Work Text:
It was a few months after everything cooled down when Dabi walked back into Hawks’ apartment as if nothing had happened.
Denial.
It always starts with denial, that’s what they say.
It had been months and Hawks’ wings grew a little at the beginning, enough to plant that awful seed of hope. It burrowed way down into him, so that every movement he made when the scars pulled or his feathers jarred – there it was, that flicker of hope.
Denial seeped into every part of his life.
When the press would ask him about his family’s history, he would recite the basics as if were a mantra. Just words. He didn’t think about it much beyond that.
When his rating plummeted at the next ranking, he didn’t feel much of anything. The public used to love him, adore him maybe.
The golden poster boy.
Now they spat on their autographs. Hawks was forever an optimist, perhaps it was only a temporary thing.
Even when they stripped him of his hero status, there was still an uncertain air of ‘we’ll review it in a few months – for now you’re off duty’.
‘It’s a blessing maybe’, he had told Rumi with a smile. She had sympathetically smiled back, careful to keep herself from glancing at Best Jeanist. He had nodded also.
It was worth it all to help Endeavour, even if there wasn’t much emotional support back.
And then one day, he was back in his house with his kids – things were going well for him, Hawks was happy for him. He had supported him through it all, of course.
Now, Hawks had to figure out what to do with himself.
He didn’t have many friends, and the ones he did have were still on the active line of duty. He had always only had his job – and that was fine! Don’t get him wrong. Just…
When Dabi had walked into his apartment one day, they had just stared at each other.
Hawks was lolling on the couch, the summer heat making him strip down to just his t-shirt and boxers. His eyes had been half closed, hardly focused on the buzz of the television.
When the door opened suddenly, he had dropped the ice cube he had been sucking and immediately sat up.
His hand that reached behind to his wing closed around nothing.
Only pinfeathers were twitching back there.
Dabi had seemed surprised himself, as if he hadn’t expected the bird to be in his own flat. He paused for a moment and observed the hero who was gaping at him before continuing his trajectory to the fridge. Hawks watched with astonishment, listening to the clomp of his heavy boots but unable to do much.
He was totally exposed.
Essentially quirkless, his phone was in the bedroom.
Fuck. This was it, he supposed.
Dabi had opened the fridge and rifled through it. He sighed with disappointment when he seemed to have not found what he was looking for. He stepped back, slamming the fridge closed with the heel of his boot and started heading back towards the door.
In a few strides he had reached the front door and he launched it open, turning back a second to observe the hypervigilant hero.
‘I was just wondering if you had beer’, was all Dabi left him with.
Hawks nearly immediately questioned whether the whole interaction had even occurred. Why would Japan’s most wanted criminal just waltz into his house and open his fridge, then leave?
Not only was Hawks wide open to be just dealt with there and then, he was meant to be in hiding.
Hawks decided that denial was the best foot forward in this situation.
--
Mouths smashed together, clacking of teeth and pulling of hair.
When Dabi had appeared again, Hawks had slapped him so hard it had sent him flying.
Then they were on each other like animals; groping, biting, clawing.
‘Fuck you, fuck you’, Hawks had whispered furiously into his ear, groaning when Dabi brought his teeth down hard on the skin of his shoulder.
‘Don’t mind if I do’, Dabi had muttered devilishly back, lifting Hawks with ease and blindly stumbling to the bedroom. Hawks was significantly lighter than he had been before the war and Dabi ran his hands up the t-shirt he wore.
Hawks had hissed, his scars still sensitive and achy. Dabi had quickly repositioned his hands, distracting the blonde with furious kissing.
He kept his wandering hands firmly away from the wings – unsure if they would be painful, not willing to feel the way they paled to the appendages Hawks had before.
When collapsing on the bed, clothes were shed in an instant.
Hardly any prep. Hawks cried out with the rough treatment, Dabi digging firm fingers into his shorter hair and yanking his head back.
They both had shrieked when Dabi pushed in, both panting and groaning out loud.
It was hardly pleasurable.
They both finished anyways.
When the ringing in their ears had stopped and the banging of Hawks’ neighbour on the adjoining wall had ceased, Dabi had moved up the bed as if to settle in.
‘Get out’, Hawks had growled where his face was burrowed in a pillow, ‘Get the fuck out’.
Dabi had hesitated, flames licking at his fingers. He still had steam seeping from his staples, it hadn’t even been a minute. But he obliged, moving off the bed to gather his clothes.
Hawks lifted himself weakly up with his forearms, ignoring the tear stains in the pillow when he turned to Dabi with a screwed up face and love-bitten neck.
‘I fucking hate you’, his voice cracked and strangled.
Dabi kept his face impassive as he moved towards the bedroom door, shutting it quietly with a click.
He pretended to not hear the crash of a lamp against the wall and let himself out.
--
Dabi was sleeping soundly in Hawks’ bed and he watched the man’s chest rise and fall.
This man, who had killed and hurt so many, sleeping so easily in his enemy’s bed.
Hawks swallowed, moving in to stand closer at the mattress.
The morning light was dim, autumn had truly come and spread an air of dying over the city. The search for Dabi had died down with it and here he was. Hawks knew he’d always come back and let himself in.
