap of his fingers, a—was that a refrigerator?—materialized. Miruko crashed into it head-first, causing herself and the refrigerator to fall to the ground with an earth-shaking crash. In the commotion, Spinner disappeared over the ledge.
“Compress,” Shigaraki swore, “what the actual f—”
“That better not have been the League’s fridge,” Dabi snapped. “I had my lunch in there!”
Compress scratched the back of his neck. “Well, uh . . .”
“You bastard!”
Before Dabi could pummel him, Aizawa recovered fast. With a quick motion of his wrist, he activated his scarf. It separated into two and ensnared Dabi and Shigaraki around their middles in an instant. Dabi’s left arm was trapped against his side. Shigaraki’s wrists were tied together.
But Dabi only grinned. With his free arm, he grasped the rope and ignited. Beside him, Shigaraki placed four careful fingers on his, pinky extended.
“You can only stop one of us, old man,” Dabi jeered, allowing his flames to grow. “Which one?”
Shigaraki chuckled. Aizawa’s eyes widened. In unison, Dabi’s flames caught as Shigaraki’s pinky hit the scarf.
In an instant, Dabi’s flames flickered out. Aizawa’s red eyes bore into him, his hair on end, fist grasping his scarf tightly. But he could do nothing to stop Shigaraki from crumbling the scarf around him, then reaching out to do the same to Dabi’s. Within moments, they were free. Aizawa’s eyes died; his hair tumbled down to his shoulders.
For the span of a heartbeat, no one moved. The three men simply stared at each other: Shigaraki glared through the hand on his face, Aizawa narrowed his eyes, and Dabi gave a cocky grin. For a moment, Dabi thought he saw a shrewd, calculating look in Aizawa’s eyes as if he had come to a sort of realization—but the spell broke when Miruko extracted herself from the broken remnants of the refrigerator and charged.
“Time to go!” Compress yelped.
“Dabi!” Shigaraki ordered.
Dabi grinned wider and burned.
~~~
Hawks hadn’t answered his phone in a week.
Then a week turned into two.
Three.
Dabi thought he might be going crazy. He spent all his time at base pacing, fingers running through his hair, eyes anxiously scanning his phone for a call, a text, anything. When he wasn’t at base, he was outside smoking, pacing, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his knee as his eyes slid over to check his phone screen for notifications. When he wasn’t at base or smoking, he was out doing mindless jobs, fingers itching to answer a call, text a reply, anything. He just wanted anything, any news, about Hawks’ condition.
The papers had been quiet, and it drove Dabi mad. The longer he went without news, the more he assumed the worst.
The quiet papers drove Shigaraki mad, too, but for a wholly different reason.
“A confrontation with the League like this should make the news,” he’d hissed one day, disintegrating the morning paper in a flash. “Are the heroes becoming comfortable? Lazy?” He scratched his neck, an old, irritating habit Dabi thought had gone away. “We have to plan something. Get the heroes to notice. Hero society needs t—“
Dabi had drowned him out after that, his mind too preoccupied to pay attention to the usual drivel. All he could think was, Hawks, Hawks, Hawks.
By day, Dabi distracted himself as much as he could. He recruited, he hunted, he stole, he killed. Anything to stop thinking about him. But at night, his mind couldn’t rest. The questions he’d held back throughout the day resurfaced, filling his head with endless buzzing and distracting him from sleep. Hawks, Hawks, Hawks.
Presently, Dabi stood on the highest level of an empty parking garage of a run-down mall. He was alone save for a few abandoned cars across the lot. The orange, city glow blocked the stars in the dull night sky. Still, Dabi tilted his head back and stared up at the smoggy darkness as he breathed out, cigarette smoke spooling in the air and disappearing in the wind. He sighed. Checked his phone. 12:01 am, read the clock. No notifications.
It had officially been three weeks, four days, and one minute since Dabi had seen Hawks last, and still—
No news.
Dabi numbly unlocked his phone. Not for the first time (nor likely the last), he checked his messages to Hawks:
You fucking moron
When are you getting out?
Birdie, answer
Shit did they take your phone?
Birdie theyre not saying anything about you on the news. Are you ok?
