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Today, despite his protests, Hawks is planting trees. It’s a PR thing, planned by his handler and then foisted upon him at the last minute, as these things always are. Usually it’s school openings, or volunteering at hospitals, events that Hawks can begrudgingly accept as being for the greater good. He can even see the merit in signing autographs, but this? Hawks pounds the dirt around the tree he’s just planted a little harder than necessary in frustration. This is stupid.
“Why the fuck am I even here?” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth to his sidekick. “Literally anyone could do this. It’s not a job for a hero.”
Sparrowly gives him a sidelong glance of disapproval, but Hawks sees it at least four times a day, so it really isn’t all that effective. After a few moments they sigh, and Hawks grins as he sees them cave.
“’Leaving behind a better world for the future’,” they quote, probably from one of the pamphlets that Hawks hadn’t read. “Eventually these trees will grow tall and shade this entire park. People will be able to breath the fresh air and walk under the shade, all while knowing the hero Hawks made it possible. Or, that’s the idea, anyway.”
Well, that’s a nice thought, he supposes, if a little too nice and fluffy. Hawks still maintains that it’s not worth his time. Not when it takes up the whole fucking morning and requires so much digging and hunching.
Four hours later, just before lunch, they’re finally done. Hawks feels like he’s planted an entire forest, though he knows that it’s really only enough to fill a small but nice park. Turns out planting trees is a lot of work, and he winces as he stretches out the tense muscles in his back. Now, there’s only the interview left. The questions, of course, are easy, and nothing Hawks hasn’t heard before. He’s done so many interviews at this point it feels like all the questions are cycling back around. Hawks could do them in his sleep!
“Now, Hawks,” the interviewer says conspiratorially as the interview draws to a close, “no one would blame you if you said this was just a PR stunt. The number two hero, planting trees? It sounds like a joke! Do you believe the work you’ve done here today is important?”
Hawks doesn’t even have to take a second to think about it.
“Of course!” he lies. “That’s why I’m a hero, isn’t it? To make the world a better place! This is just one piece of that. The little things matter when you’re a hero.”
Sure, the little things matter. Just not when they’re taking up time he could be using to actually saving lives. Hawks is nothing if not a consummate liar, though, and none of his thoughts show on his face. The interviewer even blushes a little as he smiles brightly down at her – ha, that’ll show the suits at the HPSC complaining about his last interview.
The moment Sparrowly says he’s clear to leave Hawks is off, launching off into the sky. He doesn’t leave the interview feeling guilty for having lied – he’s not even sure that’s a feeling he’s capable of, anymore. Lying at this point is second nature, is the bread and butter of Hawk’s interactions with the world. Of all the words inside Hawks, there isn’t a single one that isn’t a lie. In his world, it doesn’t feel like there is such a thing as truth, anymore.
Hawks shakes his head as his thoughts turn darker, trying to focus on scanning the streets below him, instead. This is exactly why he didn’t want to spend the morning idle, doing something so stupid. If there would ever be a good day for wasting time on planting trees, today isn’t that day.
Because Hawks is on fire today.
It’s not a big deal, or really much of a concern because Hawks is used to it, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less. On days like today, it’s all he can do to throw himself into hero work with a violent passion until he loses himself in it. With too much time and ideas his mind is wont to rocket him up in its upswings and throw him down on its downswings, chewing him up and spitting him out a hundred times a day until he’s left with nothing but a burning spirit and an inability to sleep.
Today, his mind has had more than enough time. Even as he pushes himself faster, pushes himself until his wings ache and his muscles scream, his mind betrays him. It takes the idea of “planting trees” and consumes it, ponders it, then turns around and burns it into his skin.
Failure, it burns, monster, fake, disappointment. Your trees will die, your roots will kill. Why are you even still alive? What are you leaving behind?
It hits harder than it should. There’s something different, today, about the thoughts haunting him. Normally death isn’t so horrible a prospect, isn’t something that his mind can actually torture him with. Every morning Hawks wakes up knowing it might be the last, that today might be the day Dabi snaps on him, the day the HPSC tires of him, or even just the day a villain finally gets past his guard. Death isn’t that distant of a concept, to Hawks, so why is he so caught up on it now?
What am I leaving behind? He asks himself, and Hawks can’t think of a single thing. An empty apartment, maybe. A really sick collection of leather jackets that no one else will be able to wear. Some KFC commercials they’ll probably play in memoriam. A few thousand mourning fans, crying over the two dimensional image of a hero that only barely existed in the first place.
