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He misses flying.
More than anything in the world, anything about heroism, he misses flying the most. He’s spent more time in the air than ever on ground. He’s not made for this soil, this concrete - not made for finding shoes with padding in the soles to counteract the constant ache in his avian digits, not made for the pain that pierces the hollow bones of his shins from carrying the weight of his body. Hawks, Takami Keigo, is not made for 2 miles-per-hour speed at best downhill, the completely dull and windless environment of putting one foot in front of the other, constantly, over and over and over again.
“Why are you here?”
“I don’t know.”
And he doesn’t. He hasn’t got a single clue as to why he’s resigned himself to a night of icing his sore tibia to put one foot in front of the other for the ten miles it takes to travel from his apartment to the city’s most high-security rehabilitation center.
Maybe he feels he deserves the pain.
“That’s not good enough.”
And maybe - “Maybe because…” and can he even say it? Does he deserve the privilege, is it right for him to put that burden on the man he’s doomed to a life of containment - “I’m in love with you,” the words are out of his mouth before he even gets a chance to ponder those questions for himself.
(And, well, perhaps flying is not the number one thing he misses. Perhaps, his Number One sits a foot away from him, separated by quirk-resistant glass and miles of rotten hatred).
A horrible laugh fills the room, sharp and ugly - disbelieving.
Todoroki Touya’s mouth is stretched so wide that the staples in his face start pulling at the peach skin of his cheeks, causing blood to pebble at the unpatched seams.
The sight makes Hawks sick with worry, and he wishes more than anything that he could reach over, cup his hands around that scarred jaw, and coo at the man until he stopped hurting himself this way - ‘They were supposed to start the skin grafts. The Commission… They promised. Why are staples still the only thing holding him together?’
Dabi laughs for one whole minute.
Hawks never really felt just how long a minute could be. He guesses time moves slower when counting each crack of his heart, feeling every second the beginnings of a hungry vortex growing in his chest, ready to swallow each piece that breaks off from the whole.
When the man finally, finally, stops laughing, he delivers the final blow.
“God, I really just attract the worst kinds of love, don’t I?”
The guards take Dabi away, murmuring something about, ‘The patient is causing harm to himself and needs immediate treatment, please come another time.’
Well after Dabi is escorted away, when there is nothing left but an empty crooked chair, Hawks remains in his seat, unmoving and barely breathing.
*
“Why does Dabi still have his staples? We made a deal.”
He hears his handler sigh on the receiver, “Hawks, dear, you didn’t want him put in prison, so we didn’t. We put him in the best rehabilitation hospital in the city, despite his crimes. We offered him treatment, what can we do if he denies it?”
Hawks feels his heart stop for a moment, “He’s denying treatment? But he...” Hawks looks over to the unmade bed in his room. Hawks hasn’t even touched the sheets in God-knows-how-long, he’s been sleeping in his guest room.
He thinks about the last time he slept in his own room, with -
- Dabi sprawled out on the sheets, practically purring like a cat.
Hawks chuckles at the sight of thin limbs practically starfish across his bed and makes his way over to sit in the space between the scarred man’s open legs, “You look comfortable.”
“Mmm,” Dabi smiles at him, blue eyes strikingly soft and lips gentle, “Your sheets don’t catch onto my staples. I can actually fuckin’ move.”
And even though Dabi looks so content, Hawks still frowns in worry and cups the back of his knee, “How often do they hurt? The scars or the seams?”
Dabi uses the leg that Hawks holds to curl around the man's waist and Hawks can feel the scarred tissue across his feathers as he’s brought down closer, chest to chest. Dabi’s hand finds a home in his blond hair and scratches, “The scars have no nerves, it’s dead tissue. The healthy skin the staples are attached to, though, they… it feels more like a constant ache. Depends on the day, I guess, sometimes the weather,” An inquisitive chirp leaves Hawks’ throat as his eyes trace the staples that line the bottom of Dabi’s chin, the scarred skin stretching a bit with the force of the man’s rare smile.
‘Dabi has such a bright smile,’ Hawks thinks to himself - squared white teeth complimented by sharp canines on each side - and he brings the talon of his thumb to lightly sit at Dabi's scarred bottom lip, ‘To go with his bright, bright eyes.’ Hawks thinks Dabi's smile represents the man perfectly; dangerous, beautiful, private.
He presses a kiss to that smile, causing Dabi to huff a laugh and quickly try to reciprocate before Hawks pulls back, “What do you mean by 'the weather'?”
Pretty blue eyes roll to the ceiling, “The cold numbs the nerves a little. What’s with all the questions, pretty bird?”
Hawks’ feathers ruffle at the endearment and curl around their bodies, “Just don’t want you in any pain. I can get you some new sheets?”
“How Sugar-Daddy of you.”