Fucking answer me
This isn’t funny
Hawks
Text me when you’re awake
You’re not in a fucking coma are you?
Birdie it’s been a week. Please tell me you’re not in a coma
Why tf would you do that?? Why would you take a bullet for me???
Come on birdie, I can’t have you die bc of me
Answer goddamit
Hawks please
“Please.”
The sound was one Dabi had never made before. It was almost a whimper, soft and high and broken as his throat closed up and his eyes burned and—and he could not cry.
I can’t cry.
He couldn’t take this. Dabi had been abused and neglected by his father, been trained until his knees gave out and he collapsed, been nearly killed by his own flames, had lived on the streets for years, been beaten, burned, starved, attacked, tortured, interrogated, drugged, and chained, but this? This silence was the worst pain Dabi had ever received.
He’ll come back. He has to.
Because if he didn’t?
For the longest time, Dabi had felt himself slipping further into insanity. Every time he killed, every time blood stained his hands, it was as if an invisible chain connecting him to his mother tightened, drawing him closer to her in a hospital ward. Except his mother had been manipulated and abused into insanity. In Dabi’s case, he was the one doing the manipulation and abuse.
But when he met Hawks, it was as if he were his last tether to sanity—to his humanity. With Hawks, he fought less. With Hawks, he killed less. With Hawks, he no longer felt he was the villain. With Hawks, the incessant urge to kill his father, to reap his long-awaited revenge, lessened. With Hawks, he was just—him. Just Dabi.
And then, one day, Hawks had suddenly burst out, I feel like myself around you, and Dabi had frozen, rigid in the spot, because he realized everything he had felt around Hawks—peace, serenity, the feeling of simply drawing breath in the present moment—had been reciprocated. Hawks had felt the same all along.
When they were together, they were Dabi and Hawks. Just Dabi and Hawks.
What had happened next was something straight from an R-rated movie. Things had progressed from there.
But now Hawks was gone. Unresponsive. Injured and hospitalized or worse. All because the moron had taken a bullet for him. For him.
Something burned the tip of Dabi’s finger. He blinked out of his reverie, tearing his gaze from the night sky to see that he had smoked his cigarette down to a stub. He tossed it to the ground irritably, reached into his back pocket for another.
Just as he lit it, the door to the elevator let off a soft ding. Dabi slunk into the shadows as a woman stepped out, wearing a blue company shirt and plain, black slacks. She looked exhausted after a long day’s work for minimum wage as she slumped toward a beaten, battered car Dabi had presumed abandoned before. She unlocked it and slid inside, the car lights flickering as if in protest.
Dabi frowned. How could this woman, who so clearly could hardly afford her next meal, afford a car rather than public transportation? he wondered idly. But his question was answered when he saw her pull a curtain over the car’s windshield. She lived in that broken thing. How pathetic.
His peace disturbed, Dabi dropped his cigarette and snubbed it out with his toe. They were both pathetic, he supposed as he shuffled down several layers of nearly empty parking floors. That woman lived in a parking garage next to the mall she worked in, slept in a car that looked one good punch away from collapse. And Dabi was a homeless, friendless villain who was stupid enough to get attached to a hero.
He made it back to base before the rest of the League woke up. He collapsed on the couch there, too tired to make it to his makeshift room, and besides, he wanted to wake early to check his phone for messages. For good measure, he checked it once then: nothing.
He dozed.
He woke to the sound of Spinner sharpening a blade. Spinner always sharped a blade as he got ready in the morning. It had become part of the League’s routine. In Dabi’s case, it had become his alarm clock.
Spinner stopped short when he came into the main room and spotted Dabi on the couch. “You look like shit.”
Did he? Dabi hadn’t noticed. Frankly, he didn’t care.
Spinner sniffed disdainfully. “You smell like shit, too. I told you to stop bringing that disgusting cigar smell into the base.”
“Cigarette,” Dabi corrected automatically, just to annoy him. It worked; Spinner’s nostrils flared. “And none of the rest of the League has a problem with it, so why should I listen to you?”
“Because I could cut you in half if I wanted to,” Spinner growled, lifting his sword threateningly. “And I have half the mind to.”