Takami Keigo won’t even be missed. It’ll be like he never existed.
Hawks shakes his head. Damn, this really has him riled up if it’s enough to have him thinking about his name like that. He can’t remember the last time he even heard it said aloud.
When he finally lands at UA he’s more tired than the journey really demanded, and his hands shake when he hides them in his pockets. He takes the quickest route he knows to the staff room, managing to avoid most of the students out for lunch and only has to sign a few autographs before he makes it to his meeting.
“Hawks,” Eraserhead says tiredly as Hawks pushes open the door, not even looking up from his lunch. “You’re late.”
Hawks looks around the staff room, eyebrow raised. He’s no stranger to being late, but he genuinely isn’t this time, so he’s not sure what the older hero is bitching about. Hawks had only agreed to teach a short class after lunch which hasn’t started yet, if the time on his watch is correct. He’s not late at all.
“Am I?” Hawks asks with a grin, “I don’t see any students here, Eraserhead.”
The older hero levels him a flat stare, clearly unamused.
“Ditch the attitude, Hawks,” he says coldly, “and yes, you’re late. I told your secretary I wanted to meet at the beginning of lunch to discuss the lesson.”
Ah, well, that would explain it. Hawks can’t remember the last time he spoke to his secretary. He’s not sure he has one anymore, actually. He’ll have to ask Sparrowly.
“My bad,” Hawks replies with an easy grin, affecting the carefree air he’s so known for. This should be enough to soften most people – on Eraserhead, it only makes his frown dive further. Hoping to garner some good will, Hawks takes a step further into the room and tries to open up his body language, tries to dimple his smile in a way that looks contrite.
“Well, lay it on me,” he says, eyeing the way Eraserhead slowly stands from his desk. “What is it you need me to know?”
In an instant Eraserhead is across the room and in Hawks’ space, pushing the shorter hero against the wall in a violent display of force that has Hawks’ head spinning. Eraserhead pushes his elbow into Hawks’ throat, cutting off most of his air.
“Let me make one thing clear – I’m only doing this because Nedzu arranged it. If I had my way you wouldn’t be within a hundred feet of my students. That being said, if you’re here to do the committee’s dirty work,” Eraserhead growls, eyes wide and hair floating ominously floating above his shoulders, “I will kill you. If you harm so much as a hair on my students’ heads, I will kill you.”
Hawks graciously doesn’t point out that he could have had Eraserhead on the ground by now. That he could have had Eraserhead dead without so much as twitching a muscle. He doesn’t point out that the only reason he has Hawks pinned is because Hawks allowed it. Instead, he grins, and gasps in air past the elbow in his throat.
“Loud and clear, teach,” Hawks chirps, “no hurting your students, I got it. Can’t say that was in my planbook, but a reminder is always good.”
Slowly, Eraserhead steps away. His elbow is the last to leave Hawks’ space, and the hero resists the urge to reach up and rub his aching throat.
“Don’t call me that,” Eraserhead finally says, “I’m not your teacher.”
Hawks laughs, because he’s not sure what else to do.
“Probably good thing, all things considered. I would’ve turned your hair grey.”
“You still might,” Eraserhead drawls, and that’s that. He leads Hawks to the classroom, and they both pretend that all is well, that no threatening has occurred, and that today is just a normal day. Most of Hawks’ ‘normal days’ don’t consist of babysitting twenty-odd teenagers, but whatever. He’s flexible like that.
They’re all suitably excited when Eraserhead introduces him, though less so when the teacher explains that they will be spending another period working on their special moves with Hawks acting as an extra pair of eyes. Hawks gathers that it’s not as exciting as a lesson as they’d been expecting, not that he has a problem with that in the slightest. The less teaching he has to do the better.
The hour starts in one of the numerous over-the-top extravagant gyms UA boasts, and all the students scatter across it like mice. Hawks eyes the group and Eraserhead, noting the students the other hero seems to focus on and avoiding them like the plague. Instead Hawks looks for the students who clearly have their shit already together and thus won’t actually need any advice, as well as, shamefully, the few students he already knows and thus has declared his favourites. He only feels a little bit bad about that.
First and foremost, he looks for Tokoyami, eagerly flying over to where the teen has sequestered himself on top of a rock in the corner of the gym. He looks surprised to see Hawks, for some reason, as if the two hadn’t forged a super awesome bond together on his internship.
