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“Orders changed from on high,” Hawks’ agent said with vague disinterest, passing over the thin folder with a flick of his wrist.
Hawks grabbed it and pulled it open.
The sheet of paper was titled in thick red letters, bolded so no one could have the possible excuse of missing it.
A kill order.
Right there against the plain beige background was a photo. One image.
Dabi.
Hawks’ heart beat wildly in his chest, pounding to an incessant drumbeat.
Did they know? How? He’d been so careful. He checked over and over for any bugs they could have planted on him without his knowledge, there was no way they could get one over on him.
But here lay the proof that they knew something right there in blinding red.
Hawks’ order to kill Dabi.
There was a time and a date of when they wanted it by, but the words were spinning too fast for Hawks to read them.
He pressed his lips firmly together, an attempt to focus his expression to give nothing away.
Looking up over the edge of his coat collar, he placed the folder down flat.
“Why the change?” Hawks asked with false curiosity. “Wouldn’t this hinder my plans to infiltrate the League?”
“Per our intel, Dabi has been racking up more and more kills. Being as he is not the face of the League, we can afford to take him down without affecting your stature with the rest of them since he’s already introduced you to them all,” the agent said, sounding like he was reading off a script.
“That’s true,” Hawks nodded. He leant back in his chair and cocked his head.
“What if the League closes its ranks even further after this? They may not trust me anymore regardless if they think I did it.”
“You said you were forming a bond with Twice? Exploit it. You have the resources to keep yourself going.”
Hawks breathed in. Breathed out. This was insane. Taking their order would mean a total failure of the plan. Killing Dabi… maybe the League would still allow Hawks in. Maybe they liked him well enough to trust him past their own (justified) paranoia. And gods knew the HPSC needed it with the MLA joining forces with the League. An army of thousands lay in the shadows.
Why would they make him do this?
There was one thing out of all of this that came as a relief. They must not know about Hawks’… acquaintance with Dabi. The little thing he had with him. They couldn’t have known, or else they would be throwing that in his face, forcing him to comply with even more rigidity than they were currently showing.
They didn’t know. They didn’t know.
But they wanted Dabi dead anyway.
Why?
The HPSC must know something they weren’t telling him. Fearing Dabi’s potential risk to the country wasn’t the worst motive, but Hawks knew for a fact that the only people he had killed so far had been other villains, recruits he had deemed unworthy.
If anything, that would be a benefit to the HPSC’s goals. More rubbish off the streets.
So they knew something that Hawks didn’t. Something about Dabi that was enough to get them scared, enough to make them need him dead right now.
This wasn’t the first person Hawks was ordered to kill, and wouldn’t be the last if he went through with it. That was his role, the soldier for the HPSC. Feathers as sharp as knives and with the telekinesis, he was their go-to for missions for people the HPSC wanted dead without the rest of the world being aware. Nagant’s successor, the one who upheld the heroic structures of the HPSC without letting the rot take root.
Dabi was the first Hawks had been asked to kill who he’d known before. The first he’d been asked to kill who…
He didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to kill Dabi.
Shit.
“And if I say no?” Hawks said slowly, placing both feet steady on the floor. Already preparing for a quick flight outta here.
Just as he was Nagant’s successor, he knew her downfall. She’d chosen to rebel, chosen to neglect her duties, turn traitor to the guiding hand of the HPSC. That was the story the HPSC had sold to him, she was always dirty, always rotten, never able to go far enough to keep the world intact, not like he was.
The more he killed, the faster his heroic vision would come. The sooner he could sit back and relax. That was why he had to keep doing their dirty work.
Lies. Lies and fake words dressed up to look pretty just to keep Hawks under their heel.
“You know your choices,” the agent said simply. His back sat rigidly, and his hands moved to rest under the table.
Hawks already knew a silent alarm was underneath there, and he had to bet the agent had his finger ready on the trigger.
“We’ve given you so much, saved you from the dirt and depravity of your past life. Do you want to throw all this away? The position of number two? How many people you’ve saved?”
“Does that balance out all of the deaths? Would that balance out his murder?” Hawks hissed, feathers flaring wide.
A vibration travelled along his feathers. Damnit. The silent alarm had been activated.