“And I could burn you alive if I wanted to.” Dabi raised a lazy brow. “I’m still deciding if I want to.”
With an angry hiss, Spinner turned and stomped into the kitchen, leaving Dabi feeling strangely hollow inside. He shook the feeling off.
With a stretch and a yawn, the former causing a slash of pain through his neck where he had slept on it wrong, he groped around for his phone. He’d had it in his hand when he’d fallen asleep, but at some point during the night—or, he supposed, the early morning—it had slipped through his fingers. Now it could be anywhere. He checked on the floor, under the couch, between the cushions, and his hand had just brushed the familiar smooth surface of his case when Toga bounded in, her hair buns bouncing.
“Dabs!” she squealed. In a heartbeat, she was beside him and threw her arms around him in a tight hug.
Dabi blinked, startled. He awkwardly patted her back. “Er . . . Hi, Toga.”
“I still owe you for the raid,” she said. “You saved me!”
He supposed he had. Dabi frowned. It was almost . . . hero-like. Maybe Hawks was rubbing off on him.
“We protect our own,” Dabi replied.
Toga drew back and gave him a feral grin. Her vampire teeth flashed. “Braid my hair for me?” she asked sweetly.
Dabi grunted. “Saving you not enough?” But he reached up to unclasp her buns all the same.
Toga flopped onto the floor by Dabi’s feet. He combed through her hair mindlessly, his mind wandering to the phone on the couch beside him, screen dark. If he turned it on, would there be a notification? Something about Hawks?
Toga spoke before he could check. “I wanna try something new. Do you know how to do a fishtail?”
A fishtail . . . Dabi tried to remember. “Is that the weird one that looks like a zipper?”
Toga poured. “It sounds ugly when you put it like that. . . .”
Dabi shrugged. “Whatever. Yeah, I can do it. Do you have hair ties?” He would never forget the nightmare time Toga had forgotten one and the hairstyle Dabi had spent an hour making had tumbled loose.
“I have ponytails, yeah.”
“Good. Hold still.”
His mind wandered again as he deftly separated the strands. Maybe he should check his phone before he started, that way he wouldn’t lose his place or ruin the hairstyle. And if there was a notification about Hawks? The hair could wait.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s the occasion?” Toga asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Dabi sighed. “What’s the occasion?”
Toga beamed. “I’m meeting some friends!”
Dabi shuddered to think of the “friends” Toga was referring to.
“I wanted to look nice for them, so I figured you could help. And you can!” Toga smiled up at him, somehow sincere. “You’re always a big help, Dabi.”
He grunted. “Thanks. Now tilt your head down.”
But for all his uncaring guise, something warm and fuzzy bubbled in his chest at her words. He couldn’t deny it—Toga was like a little sister to him. It was as if she had replaced his siblings—his real siblings—albeit slightly murderous and unhinged. And she must have considered him a brother, if that sunny smile of hers was anything to go by.
It was . . . nice, Dabi decided. It felt nice to have a sister again. Though Dabi missed his father about as much as he missed a spotted toad, there were moments, usually as he lay alone in the darkness of his room, where he couldn’t deny he missed his siblings. They were victims, like him. They didn’t deserve their father. They didn’t deserve their brother, either.
Touya Todoroki was better off dead.
But there were moments, short moments like this—Toga at his feet, Dabi’s fingers in her hair—when he felt like Touya was still alive. Just barely, with a weight tied to his ankle, sinking in an ocean, struggling for breath—but alive.
Before he knew it, he was nearly done with the fishtail. Toga had fished a portable mirror from her pocket, and she was trying to angle it at her hair.
Dabi batted her away. “You’ll make me mess up.”
She let out a disappointed hum. “But—“
“No buts. I’m almost finished.”
He braided the last ends with a few, quick flourishes. He held out a hand. “Hair tie.”
Toga gave a bashful giggle. “Yeah . . . About that . . .”
“Goddammit, Toga.”
“Don’t worry! I can hold it while you get one! There’s one on the counter in my bathroom.”
Dabi sighed. “Hold it tight.”