“Heya!” Hawks says, settling down gently next to Tokoyami and giving Dark Shadow a few scratches when they abruptly stop the move they were practicing to zoom over. “How’s it coming along, kid? Still working on, uh, Fallen Angel, or whatever that moved we worked on during your internship was?”
“All is well,” Tokoyami replies, as formal as ever, “though I regret to inform you that I have made little progress since we last met.” He actually looks crestfallen at this, staring at the ground to avoid Hawks’ eyes.
“What, you think I’m gonna be disappointed in you or something?” Hawks guesses, and knows he’s hit the mark when Tokoyami flinches. He strolls closer to the teen and throws an arm around his shoulders, being sure to drag Dark Shadow in as well. “Kid, you’d probably have to kill someone for me to be disappointed in you. You’ve made great progress, all things considered, and you can’t have a miraculous epiphany every day. You’d be, like, an insane super genius if you could.”
Slowly Tokoyami raises his head until he’s looking Hawks in the eye. He still seems unsure, but he also seems to trust Hawks at his word, so the hero is content to let the teen go.
“Now,” he says brightly, pulling his phone out from his pocket, “how about we time you, see how fast you can fly from here to the other side of the gym and back?” He grins winningly and internally sighs in relief when the teen finally starts to perk up. As it turns out, he’s totally gotten faster since internship, and Hawks celebrates this fact loudly and personally until Tokoyami finally pushes him away, looking as embarrassed as he can manage.
Hawks can only spend so long with his former intern before he knows he has to move on, though, so he grudgingly says his goodbyes. With a wary eye he looks over the rest of the students, trying to decide who he’d actually be able to help next, when a blur of green catches his attention. It’s Midoriya something-or-other, Hawks is pretty sure, the kid from the sports festival and the whole Stain incident (which Hawks isn’t actually supposed to know about, but whatever). He’s doing some sort of… kick? Maybe? It sure involves a lot of spinning and jumping around, that’s for sure. Eraserhead is standing next to him, so Hawks doesn’t even think about approaching, instead settling down to watch from afar.
There’s power there, that’s for sure, and way more than any fifteen year old should be capable of. It reminds Hawks of All Might somehow, and as the comparison comes to him, so does the memory of a commission debrief he’d sat through. This is the kid that All Might favours, for whatever reason, the one that the commission had confessed desire to have under their thumb.
Hawks chuckles. Yeah, looking at him now? No way the kid would join the commission, not like Hawks has. That’s All Might’s successor, there’s no doubt about it. And, given what Hawks knows about him? He’s going to do a great job, too. Satisfied that he’s seen enough, and content with the hope this new knowledge instills in him, Hawks turns to the next prodigy in the room.
Shouto Todoroki stands in a far corner not unlike Tokoyami, though his is much closer to the ground. He’s not doing much, to be honest, just standing with a hand on his chin, looking at the ground. Eraserhead isn’t looking that way, so Hawks assumes the kid will be a safe enough bet. Who knows, maybe he’ll even be able to waste enough time that he won’t have to help anyone else!
“What’s up, ice man?” Hawks asks as he walks in, and is only a little bit hurt by the curt nod he receives in return. The teen is clearly deep in thought, so Hawks will forgive him this once.
“…So, you working on your special move, or what?” Hawks asks when the silence draws on a little too long for him, the winces at his own word choice. Well, there’s a reason he’ll never make it as a teacher.
Shouto, for his part, doesn’t look the least bit put off. The kid’s expression doesn’t even change when he turns to look at Hawks.
“I’m still unsure about whether I’m going to use my fire or not,” he says without preamble. “My control over it is not as strong as it could be, so it might be wiser to focus on my ice.”
There’s a little it more to it than that, Hawks can tell, but he doesn’t push, because who the fuck is he to force this kid to share? Instead, he gestures to the ground in front of them loosely.
“How about you show me what you’re thinking about,” Hawks suggests, “and I can tell you what it looks like to me?” Shouto takes a moment to contemplate this (and geez, this kid sure is serious) before nodding and getting into position a few steps away.
As he moves to attack Shouto’s sleeve slides down, revealing that the skin underneath is mottled purple and green with bruises. They’re clearly not severe, not if they’re already fading, but bile rises at the sight of them anyway. Shouto stiffens as he notices what he’s just revealed, but Hawks plays innocent under the teen’s accusing stare until finally the tension drains away from Shouto and he returns to work.