Hawks squawks like the bird he is and Dabi howls in laughter, leading to Hawks pinching the healthy skin of Dabi’s side, “Mean,” and Dabi squirms away, his laughter turning to giggles.
Hawks loves the sound.
“ - Hawks? Hello, are you still there?”
His heavy eyelids flutter rapidly as he’s thrust back into reality, the dusted memory blowing out of his hands and back into the past where it can only remain to haunt him.
*
Hawks has his days.
Some days, he’s guilty and self-hating and feels like absolute shit. Other days, he still feels like shit, but he’s angry and hurt. In those days, he’s impulsive and unthinking.
Today is one of those days because today he had seen a man standing at the top of a building, screaming apologies at the sky, before walking into the air and plummeting to the ground, and as Hawks’ instincts tried to conjure non-existent feathers to fly up and save that man, the only thing he could do was watch in horror for the five seconds it took for the solid splat to vibrate through his eardrums.
Hawks should have gone home. He didn’t.
“How could you do this to me,” And it’s not a question, because Hawks knows why, the why keeps him up at night while he falls into a pattern of insomnia, playing the memories of the last year over and over again.
It’s not a question, but it’s an accusation, and Dabi knows it, too.
Dabi scoffs, “Oh, God. How could you do this to me? Have you forgotten the entire chain of events? I was always upfront with you. I never once deceived you.”
And Hawks thinks he has a point.
Still - “It was my mission.”
“Yeah, well, I hope it was worth it. I guess we’re even now, huh?”
And even though Hawks had come here angry, seeing Dabi like this, hearing the venom he spits alongside every word he throws at Hawks, his body sags with the fatigue of what he’s done and he’s only left with sadness. “Dabi…”
Dabi leans forward in his chair, closer to the glass partition, “You took everything from me, so it was only fair I took the only thing you ever were.”
Hawks swallows. Having Dabi so close, leaning into him, icy eyes the closest they’ve been in weeks, even though they're filled with the passion of hatred, it kindles a useless hope in Hawks’ chest, “That’s not true. I... I was yours.”
Dabi rears back and Hawks’ hope smothers out, “Oh, piss off. You locked me up! Is that what you do with your things?”
His throat feels so tight, “You’re not a thing.”
Scarred arms cross over the white fabric that covers Dabi’s chest, “No. You’re right. I’m a fucking human being. One that you knew, one that you fucked, and cried on, and begged to take your abused and pathetic ass in,” His hand unfolds to briefly jab his index finger at Hawks, and Hawks can feel how much Dabi wants to jam it in his eye, “You played me. And then you locked me up.
“Please...”
“I should have killed you.”
Hawks’ jaw drops and he freezes. The vortex is back in his chest, growing bigger and swallowing his insides, reaching for his throat, clamping down his tongue, and Hawks wonders if it’s possible to die like this.
Dabi continues, already simmering in his anger without regard to anything but his own hurt, “You were never one of us, never cared for any of us.”
And Hawks wants to argue - ‘That’s not true!’ but how can he have the right to say that? His actions have spoken louder than any words he can spare at this moment but they’re not saying what Dabi thinks they’ve said - all Hawks wanted was for everything to stop; for Dabi to stop running, for Toga to stop longing for childhood, for the Commission to stop ordering him to kill different remaining members of the League.
He gulps harshly and takes a moment to recompose himself. During that moment, his eyes flicker over Dabi’s face, taking in the rounder curve of his jaw. He speaks without thinking, “You’ve gained weight, a bit. Your cheeks…”
Dabi laughs harshly, but it’s a short one this time. Still, the sound cuts at Hawks’ core all the same. “You think you spared me, by putting me in here? That you did me any favors? I feel like I’m 10-years-old again, stuck in the same kind of place I ran away from…” He shakes his head harshly, a snarl curling across his mouth as he looks Hawks straight in the eye, “You should have killed me.”
Hawks rears back, “I - what, I could never - ”
Something in Dabi snaps. In the blink of an eye, he’s standing up, hands pressed against the glass and screaming, “You already have!”
Hawks stammers, horrified at the outburst and his eyes start to sting, “I - ”
A scarred first bangs on the glass in a booming thud, “He’s out there. And I’m in here! He’s gotten away with it, for good this time! And you helped him. You chose your side, and you helped him. Whatever you came here looking for, it was destroyed the moment you chose him over me!”
Hawks scrambles to stand as well, desperate for - well, he doesn’t know what, but for something, anything to stop Dabi from speaking this way, “Dabi, no, this - this was never about his side or yours - my duty is to society!” and Hawks’ can see the guard approaching Dabi as if she’s about to take him away again, but that’s the opposite of what Hawks needs and he turns to the woman quickly, “Wait, wait, please, don’t take him away, yet, we’ll behave, we’ll behave!” His hands are in the air for surrender and he sits back down, eyes looking over Dabi to plead for the man to do the same.