He hadn’t asked for the key back, they both couldn’t keep away. It was hardly morning but Hawks couldn’t shake himself out of the hero routine.
It had been a few months, they hadn’t asked him back.
Hawks couldn’t think of anything to do, all of it seemed so meaningless.
So he stayed in, and hoped to hear the key in the door.
Hawks rustled the feathers in his meagre wings, his stomach clenching at the familiar feeling. He wished to feel the heavy plumage adorn his back again.
God, how he wished it.
The doctors didn’t think at this stage they’d ever grow back.
It was too long out, they stayed stubbornly protruding enough to remind Hawks of what he used to have and not short enough to hide.
Whenever he went out, he was met with hisses and shouting. Hawks was vulnerable, he had no quirk to defend himself against angry war-torn crowds.
He couldn’t always ask Rumi or someone else to accompany him, he didn’t get much enjoyment out of any of his previous activities anyways.
Except one.
Dabi breathed steadily, murmuring in his sleep.
He rolled over so that his face turned towards Hawks, his eyes still blissfully closed.
Despite all the scars that had grown over his jaw and up his ears, he still looked so innocent. They were both still so young.
Hawks brought the knife out from behind his back.
If you’re out there God, watch this.
‘If I kill Dabi’, Hawks whispered to himself, ‘please, please bring my wings back’.
He leaned over the bed, his knees settling on the edge of the mattress which bent from his weight. Dabi sighed awake, his eyes blinking open.
He stiffened when he saw Hawks’ face, his wide blue eyes taking in Hawks’ narrowed ones, the pupils constricted and dangerous.
Dabi opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when the knife came down.
Dabi gasped, his hand coming up to his chest. He heaved in breaths, waiting for the pain. It didn’t come. The knife was plunged into the mattress, a puff of white feathers descending on the two of them.
Dabi glanced away from the knife and up to Hawks, who now had his other hand pressed to his mouth.
‘Please leave me alone’, Hawks whispered behind his fingers, ‘Please don’t come back’.
‘No’, Dabi answered immediately, bringing a hand up to pry the hand away from the blonde’s mouth. Hawks heaved in a sob, sagging back so he sat on Dabi’s shins.
‘What can I do to make you fuck off’, Hawks dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, wailing out another angry sob before falling forward. His blonde head came to rest with a bump on Dabi’s stomach and he felt a hand weave into his curls.
‘Shh’, Dabi murmured, petting him gently, ‘Just come back to bed’.
--
Hawks couldn’t remember the last time he got out of bed.
Sometimes Dabi came over and force fed him food. He never said very much, his words would have meant nothing anyways. Sometimes he curled up beside Hawks who spreadeagled in his sleep, stroking his hand.
It had been weeks when Dabi opened the bedroom door one day, his face red and blotchy. If Hawks hadn’t known any better, he would have said the man had been crying.
But Dabi never cried, he only flailed out in anger – taking everyone down with him.
‘Get up’, Dabi’s voice was rough and low, ‘I can’t take it anymore’.
‘You can’t take it anymore?’, Hawks’ own voice was monotone and he stared into the corner of the room, completely disinterested in the conversation. He couldn’t even build up enough strength to be angry at the hypocrisy.
‘Are you punishing me? Because I get it, ok?’, Dabi’s voice was escalating, ‘I’m sorry’.
‘I don’t forgive you’, Hawks’ voice was cold.
‘Why are you doing this to me?’, Dabi was shouting now.
‘It isn’t always about you’, Hawks turned then to look at him in the eye, bitterness creeping in, ‘You ruined my life’.
‘You first’, Dabi’s lip was wobbling and Hawks sat up a little more, surprised. He blinked when blood started running down from Dabi’s under eye scars.
‘You don’t get to cry’, Hawks’ voice was hoarse, it was so hard to get it out, ‘Flying was everything to me, my job was everything- I have nothing now’.
‘You have me’, Dabi slammed his hands against his chest.
‘I don’t want you’, Hawks replied but the hiccupping sob that threatened to build finally washed over him and he was crying.
Crying, grieving, mourning.
The room was so cold in the dead of winter.
He felt Dabi’s arms wrap around him and he leaned in, tears soaking into his chest.
--
The birds outside were singing and tweeting, having returned from their long journey abroad. Hawks warbled back, stretching with a groan on his balcony. The sun warmed his skin slightly, the heat of summer hadn’t set in yet.
He was still cooling off from his run and he brushed the headband he had on off with weary fingers. His hair refused to stubbornly grow over the burn marks up his neck but the scar on his jaw had lightened a bit during the winter months.
He was sure it would only darken again when the sun came out in force.
Hawks turned when he heard the key in the door. Dabi strolled in, a cardboard crate balanced on his hip.
Hawks smiled warmly and Dabi nodded back.
‘I brought beer for the fridge’, Dabi motioned down at the box under his arm.
Hawks laughed a little and Dabi thought he’d never heard a song so pretty.
Hawks fluttered the pinfeathers on his back, able to beat them properly.
They hadn’t grown. The flicker had died.
That was okay though.