It doesn’t matter that they’re covered now - Hawks can still see the shape of them in his mind. He recognizes them in the memory of bruises on his own arms, before he’d gotten good enough in training to avoid being hit. There’s only one person who could get away with doing that to a Todoroki, and Hawks wishes he could say he’s surprised. Really, this is just a confirmation of the worst.
What will you leave behind?
Hawks looks down at Shouto, at the bruises on his arms and the steam floating off his costume, and Hawks knows what Endeavour’s answer to that question would be.
“Hey,” he says impulsively, reaching out to tap the teen’s shoulder with his wing as soon as he’s finished his move, “when’s your next internship? Second-year, right?” Shouto nods, slowly. “How about I send you an offer, next time? I know you usually intern with your old man, but it could be useful to switch it up a little. I’ll teach you how to go fast.”
Hawks grins cheekily at the end, hoping the teen catches the Sonic reference, which Shouto absolutely does not. Really, Hawks should have expected it.
Shouto tilts his head, face unreadable. Such a look on a teenager might have been intimidating, if Hawks wasn’t sure this was the kid’s default setting. He knows the curse of a resting bitch face himself – or, he used to, before the commission trained him out of it.
“I appreciate the offer, Hawks-san,” Shouto finally replies. “I’ll think it over.”
Hawks shrugs with an easy grin. Well, that’s all he could have hoped for.
The hour ends with him really not having helped any of Eraserhead’s students, though he’s made a few of them laugh, and Hawks leaves after a group picture that the pink girl insists on taking. Then it’s patrol, patrol, patrol until evening. He only has enough time to scarf down have a meal before he's flying off again, this time to meet up with Dabi, because Hawks is just that popular today. He’s lucky, too, considering he only has to wait fifteen minutes for the villain to show up. Usually Dabi makes him wait longer.
“What’s up, hotstuff!” Hawks crows, holding his hand out for a fistbump. Dabi just glares in response. “Alright, I’ll do it myself.” True to his word, Hawks bumps his own fist. Dabi doesn’t so much as crack a smile.
Quick and to the point this time, Hawks gets it. No flirting, no teasing, just instructions and a little bit of doom-and-gloom glowering. It’s no fun but whatever, Hawks can deal with it.
“Shigaraki has a task for you,” Dabi says, and Hawks immediately perks up. “He’s taken my word on you this far but if we’re going to let you into the gang, we need proof. We’re talking real proof, here, not just words, hero.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hawks waves Dabi’s words away, “I get it already. What’s the boss man want?”
“We need you to kill someone,” Dabi explains, and Hawks resists the urge to rolls his eyes. Yeah, he could’ve guessed that.
“Easy!” he chirps, ruffling his wings. “Who’s it gonna be? A villain? Criminal, maybe? Lemme tell you, if it's a member of the HPSC I will have no problem with it.”
The first warning Hawks gets is that Dabi hesitates – he hesitates. When he finally speaks he actually grimaces, and that’s the second warning. Hawks, though, is stupid, and doesn’t have his guard up, so the request is unexpected and hits harder than it should.
“Best Jeanist,” Dabi says, and Hawks swears he hears the sound of a window shattering in the distance.
That’s… what? They expect him to kill Best Jeanist?
Shit, he's taken too long to answer - Dabi eyes him with an unreadable expression, and Hawks hurries to slap on another grin.
“Uh,” he scrambles to cover up his moment of shock, “sure, you got it. How the fuck am I supposed to do that, exactly?”
“Not my problem,” Dabi snipes back. “Not getting cold feet, are we birdie?”
“Nope, no way!” Hawks shakes his head nervously, wings twitching. “Just, uh, a little surprised, is all. I don’t have to do it, like, right away, do I? Cause let me tell you, I am going to need one hell of a plan-“
No,” Dabi cuts him off with a roll of his eyes, “you don’t have to do it right away. But soon, Hawks. Shigaraki isn’t known for his patience."
The moment Hawks is out of earshot he calls the commission, nervous sweat dripping down his spine with every moment the phone rings without picking up. The briefing he’s finally swept into is long and arduous, as his handlers grill him on everything Dabi had said down to the exact words, as if Hawks is going to lie about it. Literally who would benefit from that? Finally, after what feels like forever, they leave to go confer with the rest of the higher-ups, the ones Hawks isn't allowed to meet. He shuffles in his seat nervously, trying to contain the numerous nervous habits that threaten to rear their head as he knows this room is being surveilled and the last thing he needs right now is to be punished for preening his wings in public or some shit.
