Chapter Text
It always takes a while for Hawks to calm down whenever he wakes up from a dream. He rarely gets to feel so much. So waking up has always been disorienting.
This one, though, was a nightmare.
When he wakes up, he reaches out to clutch his wings in panic, making sure they’re still there, that they have not been burned off again. It takes a while for him to stop feeling the heat, to stop hearing Twice’s voice, to stop seeing blue even when his eyes are closed. He strokes his feathers and grounds himself in the sensation, as he waits for the fear and pain to subside.
By the time his breathing and heart rate goes back to normal, the sun is already starting to rise. Finally. He leaves his memories and emotions behind in the dark.
***
Hawks just got out of an online meeting with the other council members, online because most of them are based all around Japan, mostly Musutafu. Hawks has no problem flying there of course, and would actually relish the opportunity to just do nothing but fly for an hour, but they figure it’s easier to have their meetings online. UA requested another meeting with him, however, which means he’ll be speaking to All Might, and possibly Eraserhead, about their own little project to supplement their reform programs.
After the wars, many desired a new hero society. The civillians themselves called for various policies and reforms, and heroes were eager to hear them out. Unfortunately, things are not going as fast as Hawks expected. The HPSC is under new leadership and fortunately is being steered at a different direction. Now a transparent and democratic governing body rather than an autocratic organization given free rein to do as they please, change finally feels somewhat nearer in sight. With HPSC being more democratic, they’ve decided to elect heroes, active or retired, every five years to oversee policies and monitoring, like a council or general assembly. And of course, Hawks was elected. The extra work makes him want to sigh–it’s a lot. But he was also excited to work closely with All Might and the other elected heroes, to be an active participant in forming a new hero society.
Still, there’s a loss on how to deal with villains. The heroes and police have been stretched thin, cleaning up after the months of lawlessness. Endeavor has withdrawn from public life, officially closing his agency. Hawks hasn’t heard from him since, but he knows he keeps in contact with Shoto, and that he’s working with children with quirk disorders. Hawks knows he’s in Japan at least, that he visits UA from time to time. All Might speaks of him sometimes too. They might be bonding on teaching, which is amusing for Hawks to think about.
All Might was the one who brought it up first–he had apparently been thinking a lot about it a lot. How are villains created? What are their motives? If most of them feel like they’ve been failed by hero society, how can we change society to prevent the creation of more villains? Hawks once thought that achieving his dream, of a world where heroes have too much free time, meant imprisoning every villain. But while he chases them, more are born and created everyday.
While they had experts and researchers partnered with them, All Might believed in the power of a first hand account. Hawks was inclined to agree.
Hawks is patrolling when All Might finally calls. He stops at a random rooftop, under a cloudy sky.
“Heyo,” greets Hawks.
“Hawks! Thank you for picking up.” All Might answered, a bit sheepishly.
“Don’t worry about it, All Might! How can I help you?”
“Ahh, the one we talked about… Me and Eraserhead have already talked to Toga Himiko and Tomura Shigaraki. We really learned a lot.”
“That’s great news. They cooperated well, huh?”
“Ah, well enough. But Eraser and I are still writing the reports, you’ll know the full story then. We’re very excited to share them.”
Hawks smiles at the sincerity in All Might’s voice.
“We’ve already reached out to other heroes who can talk to Iguichi and Mr. Compress,” All Might continues.
The League all had lifetime sentences, but showed potential for rehabilitation. They had to be kept in separate prisons. Toga was held in a women’s correctional facility and Shigaraki in a new facility near UA, so All Might can look after him. Iguichi and Mr. Compress, widely agreed to be the less dangerous of the group, are in other prisons in the west. Dabi’s was a few hours outside Musutafu, less than an hour away from his family.
“As for Todoroki Touya, ah, unfortunately it seems like he won’t talk to Endeavor, which is, well. Understandable. So we’re talking to other heroes near his region that he might open up to.”
Dabi? Opening up to heroes? Yeah, right.
But Hawks knows a request when he hears one.
“Hey, you don’t need to say a single word, All Might-san. I’ll talk to him.”
He did not want to talk to him.
“Really, Hawks? That’s fantastic news!” All Might’s voice is so happy, that Hawks feels a little better. Still, he can’t help making a face.
He’s glad All Might can’t see him right now.
“I’ll make some time to go out and visit him,” Hawks says. “Or should I write a letter first? We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”
“That’s a great idea. As expected of Hawks-san, always two steps ahead!”
“Haha, yep! That’s me.”
When the phone call ends, Hawks groans internally.
He’s an adult though, a certified grown up pro hero (no longer No. 2 or No. 3, now that they’ve done away with the rankings) and grown up pro heroes who’ve been through war twice , should know how to suck it up and get things done.
He imagines what it’s like to talk to Dabi again. Hawks groans externally.