He slunk from the room. Leave it Toga to lie about having a hair tie, of all things. And—he realized as he slid into the bathroom—about it being on the counter. Dabi groaned. He was not going to search through her and Twice’s stuff (Toga called the bathroom hers, but it was shared) to find the damn thing.
Luckily, he didn’t have to. Just then, Twice bumbled in, likely in his way to take a shit. He stopped short when he saw Dabi standing there.
Dabi sighed. “Do you have a hair tie?”
“Ah! Right!” Twice nodded in understanding. “Yeah, she’s got some. She probably threw them away. She hates how you do her hair. I can grab them.”
He fumbled around in a drawer for a moment before extracting a bubblegum-pink hair tie triumphantly. “Ta-da! Fuck off, you don’t need it.”
“Thanks, Twice.” Dabi turned to leave.
“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you! Don’t tell him. He doesn’t need to know. You heathen! Of course he does!” Finished arguing with himself, Twice looked at Dabi, a grin visible through the fabric of his mask. “Hawks is out of the hospital!”
Dabi froze in the doorway. “What?”
“It was on the news this morning! He was seen leaving—er, flying out. I hope he falls out of the sky and dies.”
He was flying. Flying. That meant he was okay enough to fly. And not dead. Dabi nearly collapsed under the weight of his relief. He could have sobbed.
I can’t cry.
“There wasn’t much else. I don’t think he was supposed to be seen. But I figured you should know because you two always seem so clo—“
But Dabi wasn’t listening anymore. He raced to the main room, hyper-aware of the phone he had left on the couch, unchecked. Stupid. Stupid. Had Hawks texted him? Had he called?
Toga flinched as he burst into the room, nearly dropping her braid. In the time Dabi had been gone, the strands had come loose. “What took you so long?”
“Here’s your hair tie,” Dabi gasped, tossing it into her lamp as scrambled to grab his phone.
“It’s a ponytail, stupid. And I can’t tie it myself without it coming apart!”
Dabi didn’t care. He nearly fumbled his phone as he reached for it. And—there, right there, on the screen, was one new notification: a text from Hawks.
Meet me at the place in 30
Sent twenty-seven minutes ago.
Dabi swore.
“Dabs—?”
He was already out of the room. “Tell Shigaraki I’ll be back! Actually, don’t! Don’t tell him I left at all!” The last thing he needed was a nosy Shigaraki interrupting him and Hawks at the warehouse they had made their rendezvous.
He didn’t wait for Toga’s response. He just ran.
He ran and ran and ran, faster than he had ever run before. He dodged garbage, hurtled corners, passed people—likely villains—in a blur. Halfway through, he realized he should probably cover his face. It was too late to grab his mask—he just ducked his head and ran, hoping he was too fast for anyone to catch him.
Twenty minutes later—he was late, so late—he arrived outside the warehouse. His muscles were on fire, his skin burned where he had ripped out some of his staples. He clutched a stitch on his side and coughed, aching, racking coughs that shook him to the core. Gulping down buckets of air, he smoothed his jacket and ran a few fingers through his hair, trying to make himself presentable. His fingers came back covered in sweat. But with Hawks mere feet from him, hidden at the moment behind a cement wall, Dabi couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He entered the warehouse as he was, sweaty and sticky and out of breath. And there, in the corner, red wings draped about him like a bloody angel, was—
“Hawks,” he croaked.
Hawks slowly lifted his head. Amber eyes met blue.
For a moment, they just stared at each other in silence.
Then Dabi let out a choked sob and barreled into him in a tight embrace.
Hawks tensed, letting out a startled cry. Then he relaxed, placing his arms awkwardly on Dabi’s shoulders. His wings—his groomed, unbroken wings—curved around him like a shield. It was warm and comfy and perfect. Dabi tightened his grip and buried his head in the crook of Hawks’ neck. He breathed in deep. Hawks smelled like a hospital, a strong sterile scent mingled with death.
And maybe Dabi was just tired. Maybe the stress of the last few weeks caught up with him. But he was sure that if he could, he would be sobbing into Hawks’ cotton t-shirt.
Hawks chuckled. “Wow. I didn’t know you cared, Dabi.”
He could have punched him. “Says you. You took a fucking bullet for me.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Hawks scratched his head. “I guess I didn’t think.”