There’s a lot happening in his head but Hawks isn’t sure what he’s thinking, other than there’s no way the commission will let him kill a fellow hero. Maybe Jeanist will have to fake his death, or they’ll pull Hawks from the mission, but there’s no way –
“Alright,” his handler says, finally returning to the room, “you have permission from the committee. This mission is a go.”
Hawks blinks.
“Sorry, um, what mission?” he asks, sure he’s heard the man wrong. His handler’s mouth thins at the disrespect, but Hawks can’t even bring himself to worry about it.
“The mission Dabi has assigned to you. Getting into the League is your top priority right now, and the committee trusts you to do whatever necessary to make it happen. You have their approval.”
“Right,” Hawks repeats faintly, “their approval. Their approval to kill Best Jeanist. That approval.”
His handler nods, and it kind of feels like the floor falls out from underneath them, though when Hawks looks it’s still there beneath his feet so he knows he’s just being overdramatic. Probably.
The flight back to his apartment is a bit wonky after that, as every few moments he remembers the clusterfuck of meetings he’s just been through. The universe really does hate him, doesn’t it? It just had to drop this shit in his lap today of all days – if Hawks weren’t on fire he’s sure he’d be feeling a bit less unstable about it all, but as it is the best he can manage is a disjointed train of thought that is more panic than anything useful.
It’s not the first time Hawks has killed and it hardly looks like it will be his last so that isn’t the problem, not really. Hawks’ hands have more blood on them than he can ever wipe away and that’s okay, because it’s what he signed up for but…
Kill Jeanist? Jeanist. The denim hero that everyone loves, the one that hounds after Hawks’ health every time they meet, and is well known in the hero community for being the one man you can trust, no matter what? Hawks might as well be killing All Might, for fucks sake! Well, that’s a bit facetious, but his point stands. Jeanist doesn’t deserve that, not from Hawks, not from anybody.
And this is just the beginning, too. If (when) he kills Jeanist, he’ll finally be in the League, for real this time. He won’t just be Dabi’s errand boy, he’ll be a villain, and if the commission is willing to let him kill Jeanist, then there’s no limit to what else they’ll have him do. The realization turns Hawks’ blood cold in his veins, and he nearly runs into the large billboard across from his apartment. He’s lucky it’s so late, otherwise that’d be on all the magazine covers come morning for sure.
With the detour from the billboard incident accounted for he gets home just past midnight, and it only takes one look in the mirror at the manic look in his own eyes to tell Hawks that he won’t be getting any sleep. Instead, he turns on all three of his TVs, cranks the stereo he has in his bedroom, and makes two pots of coffee, one after the other. As his clipped talons click on the ceramic mug he holds, Hawks listens to late night reruns and the peppy pop Mic plays on his radio show and pretends that the buzzing in his head isn’t his alone. Two pots of coffee might be too much, but it’s also only barely enough to stop Hawks from bashing his head against the wall, so he brews another. By the time he’s finished his vision blurs a little in the corners.
When he judges himself sane enough to be allowed his phone Hawks arranges a meeting with Dabi for four the same morning, because god knows Dabi doesn’t seem to ever sleep. This is the most he’s seen the villain in a day – ridiculously, Hawks worries that he’s coming off as clingy. He arrives to the meeting fifteen minutes early, but Dabi is, predicably, late, so Hawks is left waiting as the sun rises. The golden pinks and burnt oranges that shine over the broken rooftops make the scene almost pretty, in a dingy, decaying kind of way. After thirty minutes Hawks lays down on the edge of the roof so he can see the sky better, wings spread out behind him and legs dangling off the building. The concrete is hard on his back, but it’s the most rested he’s felt in weeks. For a minute around five there’s a flash of red in the sky, and it’s so close to the colour of Hawks’ wings that he wishes he were a colour in the sky, too.
What are you going to leave behind? Hawks asks himself. The answer is somehow worse, this time.
A dead hero. A legacy as a traitor, and a backstabber. A villain.
And for all that, what will have Jeanist even died for? A half-baked plot that even Hawks, in all his wisdom, can see is going to blow up in the commission’s face one day? A whim from a power hungry organization that has only cared about itself?