Whatever. He’s definitely done worse.
Hawks moves on with his day and tends to his agency, busying himself so much he almost forgets what he needs to do.
***
It’s only when he lands on his balcony, under a starless sky and much earlier than expected, that he considers it again.
He’s never arrived home this early before. I mean sure, it’s almost midnight. But with the added responsibilities of being a council member of the HPSC, he’s been spending more and more nights in his office. His penthouse has never felt like a home before, given he only sleeps there and then flies immediately to work. Ever since he’s perfected eating while flying or eating whole meals while on a 15 minute break, he can’t even remember the last time he ate at home. So now that he’s showered and changed into sweatpants, he’s stumped. He doesn’t watch TV, he doesn’t listen to music, he definitely doesn’t read books. Should he go back to the agency? He left his work laptop there anyway. It’d be cool to go back and get it, right? He only left it there because he rarely goes home anyway unless he was sleeping for 14 hours. He should just go back to the agency.
Ah, but he didn’t want to disappoint his sidekicks. They were so happy to see him leave early! Maybe he could treat them all to a midnight snack? It’s been a while since he ate with them. Why did he even leave early in the first place?
Is it bad that he’s wishing for an emergency so he has an excuse to fly off and work?
Yeah, that’s bad.
What is he supposed to do now? He’s not sleepy yet. The silence in his penthouse is too much. He aches for something to do. That’s what it is, right? He itches for something. Something or else this silence will smother him. So he considers Dabi again. Touya Todoroki. They never saw each other again after he burned his wings off, but of course Hawks is aware of the news, the eldest Todoroki’s astonishing rehabilitation. Leaked pictures of him with his healing skin grafts (leaked by Shoto, apparently) caused a media sensation and suddenly fan clubs and sympathizers were everywhere. He doesn’t get it, but whatever. I suppose it’s the sad eyes, Hawks thinks. Dabi’s bright blue eyes and thick dark eyelashes. He’s never seen a man’s eyelashes so long before. Or the cocky smirk? He looks up the leaked pictures, which… takes him to Shoto’s social media account. Huh. Hawks’ PR team runs his social media so he’s never opened a single social media profile and app except for investigatory work, but he can see the appeal.
Shoto’s social media account is filled with dead eyed selfies, noodles and his friends and family (well, most of his family, his dad is absent). A lot of them are pictures of his siblings. There’s a selfie of him and Dabi. Shoto, with his usual stony expression, and Dabi with newly healed skin grafts, sticking out his tongue in an expression that can either be playful or rude. Even with the scars, Hawks could always tell that Dabi had elegant and delicate features, but also sharp at the same time. Hardened. There are also pictures of Dabi with his other siblings, absorbed in conversation. Dabi in the midst of eating. Dabi reading a book. Dabi with his mother. Hawks stares at the resemblance. Dabi’s jaw is sharper like his father, but the delicate lines are definitely from his mother. Natsuo inherited his father’s strong, hard lines, and both Fuyumi and Shoto look almost exactly the same as their mother, round faced and soft. Dabi’s face is the perfect mixture of his parents, ferocity and fragility in a delicate balance. It makes him look otherworldly and arresting. Some photos he’s sporting that same dangerous smirk. But sometimes he looks almost gentle. It’s the white hair, Hawks decides. He had tried to find something gentle in Dabi before, during the short time they spent together and he had found none.
Hawks was always uncomfortable around Dabi. Not because of the way Dabi had treated him–he’s had worse. It was Dabi’s stare. No one’s ever looked at Hawks so closely before. What was he looking for? What did he see? Hawks never wants to know.
Just thinking about it unbalances him. Which is why he never did.
His days of infiltrating the League–he had hated it, he never wanted to think about it again. About the things he had to do. About the friend he betrayed and killed. He tries to conjure up a feeling at the thought. Pain, sadness, grief. But instead there’s nothing. Which is its own pain. Everything now is faded, like the memories did not belong to him. He sees them as a movie playing on those appliance stores and he’s a passerby on the sidewalk, who stops and stares through layers of glass. If he tells himself these memories never happened to him, he’ll probably believe it. Not even the burns feel real. Sometimes he remembers the heat, the blue, the feel of stabbing his only friend. But only in his nightmares. In his nightmares, he feels things as they happen. Terror, guilt, desperation. A deadly, violent pain and loneliness. Emotions so strong, he wakes up shaking, his heart pounding, his breath in sobs. He spends a long time calming himself down, waiting for this violent wave of emotion to break until he’s back, and the emotions have been locked inside again until all he can make of them is a distant scream. Too far to make out the words, but near enough to know something is wrong.