He didn’t think. Dabi let out a mad cackle. Of course he didn’t. If he did, he never would have taken that bullet for him. If he did, he never would have tried to play spy. If he did, he would know Dabi and the rest of the League knew he was a spy. If he did, he would turn on his tail and sprint from this warehouse and never look back.
“Goddammit, Hawks, can’t you see? That’s the fucking problem.” Dabi drew back, leveling him with a glare. Hawks stared back, perplexed. “You don’t think. You never think. Hell, if you had even half a brain cell left, you wouldn’t even be here.”
Hawks frowned. “What does that mean?”
Dabi nearly tore out his hair. “Jesus Christ. It’s a miracle you haven’t died yet.”
A shadow of annoyance crossed Hawks’ features. “What the hell are you talking about, Dabi?”
“I’m talking about you, idiot!” He wasn’t sure where the anger came from, so sudden it caught him off guard—but then again, it had been building up for days.
With a hiss, Dabi pushed himself away from Hawks, away from their embrace. A flash of hurt rippled across Hawks’ features, but it was gone in a heartbeat, schooled into cool neutrality. The abrupt fury in Dabi’s gut rose at the sight, roaring like a feral animal, and Dabi bared its fangs.
“Did you think you were clever?” he hissed. “Did you think you hid it well? If I had been anyone else, any other fucking person, you would already be dead! You’re a fucking moron, Hawks, for even trusting us—for trusting me! Did you forget how many people I’ve killed? Did you forget how much I’ve lied, cheated, manipulated, stole to have things go my way? Did you forget I’m a fucking villain?”
“I never—I joined the League because I—“
“Shut the hell up. You never joined the League, and we both know it.”
The words went off like a bomb. Hawks broke off, staring at Dabi in silent horror. “You knew.”
“Of course I knew. The whole League knew. You’re a shitty spy, Hawks. Keep to the hero work.”
Hawks was rigid as a board, his fists clenched as if preparing to fight. “How long?”
“Since the beginning.”
“Then why—?”
Why not kill me? Why pretend you believed the lie?
Dabi frowned, and his anger eased. “To be honest, birdie, I don’t know why. But . . .”
Hawks tilted his head. “But what?”
But I was terrified I had lost you. I was terrified I would never see you again. “But you’re a pain in my ass, so there’s still a good possibility I might.”
Hawks scoffed. “Really?”
“I’ve done it before.”
“For a man who hangs with heroes, you sure like to brag about the people you’ve killed.”
“Eh. They were all assholes.”
“Like you?”
Dabi grinned maniacally. “Just like me.”
Hawks rolled his eyes. “Come on, Dabi. You’re not fooling me.”
His grin faded. Now it was his turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”
Hawks smirked broadly. “The texts? That hug, or whatever you want to call it? Everything you’re feeling right now is plastered all over your face. Your emotions couldn’t be clearer even if you screamed exactly what you felt in my ear.”
Dabi suppressed a wince. Was he that obvious? “Really? What am I feeling, then, birdie?”
Hawks stepped closer, closing the gap Dabi had created when he had pushed him away. “For starters, you missed me.”
I did. I looked for you everywhere. “Bullshit. I could finally think in peace without you constantly jabbering in my ear.”
Hawks raised an unpersuaded brow. “You were also worried for me, and you’re relieved I’m alive.”
I checked my phone every day, hoping for the best. “In your dreams.”
“You’re angry at me for being a self-sacrificial hero, even if it was to save a villain.”
This time, Dabi didn’t have to lie. “It’s idiotic not to think about your own skin,” he hissed, “not heroic or brave or whatever bullshit they tell you in hero school.”
“You’re angry at me because you think you don’t deserve to be saved.”
“I don’t think. I know.”
“But mostly, you’re scared.”
At this, Dabi snorted aloud. “Really? Why do you think I’m scared, bird?”
Hawks regarded him carefully. “Because you want to tell me something, but you don’t know if you can trust me.”
Dabi fell into stunned silence.
Hawks was right.
He was always right.