Or… Hawks thinks, and his heart nearly stops. Or, what?
The thought, when Hawks finally lets himself think it, is the start of the end.
Or, he thinks, he could just… not, do that. Could just not kill Jeanist.
Hysteria builds up inside Hawks and suddenly, there is nothing he wants more.
It would be as good as signing his death warrant – if the league doesn’t get him then the commission will, and Hawks has no chance of evading both of them at once. Today, though, that doesn’t sound all that horrifying. If Hawks plays his cards right they’ll be hunting a dead man and fuck it, they can do whatever they want to his corpse. It’s not like he owns his body in the first place!
Some of the hysertia subsides, just enough for Hawks to look clearly at the plan he’s just made, but the little clarity he manages just makes it more appealing. His death will only make his mission even more successful, and he can see the headlines now – ‘Number Two Hero Dies Defending Best Jeanist from Villain Attack ordered by the Commission’. Or something like that, anyway, Hawks isn’t a journalist, so sue him.
It will all be so easy. All he has to do is lie, and Hawks is so very good at lying.
Hysterical laughter bubbles up in his chest and Hawks is on fire today, so he can’t stop it from escaping. It pours out of his chest like a lava flow, burning his lungs until tears form in his eyes and he’s clutching his own stomach in pain. Of course, it’s then that Dabi decides to show up.
The villain makes himself known in the shadow that falls across Hawks’ face as he stands ominously over the hero. When Hawks opens his eyes, Dabi actually looks disgruntled for the first time since Hawks’ has met him. The sight just makes him laugh harder.
“Are you high?” Dabi asks after a moment’s pause, incredulous, and Hawks wheezes so hard he chokes on his breath. As if the HPSC doesn’t drug test him regularly.
“No, but sometimes I think I should be medicated,” he chirps, grinning up at the villain. “Flying while high is firmly on the no-no list, Dabi, of course I’m not high.”
“…Sure,” Dabi agrees, clearly not believing him for an instant. Slowly, when Hawks makes no move to stand up, the villain settles on the edge of the building as well, a few feet from the hero. He probably thinks it’s a safe distance, but Hawks wouldn’t even have to bat an eye to push him off with his feathers. He doesn’t tell that to Dabi, though.
Together they sit in silence, and it’s the closet thing to peace Hawks has ever felt. This close to Dabi he can smell the familiar stench of smoke mixed with sweat that always follows the man, the scent that Hawks usually only gets to smell when they fuck. Maybe it’s gross, but Hawks adores it. It’s familiar by now, for more reasons than one.
Underneath the smell of Dabi is the scent of his quirk, and it smells just like his father’s fire.
Dabi is Todoroki Touya – Hawks knows this, because he’s not fucking stupid. Okay, well, he’s a little stupid, but not that stupid. It had only taken a little digging into the hospital records that the HPSC had hidden to make the villain’s identity obvious. He has no idea if the commission knows, and he has no desire to ask. Given that they’ve yet to use it for their own gain, he assumes they don’t, and that’s just fine by him. Dabi is his, and he’s glad to keep the villain as far from the commission as he can. Irrational, considering what exactly he’s doing here, but Hawks has never claimed to be a rational man.
What are you going to leave behind? Hawks thinks, and he wonders if Dabi will miss him. It’s cruel but he hopes so, hopes he’s left enough of a mark on the man that when Hawks finally goes it will hurt. Hawks has never really minded pain – it’s proof that he’s real. He wants to be real to Dabi, too, like the villain is to him. Hawks knows that he’ll miss Dabi when he’s dead, if he’ll still be capable of it, and maybe even if he’s not.
A shrill noise interrupts his thoughts, blaring out from Hawks' back pocket. It's his alarm – if this were a normal day, then Hawks would be waking up about now. Technically he still has his patrol later, though Hawks figures he’s allowed to play hooky today. Screw the commission - he’s worked every day since he was eight, he can have one day for himself.
Rather than locking his phone Hawks opens the music app and plays the first song he sees. He owns so much music and he’s never had enough time to listen to any of it, how sad is that? Hawks doesn’t want to die not having listened to his own music.
Slowly Hawks gets to his feet, stretching out his wings and arms high above his head. Cranking the music he throws his phone to the side, sending a feather after it to ensure it stays in place. Then, he dances. Because why the fuck not? Dabi, of course, looks at him like he’s insane. Probably not a good way to prove he’s not high.