What does it mean, that his nightmares feel real, while reality feels like a dream? Sometimes it feels like he follows around this person who looks exactly like him, who must feel things as they happen, but he doesn’t know what, he only watches. He only keeps flying. What would it feel like, to have a body that can hold emotion without breaking, instead of it just passing through? He's cut off that part of him that feels, because it’s unnecessary. Inefficient.
Still, he feels the phantom pain.
He wants to be normal, he wants to be–he wants. What? What does he want?
The silence is heavy and presses up against him, flat and suffocating.
No, he does not sit around wanting things. He gets up and saves people. That’s who he is.
It’s the silence, Hawks decides. It’s making him crazy, making him think these thoughts.
He goes back to his thoughts of Dabi, his sharp intellect and his white hot rage. They spoke often back then, but always in thinly veiled threats, trying their best to make the other trip up, to get as much information as they could. Talking to Dabi was exhausting. Hawks felt like he was led around an elaborate maze where nothing looked as they seemed. More than the danger, it was the frustration that put him off. Dabi was unpredictable, jumping from serious and no-nonsense to playful and teasing, with that annoying smug smile and relaxed smirk. Despite his lanky frame, he had a powerful presence, magnetic almost in its intensity and quiet confidence. It was an act that Hawks had wanted to emulate since he was a teenager, that unflappable, self-assured cockiness that he practiced so often it almost feels natural, though it seemed second nature for Dabi. Sometimes Dabi seemed like he was bullshitting, like he couldn’t be bothered, but sometimes he seemed so sincere and passionate, it rattled Hawks. Could he have understood Dabi, if they had more time? He thought of Dabi as strangely soft spoken. For such a violent person who was rude to everyone, he rarely raised his voice and showed any other emotion aside from amusement or irritation. At the beginning anyway, before Hawks’ betrayal. Before Dabi had burned off his wings and revealed to him the truth about his hero–
Anyway. Hawks pushes the memory down, before an ugly emotion can get the best of him. He doesn’t like to think about it. And he never did. How could he? There was so much to do, so many problems to solve. If it wasn’t helpful to the situation at hand, there’s just no use thinking about it. And Hawks has never been the type to dwell on things.
While Dabi seemed to be obsessed with his own pain.
But not anymore, maybe? He knows Dabi’s doing well, Shoto said so himself. Hawks wonders what that looks like. A Dabi that’s doing well. Shoto has a fondness for his eldest brother that must be real and a result of Dabi’s good behavior, right?
Would he be receptive to his letter? Surely enough time has passed?
Doesn’t matter. Hawks needs something to do and he’s done worse things than this. Hell, he’s killed a man. Surely writing a letter to the one who burned off his wings in retaliation would be less uncomfortable.
Besides, All Might asked for his help. He can’t let him down.
So he writes.
Dear Touya Todoroki,
Dabi,
You probably want me to get straight to the point.
I don’t know how much you’ve been told about this, but for the past year, the HPSC’s General Council has been hard at work to reform hero society. We’ve decided on the following:
- No more rankings
- Changing hero schools into University level rather than high school level, thus raising the age one is allowed to get a hero license
- A thorough background check and psychological evaluation not just for hero hopefuls wanting to obtain a hero license but to active, practicing heroes as well. At least every 3 years. We’re opening an auditing department.
- Normalizing hero teams, instead of the standard hero-sidekick model.
- Giving quirk licenses to people outside hero work. With standards, of course.
- Education campaigns on heteromorphs
- A reevaluation on hero schools’ curriculum
- More research on “destructive” quirks and how they might compel their users to behave. Hopefully, this will be used to strengthen rehabilitation programs and quirk therapy.
We are currently in the process of establishing these changes. Honestly, it’s taking a bit longer than I hoped.
I know you have lots of ideas on hero society and how it’s failed people like you. We would really appreciate your input.
I’m sure you have a lot to say ;)
Sincerely,
Hawks.
There. Professional and to the point. Handwritten is good, right? Dabi will be able to see his sincerity. He goes over the letter again. Okay, the wink might be too much. He changes it to a smiley face instead. Before erasing it completely. Yep, that’s better.
He mails the letter to Ashphodel Prison, with a spring in his step. Hey, this is kind of exciting. He’s never written and sent a letter before, not through mail. Obviously, Dabi is not allowed access to the internet so emailing was out of the question. A phone call was too informal, especially for first contact. Anyway, he’s done what he could, at least he has something he can report back to All Might. So he mails the letter and almost forgets about it with how busy he is until the reply arrives a week later.
Honestly, he was hoping Dabi would just ignore it.
He opens it, without expectation.
Dear Hawks,
Fuck off.
Okay, they gave me back this letter and refused to send it as it is. Fine.
My answer is this:
I’d rather hear it from you, birdy. Not some shitty letter. I have some questions to ask too. Seems like a fair trade right? Or do you just not wanna see little ol me?
I’ll be waiting.
Touya