Dabi often forgot how smart the hero was behind his charismatic, gullible facade. Every time he did, Dabi paid dearly, because Hawks would always find a way to remind him—flirting with a banker so Dabi could grab the vault key, manipulating a sidekick into slipping information he wasn’t supposed to, acting inebriated and oblivious as he purposefully gave a rival villain the wrong information. And now, yet again, Hawks had reminded him of his strange talent: his ability to read people.
In the wake of Dabi’s silence, Hawks seized his chance to continue. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me,” he said. “I know there’s probably a good reason you can’t—“
There is, Dabi agreed. You’re in too deep. You’d fly too close to the sun.
“—which is why I need to tell you before the news gets out.”
Dabi blinked. “What news?”
Hawks paused, struggling to begin. “I . . . had a lot of time to think in the hospital. While I was in there, I decided that I was going to tell you the truth about me, that I’m a spy. Of course, you had to beat me to it.” Hawks gave him a sheepish smile.
Dabi frowned. “But that’s not news, birdie. News means something new.”
“I know. That’s not the news.” Hawks’ smile melted, and he took a shaky breath in. “While I was in the hospital, I was visited by Eraserhead. You know him, right?” At Dabi’s confirming grunt, Hawks said, “He knows. He told me he knew I was a spy.”
Dabi swore under his breath. Aizawa knew? How had he found out?
The answer came rather gruesomely: a pool of blood on a cement floor, Aizawa, Shigaraki, and Dabi staring at each other in a silent face-off, and a shrewd, calculating look in Aizawa’s eyes. Dabi remembered thinking that he looked as though he had come to some sort of realization. Was that realization that Hawks was a spy? If so, did that mean that Dabi’s actions, his desperate attempts to save Hawks, had been the giveaway?
“Aizawa asked why I did it; I told him I was following orders. But I think he knew it was more. I think he that you and I—well, I’m not sure he guessed we fucked on the weekends, but I think he knew there was something between us. So he told me that he was going to blow my cover. That he couldn’t allow me to endanger his students.”
Rage, white-hot rage boiled under Dabi’s skin. His flames leapt up to meet it. “Has he told anyone yet? Because if he hasn’t, I’ll burn him alive.”
Hawks’ eyes widened. “Don’t! Aizawa’s just trying to protect his kids—I mean, students. I mean—he’s basically a father to them, you know? And fathers are protective.”
They should be, Dabi thought bitterly.
“It was going to come out anyway,” Hawks added. “I think I already knew I was a horrible spy. There was a part of me that kept eating away at me because I felt like I was betraying my fans.” Hawks looked down, his eyes burning with an intensity that could drill a hole in the cement floor. “I don’t want to be a villain. I want to be a hero my fans can trust. But”—he swallowed—“I don’t think that’s possible under the Hero Commission. I’m not a hero under them—I’m a plaything. So I left.” He raised his head, fixing Dabi with a stare that held a thousand suns. “I left the Hero Commission. I want to join you guys—for real, this time. If you’ll let me. That’s the news.”
Holy shit.
Dabi’s head spun with the bombshell dropped in the middle of the empty warehouse. Hawks had left the Hero Commission? He wanted to be a hero but he left the Hero Commission to join the League of Villains? It didn’t make sense. Everything Hawks had said was backward. How would his fans trust him more as a villain rather than a spy? How could Hawks possibly think the League would trust him after learning he was a traitor?
But really, Dabi realized as he thought some more, nothing Hawks had said was backward. Heroes were backward. Dabi knew from experience that the greatest heroes could secretly be the worst villains. Was it possible the Hero Commission was the same? Worse? What had Hawks suffered at the hands of heroes?
“If I say no?” Dabi asked, raising his eyes to meet Hawks’.
Hawks gave him a sad smile. “Then I have nowhere to go. But you won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can see it on your face.”
Could he? Dabi had been sure to keep his face cold and carefully neutral. But Hawks had read him easily before. Could he not hide from him at all? The thought, when he should have felt terrified, filled Dabi with a strange sense of thrill. So long as it was Hawks who could read him, only Hawks, Dabi didn’t mind.
Dabi’s lips twisted into a wicked smile. “Alright, birdie. Congratulations. You just joined the League of Villains. Got a new villain name?”