“Hawks,” he asks, dragging a hand down his face, “what the fuck are you doing?”
“Dancing,” Hawks replies, grinning down at the villain. “What, you’ve never done it before? It’s this thing -“
“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi retorts, “I know what dancing is. Did you really call me here for this?”
“Why not?” Hawks asks, and surprisingly, Dabi doesn’t have an answer for that.
Why not? Hawks thinks, and he smiles a razor sharp smile. A perfect question. Why not?
Dabi raises no more complaints, so Hawks sees it as a go ahead to keep dancing, not that he needs anyone’s permission in the first place. Maybe it should feel weird, dancing alone on a shitty rooftop to a tinny song he’s never heard before playing from his phone, but Hawks is on fire today, so it doesn’t feel weird at all. He brings his wings into the movements and instead it’s fun. Hawks likes the way it makes Dabi look at him, too.
The song changes, and this time it’s something indie and instrumental. The singer croons the lyrics, though Hawks can’t quite hear them, and instinctively he knows exactly what this song calls for.
“Come on,” he asks, holding one hand out to Dabi. The villain looks at Hawks like he’s insane, but Hawks doesn’t let it deter him. There's a softness to Dabi in this moment, and somehow Hawks knows he'll be able to take advantage of it.
“Come ooooon,” he needles a few moments of silence later, wiggling his hand, “the song is almost over, you’re gonna miss it!”
Slowly, and against all odds, Dabi stands and takes Hawks’ hand. The action feels momentous, like the first time man landed on the moon, or something. Hawks has just convinced Dabi to dance with him! He nearly crows in delight before realizing that will probably scare his lover away and instead chokes down the sound.
Dabi’s hands are cold where they hold Hawk’s, and his grip is clammy. Some of the hysteria settles in Hawk’s chest as he smiles at the villain. To think, that after everything Dabi has done, dancing with Hawks is enough to have him nervous.
To be fair, this is beyond the relationship the two have. Sure, they fuck sometimes, and Hawks delights in the caustic flirting they engage in every time they meet. But whatever they have together is hard, and cruel – it has an expiry date, something they’re both well aware of every time they meet. What they’re doing now has no business in the mess that is Dabi-and-Hawks. Yet, still, Hawks holds the villain’s hands.
For a moment, Hawks is free, and there is nothing in this world beyond this roof and the pair of hands holding his. The song ends, though. Dabi lets go of his hands.
“Whatever,” he scoffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets like that will erase Hawks’ touch, “this was a waste of my time, birdie. Are you taking the mission, or not?”
Right, the mission. Hawks’ smile falters, although he tries not to let it show. Probably not a successful endeavour, given Dabi’s expression, but he doesn’t let the villain comment on it.
“I’ll do it,” Hawks lies, and the words fall past his lips as easily as air. “He’ll be dead by Monday.”
Dabi looks at him, and for a moment Hawks sees something like disappointment flash across his face. It’s gone faster than he can blink, though, so Hawks’ shakes the thought off.
“Good,” the villain replies gruffly. “I’ll introduce you to Shigaraki after I have proof. No delegating this, little bird.”
Hawks laughs again, and it’s just as manic as before. The dancing really hadn't done anything to burn away the desperate energy thrumming in his chest. Dabi eyes him warily.
“Oh,” Hawks says with a grin, “you’ll know it was me all right. I look forward to meeting the boss, hotstuff.”
Now’s the time for Hawks to give a jaunty salute and take his leave – he knows the script he should be following. But Hawks is on fire today, and his hands are still shaking (he can’t pretend it’s from the coffee anymore), so instead he darts forward and steels a kiss from Dabi, savouring the way the villain’s mouth opens in surprise and the way his lip piercings catch on Hawks’ teeth. Dabi looks about willing to burn him to death when Hawks finally pulls away, but Hawks just licks his lips with a cheeky grin and winks.
I deserve this, he thinks.
“What the fuck was that, Hawks?” Dabi growls, and Hawks laughs again.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, waving away Dabi’s reply at the same time as his wings beat and lift him off the roof. “Let’s just say it was on my bucket list.”
Not really caring what Dabi has to say to that, Hawks lifts off, pointing himself who knows where, simply revelling in the feeling of air on his face. Who cares if he gets lost? He’s the fastest man alive, and right now there’s nothing anyone can do to hurt him.