The agent dropped to the floor, hidden by his desk.
Hawks knew the drill. He knew of Nagant’s rebellion and knew the HPSC had been prepared in case something like that ever happened again. Exactly why the President hadn’t been called in to give this little conversation, most likely. Not wanting to risk her own life.
Well, Hawks wasn’t going quietly.
Armed men stormed outside the door, boots beating against the hardwood, almost matching Hawks’ own palpitating heartbeat.
“Wings down and hands above your head!” Someone barked.
No way Hawks was going to do that. He didn’t know what they were planning to do to him once they got him, but there was no way he was going to Tartarus.
He hadn’t killed the President, not like Nagant, but like Nagant, he knew too much of their inner system. They couldn’t risk that knowledge getting out. Even if they would have to put a bullet in Hawks skull to do it.
Outside the window agents with flight quirks were hovering. The glass was armoured, a thick coating almost impossible to break through.
Emphasis on the almost.
Hawks’ feathers tapered to a razor point, wings of death spreading out to their full stretch.
He looked one of the agents outside of the window dead in the eye and bared his teeth.
And he leapt.
~
Hawks leaned back against the wall of the tiny alleyway, body wracked in agony. His tongue tasted of iron, and each breath hurt, lungs pressing against ribs that he was pretty sure were now broken. The fight had been long and brutal, and he’d barely got away by the skin of his teeth. He’d fought with all he was worth, with all the power in his being he’d been able to muster.
It had been a close thing, but he wasn’t called the fastest hero alive for nothing.
Not that he would be called a hero anymore.
As soon as the morning news broke, Hawks would be labelled a traitor, a search order immediately put out for him. That was what happened to Nagant, that was what would happen for him. It was history in the making.
He could already imagine the headlines, the joy as the media would feast upon the news. Hawks the hero had been beloved, but the delicious drama of a hero-turned-villain? Every news station would be jumping for the bit, everyone wanting to break the story to the rest of the world.
Everyone would be searching for him now. If Hawks had thought he couldn’t get away from the attention of the crowds before, well not it would be an even different ball game. Everyone knew his face. There was no hiding, not on his own.
That was why he’d come here.
Here, on the outskirts of Japan. Here, where there were no CCTV cameras, no tech to be hacked into, nothing that would allow the HPSC to track Hawks down.
This place was where he and Dabi met up. Where they had first moved from enemies unwillingly working together to something… more. Something greater than the sum of their parts.
Hawks had chucked his phone away as soon as he could, no way to get in touch with Dabi now. He only had to hope Dabi would have more brain than Hawks gave him credit for and would know to find him.
Eventually.
Hawks legs gave out, a spasm of pain arching through his muscles. He scraped sideways along the wall, brick tearing at his many open wounds.
He braced one already bruised arm to comfort his fall. His feathers, the few that remained, fluttered wildly to support him as he landed. Something jarred against the concrete, white shocks of heat travelling through his arm.
Hawks lay against the floor, head pressed against the concrete. Right now, he must look a mess. Nowhere close to the perfectly combed image the HPSC wanted, the same image repeated over advertisements and press releases, the same images that stared back at Hawks every time he took to the skies. He could feel the tacky stick of blood coat his shirt, drenching him in red.
His wings had been the first thing they’d aimed for, and they’d nearly succeeded in clipping him. Permanently.
A weak laugh choked out past his lips. He absently wondered what Dabi would do when he found him. Would he think a random homeless guy had wandered into their secret spot, someone looking for a space to hide in the chill of an autumn's night? Would he take the time to look past the blood and the dirt to see Hawks?
Hawks couldn’t worry about that right now. He hurt too much, his whole body an aching limb. He wanted to rest, wanted to sleep. Dots sparked in front of his vision, the already tilted street swirling into a blaze of nothingness. Each breath hurt, a discordant wheeze with every single inhale.
Was he going to die? Here, in the back end of nowhere?
It would be fitting. Born from nothing, died surrounded by nothing.
Hawks, the traitor hero, the failure hero. That would be his legacy. How great… how deserved.
Maybe then at least he’d finally get a rest.
Blue light flickered against the alleyways as Hawks’ eyes fell shut.