Dabi didn’t miss the relieved slump of Hawks’ shoulders. “I’ll keep Hawks.”
“You sure? You could choose anything. The Flying Murder, Red Killer, Vulture, Red Vulture. Or you pick some fancy word in Latin that no one understands but translates to something like cake-eater. Really, anything’s possible.”
“Tempting,” said Hawks, “but I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”
Dabi shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Is that what your name means?” Hawks asked. “Does Dabi secretly mean cake-eater in Latin?”
Dabi choked on his spit. “No. Absolutely not! What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know, it just seemed oddly specific. I have a hard time believing you just thought of the word cake-eater on the spot.”
“I’m just brilliant that way,” Dabi snapped. “And I’ll have you know, Dabi means cremation. You know, like how I fucking cremate dumbasses like you that annoy me.”
“Clever,” Hawks remarked. “When did you come up with that name?”
“When I was a kid.”
Hawks’ eyes widened. “You’ve been a villain since you were a kid?”
“Some of us were born to kill,” Dabi replied with a shrug.
Hawks shook his head. “No. I don’t believe that.”
Dabi regarded him with icy, hooded eyes. “Then what do you believe, hero?”
“I believe villains are made,” he replied, his tone strangely soft. “And some are made early.”
Dabi smirked. “You could certainly say that is true for me.”
Hawks visibly hesitated to reply, and when he spoke, his tongue fumbled around the words: “What happened to you?”
A moment of tense silence followed where Dabi considered. Did he tell him? Did he trust Hawks to tell him?
Yes, his gut replied. Hawks had come here expecting to reveal he was a traitor to the man he had betrayed. Couldn’t Dabi trust him the same?
He decided to listen to his gut.
“I was murdered by my father,” he replied curtly.
Hawks’ eyes widened in horror. “How?”
Dabi sniggered. “You don’t think I gave these scars to myself, do you? My father started training me to be a hero when I was five. He liked my Quirk. Wanted me to surpass All Might, to ‘fulfill his ambition’ or some bullshit like that.”
It wasn’t “some bullshit.” The phrase echoed around Dabi’s head constantly, a perpetual reminder of what his father had done to him.
“Then my brother was born and his Quirk was better than mine, so my father ignored me and my other siblings, and he beat my mom and locked her in a mental institution, and he gave my brother a permanent scar, so one day I tried to kill him.” Dabi spread his arms wide, a humorless smile donning his face as he invited Hawks to take in his appearance. “Obviously, I failed. But luckily, they all think I’m dead, which gives me the perfect opportunity to finish the job. And I plan to. No matter what.”
No matter what. Nothing, not even Hawks, would stop him from getting his revenge. Nothing.
Hawks’ jaw hung open, his mouth wide in horror. “You were abused.”
Dabi tilted his head in confirmation.
“By a hero?”
Dabi’s eyes widened as Hawks made the connection. He had inadvertently given him a clue, a single phrase: fulfill his ambition. To fulfill his father’s ambition to become a hero greater than All Might. It was so brief, most people would overlook it entirely. But Hawks—ever the quiet observer—had made the connection. Of course he had. Dabi should not have been surprised.
He lowered his head. “One of the best heroes,” he replied.
Dabi already knew the next word Hawks would say before it left his mouth: “Who?”
No. You’re Icarus. You’ll fly too high. “Someone who is none of your concern.”
But Dabi had told him too much. Hawks was smart—too smart. He realized who the hero was on his own. Why Dabi refused to tell him.
“Endeavor,” he breathed.
Mentally, Dabi cursed his genius. “Yes.”
Because he was too close. Because he was in too deep. Because he looked up to Endeavor, the fire hero, the number one hero, the man who had manipulated and neglected and abused his wife and children. The man who had tried to kill his own son. The man Dabi needed to kill.
“Endeavor told me about you,” Hawks said, whispering as if it would make it less true. “He told me he had a third son, once, named—named Touya.”
Dabi grinned. “Dear old Dad talked about me? How thoughtful.”
“He said you died in a fire.”
“Funny how he never mentioned it was his.”
Hawks gulped. “He said he missed you.”
“He lied.”
“How—how can you be so sure?”