The scarred man lets out a disbelieving breath. He sits down and looks away from Hawks, “Well, congratulations. You have become exactly who the Hero Commission wanted you to be. You must be so proud.”
And - ‘no, please, don’t look away from me.’ - Hawks didn’t know his heart could continue to break, never realized that it’s not the same as a porcelain cup, a one-and-done type of situation, but instead a never-ending cycle of drowning and resuscitation.
“Dabi, stop - ”
But Dabi is no longer listening, he no longer cares about the pleads Hawks has to offer, “I should have realized we were never part of society, to you. Me, Toga, Shigaraki - we’ll never be people worth protecting. Worth betraying for. There’s a way to this world and you stand by protecting it. You really are such a hero.”
Hawks’ cheeks are wet, his upper lip warm with the moisture of snot caused by the despair that burns his throat, “Dabi, please. I thought - I thought after telling the Commission the truth about Endeavor, that they would have - ”
That sharp laugh rings painfully through his ears, “ - What? Let me go? Stupid bird. I told you this would happen. You had the choice here.”
Hawks stares down at the scarred hands that rest in Dabi’s lap and his voice is weak with regret when he says, half-heartedly, “You had one, too. You’ve always had one.”
He hears a small gasp, a hitch of breath, really - and Hawks knows he crossed a line, because not once in all their time together did Hawks ever give Dabi shit for any of his villainous actions, claiming to understand and understand and understand.
When he lifts his head up, lidded blue eyes pin him to his seat, “Yeah, and I’m making another one today,” Dabi pushes his chair back and stands up, “I never want to see you again.”
And he walks away.
*
It’s a month later when Hawks returns to the facility and bumps into Todoroki Shouto.
“Oh, uh, hey,” Hawks says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He hasn’t spoken to the kid since Dabi’s arrest when he had to notify the entire Todoroki family that Touya was actually still alive and a villain. Shouto was actually there when everything was revealed, but the Commission made it a point to have an official meeting with the entire family about the situation since public opinion had gotten involved.
All that time, Shouto never once looked Hawks in the eye.
Even now, the boy only stares at Hawks’ chest, “Hello, Hawks-san.”
“Were you visiting Dabi? How’s he been?”
Shouto turns his head to look at the door he had come out of, the one that leads into a hallway where a private room sits for visitation. He’s silent for a moment.
“Hawks-san, I know you did your duty,” Shouto says, the tone of his voice chilling Hawks to the bone, “But I still hate that you did this to him.”
And Hawks, he can only hang his head in shame, “I’m sorry. I regret it every day.”
At that, Shouto’s head snaps to Hawks and two-toned eyes stare dead into his own. Those eyes speak of a thousand words and Hawks is reminded of Dabi’s own righteous stare, “Yeah, well, regret is a pretty useless thing. Your regret won’t get him out. Just like my father’s regret won’t undo his scars.”
Shouto checks him in the shoulder, hard, when he leaves.
Hawks knows that Shouto is right.
Takami Keigo is not like Dabi. He can’t think for himself, he doesn’t know anything other than obedience and rules and he doesn’t have a clue as to what’s right and what’s wrong. His moral compass is dictated to an organization that broke him down long before he even knew his own birth name. He’s a shackled man who takes refuge in cold metal that grounds him to the stone of manufactured reality. Unlike Dabi, Takami Keigo is incapable of freeing himself.
He sniffles as he walks to the reception, “I’m here to see Dabi, Todoroki Touya.”
“Name?” And the arrogant part of him wants to ask if that’s really necessary, since not long ago, he was the Number Two Hero, after all. But he’s not anymore and he supposes that’s the way of this world - fame and celebrity only lasting the length of a candle, and once it's snuffed out to the nub, there’s nothing left but a lingering scent of what was, until the next wind blows that away, too.
Maybe this story will make Dabi laugh.
“Hawks, Takami Keigo.”
The receptionist takes a moment to type away at their computer, “You’re not on the approved list.”
“What? The Hero Commission had made sure I’d be on the list of people that get to visit Dabi. Can you check again?”
More typing and a sigh.
“Our patients have the right to approve visitor lists. The patient requested you be taken off the approved list of visitors around last month. I’m sorry, Hawks, but I cannot allow you in for a visit.”
Hawks feels the life leave his body and he’s never felt so cold, “Oh.”
As he turns away, he thinks the receptionist must feel pity for him because they hastily say, “You are still allowed to write. The patient might not read them, but it’s still an alternative.”
Hawks manages to send a small smile of gratitude, but he knows it’s mangled based on the receptionist’s winced reaction.
With a deep sigh and a glance at his custom shoes, he drags one cushioned foot in front of the other, over and over again, until he reaches his apartment to collapse on his bed.
The aroma of sweet smoke lulls him to sleep.
.
.
.