~
Soft. It was soft.
That was the first conscious thought Hawks had upon waking up.
He wasn’t on the concrete anymore…
He felt all floaty, disconnected from his sense of self. He could barely feel his arms, his fingers tiny points of nothingness in an empty void.
Hawks forced his eyes open despite the presence screaming at him that he should just go back to sleep, a better sleep than he’d had in months.
There was a shadow in the corner. A shadow with big blue eyes, staring right at him.
Dabi.
His arms were tightly crossed, the fabric of his coat stretched taut. His gaze was fixated right at Hawks with an intense expression Hawks really didn’t have the capacity for analysing right now.
“Who did this to you?” Dabi hissed.
“Oh, just my boss,” Hawks said fuzzily. And blinked. Had he meant to say that? He didn’t think so.
He was definitely on way too much pain medication right now.
He needed to… he needed to get up. He needed to go out… maybe he could get his old job back.
Ugh, but then he would be asked to kill Dabi again and he did not wanna do that.
Still, something in Hawks’ primal brain that had always placed work first convinced him he needed to get up, despite the list of overwhelming reasons why that was an incredibly bad decision. They were something for later Hawks to deal with. He clawed against soft sheets, muscles working double-time as he tried to force himself upright.
Dabi stormed over and pressed surprisingly gently down on his shoulder, forcing Hawks back down against the sheets.
“What do you mean your boss?” Dabi asked dangerously.
“Well, technically it wasn’t my boss, but it was under their orders?” Hawks replied, finally sinking back into the sheets. They were so comfy, so soft. Why had he been trying to get up again?
Dabi stared down at him, fingers still pressed firm down against Hawks shoulder.
“Is this you trying to get yourself further in with the League?” Dabi asked, squinting down at Hawks.
“Mmhmm, definitely,” Hawks mumbled and tried to shoot a wink at him. It ended up being far more like a blink than anything.
“You - you are far too out of it to be having this conversation,” Dabi muttered, letting go and running his hands through his hair. “Fuck, why did you come to me first? Do you seriously not have any other friends that would make a better choice?”
Friends. That would be nice. Friends.
“Who has time for that with my schedule?” Hawks couldn’t help but laugh. His lungs strained against his broken ribs, and ouch that wasn’t a good decision. After he finally brought himself down from another coughing fit, he noticed Dabi had leant back, hand hovering over Hawks’ body like he didn’t even know what to do.
Well, that made two of them. Hawks didn’t know what was going to happen now. Was he just going to live on the run forever? Until the HPSC gets bored and someone else gets put higher on their radar? It’s all too much, far too much to think about for Hawks brain right now.
All he knew was he wanted Dabi’s hand back. And there was one easy way to rectify this situation. Hawks stretched out and pulled him down. The villain stumbled forward, falling flat next to Hawks on the mattress, somehow still carefully avoiding Hawks’ injuries.
Hawks curled his face inwards, pressing it against Dabi’s collarbone. Dabi was always warm, his inner fire a mini radiator, and today was no different.
“What are you doing?” Dabi managed to say, still lying there as stiff as a board.
“You’re warm,” Hawks said. Surely that was enough of an explanation.
“You can’t use me as a hot water bottle,” Dabi complained, bringing one hand up to try and push Hawks away. With barely any force, Hawks noted, not enough to hurt his already bruised body.
“I defected from the HPSC for you, so just let me use your warmth,” Hawks mumbled. Mm, he might just fall asleep here. The warmth spreading through his body was already sending him back to sleep.
Even as close as he was to sleep, he still noticed how Dabi froze up, his hand no longer pushing at his chest.
“You - “ Dabi choked. “What the fuck?”
Hawks raised a hand and pressed it over Dabi’s mouth.
“You’re so loud,” Hawks complained. “Sleeping time.”
Dabi reached up, pulling away Hawks’ hand from his mouth.
“Yeah, okay, sure.” He sounded faint. Delirious. Hmm. Dabi probably needed sleep too. Sleep sounded so good right now.
Hawks’ eyes slid shut as he nestled further inwards against Dabi.
Just before he drifted off completely, Hawks was sure he felt the comforting weight of a scarred hand comb through his hair.