There he went, making excuses. Flying higher. “Because he always lies,” Dabi replied flatly. “Always.”
Hawks shook. “Always?”
“He lied to you, didn’t he?”
Silence. Dabi took that as a yes.
“I’m sorry,” Hawks choked out at last. “I’m sorry. If I had known—“ He broke off, his eyes widening. “Shouto—your brother—He goes to UA, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“So he’s underage.”
Ah. So that’s what Hawks was worried about. “Yes.”
“So, he’s—Endeavor is—“
“Endeavor still has custody of him, and has spent the last ten years of his life training the shit out of him to mold him into his perfect ambition.”
Hawks paled. “That’s sick. That’s—Did you ever tell anyone?”
“Of course I did. I called police seventeen times, reported him three times.”
“Then why wasn’t he . . .” Hawks trailed off as Dabi’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “No,” he breathed, horror dawning in his red eyes. “Don’t tell me they . . . They ignored you?”
“It’s hard to prosecute heroes. Harder to prosecute the number two.”
“But surely they could—“
“Could what?” Anger rose in Dabi’s chest once more, a bitter, sour feeling. “What could they—would they—do? Seventeen times, Hawks. That’s how many times I called them about him. I begged and pleaded for them to listen. I showed them my bruises, my brother’s scar. I sent them a recording of my father beating my mother, for fucks sake! Do you think if I called them one more time, they’d listen? Do you think things will be easier now that he’s number one?” Dabi tossed his head back and laughed, mania consuming him, staining the edges of his vision black. This was another one of those moments, a moment where if he could cry, he would. He would collapse on his knees and sob into the hem of Hawks’ sweats. But all he could do was laugh against the burning in his eyes.
“Maybe if I reported it—or if another hero did—“ Hawks started, but Dabi cut him off.
“I was his son, Hawks! His own damn son! You think if they didn’t listen to me, they’ll listen to a disgraced hero?”
Hawks winced, hurt flashing across his eyes, but Dabi pressed on.
“I tried everything. I called the police, I told teachers, I once shouted it across the rooftops. No one listened, Hawks, or if they did, they didn’t believe. If they believed me, they pretended they hadn’t listened. It was so much easier for them to ignore me than to face me. And when I died, even that wasn’t enough to convince them.”
I can’t cry. But his hands could shake, his world could tilt on its axis, his eyes could burn.
“I tried, Hawks,” he croaked. “I tried to save them—my siblings. I tried to be their hero. But everyone ignored me until he buried me, then they forgot I had ever existed. So I had to become a villain. I had to become Dabi. And I have to kill him. There’s nothing—“ His voice broke. “There’s nothing else I can do. Nothing—“
He didn’t hear Hawks approach him until he was just inches before him. Dabi lifted his head, startled, just as Hawks reached out and wrapped him in a warm embrace, his wings curling around him to shield him.
And Dabi broke.
He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t shed tears. But he shook and sobbed into the crook of Hawks’ neck, slumped into his arms as he traced gentle circles on his back, squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in ragged breaths.
Hawks murmured soft assurances in his ear: “I get it. I mean—I understand, now. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t before. I’m sorry you had to do that. But Dabi—“ His breath hitched. “Touya. You tried. You were brave. And—I don’t know the Todoroki siblings that well. But Miruko knows Fuyumi, and from her, I think—I’m sure that you were their hero.”
And Dabi could have laughed at that. Could have cackled so hard that his sides hurt. Because he was ninety percent sure that Miruko—the hero he had just faced off with alongside Aizawa, the hero he had nearly killed with his flames—was fucking his sister after she got home from teaching elementary students, and Dabi did not know how to feel about that. But he couldn’t summon the energy to do anything but sob.
Hawks just embraced him. He didn’t speak, didn’t make an effort to move—he just held him in a silent embrace, a quiet understanding. It was exactly what Dabi wanted, what he needed. In that moment, he felt a strong surge of affection for the hero, burning in its intensity, overwhelming—and now Dabi was Icarus and Hawks his sun, and Dabi had already flown too high and been consumed by the flames.
But maybe, he thought, in the warm comfort of Hawks’ arms, that wasn’t a bad thing.