He starts that very morning after downing another pot of coffee – if he waits any longer, it might start looking like a bad idea, and Hawks can’t have that.
It’s actually quite easy to collect all the information he needs to take the commission down – an oversight on their part, really. Despite how they treat him, they’d never expect Hawks to turn traitor. They’re so confident in themselves it would make Hawks’ sick, if it hadn’t taken him fifteen years to get to this point. He’d very nearly proved them right.
Hawks shoves that thought away and focuses on his laptop.
Luckily, today Hawks is still on fire, and if his luck holds he will be tomorrow too, until this whole ordeal is over, and he’ll never have a chance to second guess it. He knows that’s not healthy, that these aren’t the actions of a healthy person, but he thinks that they just might be the actions of a hero, and that’s all he’s ever wanted to be.
First thing he’d done this morning was call in sick to his agency which had only worried Sparrowly a lot, but as their superior he has every right to do whatever the fuck he wants and he’d played that card gleefully. The commission hadn’t even needed an excuse, they just assumed he was working on his plan to kill Best Jeanist. Which, to be fair, he is, but it probably isn’t a plan they’d like, seeing as it ends with Hawks dead and Jeanist very much alive.
Right now, though, he’s busy compiling all the evidence he has against the commission into one file and figuring out who he’ll send it to. Ideally, he’d like to start the fire himself, but he’s too stupid to figure out how to do that kind of shit posthumously, so he settles for letting someone else do it for him. He clicks through the document he’s making, doublechecking that he hasn’t missed anything. There are pictures of villains he’s killed on the commission’s orders, as well as illegal deals they’d made with him and other heroes. Pretty much anything he can pile on top of the already incriminating information on the ”education” they’d given him.
Truthfully, he hadn’t gathered most of it intentionally. He’s so used to doing the commission’s dirty work at this point, he doesn’t think twice about the shit he keeps at home. The training videos, though… Those had been intentional, if only so that no one else could witness his weakness. They aren’t pretty, or nice, or heroic, and if they’d ever gotten out it would have ruined his image forever. That’s what Hawks is counting on now.
For the first time Hawks gives thanks for the commission’s stupidly anal organizational system, because it only takes most of the day to compile all the files he needs. Then, Hawks is left with a mess of paper in his living room, a veritable bomb of information on his laptop, and no real idea of what exactly to do next.
Jeanist is the first thing that comes to mind, and he's going to have to write an explanation at some point, so it might as well be now. He decides against sending Jeanist the commission evidence – the man is still recovering from the All For One incident, and he’s hardly healthy enough to deal with the shitstorm Hawks would be handing him. After a moment of pondering Hawks pulls up his email and starts typing. Not as romantic as a hand-written letter, but it will have to do. The email’s a bit dry, considering the severity of the topic, but Hawks doesn’t really know Jeanist that well when it comes down to it. Doesn’t even know the man’s first name. He settles for explaining the situation and apologizing for getting him involved in the first place, then at the last minute asks him to take it easy on Dabi. Then, before he loses momentum, Hawks opens another draft.
This is the harder decision – who does Hawks trust to take down the commission? His heart, long hardened by training sessions and beatings, by days spent locked in his room and mission briefings followed by punishment, says no one. The logical part of Hawks, that just might be his brain, knows that no one isn’t an option, so he has to choose someone.
In the end, there’s only two people he trusts to actually do something right with this information.
Miruko is an easy choice. They’re not close because of how much she hates his job as the commission’s errand boy, and that’s precisely why he chooses her. Because Miruko is a hero. A real one, the kind that Hawks always dreamed of being, the kind that is beyond him now. He wishes they could have been friends, in this life. That he could have been real with her.
Post this, he writes in the email, and put the HPSC in the fucking ground. Don’t let the shit in here sway you. Hurt them like you’ve always wanted to, hurt them so badly they can never come back from it. I’d say sorry for all the shit I’m handing you, but I get the feeling that you’ll enjoy it.
Don’t let them hurt anyone else, Rumi. I’m counting on you.
Also, make sure they play something banging at my funeral. That shit better bop.
See ya!
Hawks
The next decision is a little harder to make given that their last encounter had largely consisted of death threats, but Hawks grits his teeth and does it anyway.
Eraserhead had been willing to kill him just for following commission orders – Hawks has no doubts on the hero’s ability to follow through on his threats. He can’t say he trusts Eraserhead, not when he doesn’t trust anyone, but he… likes the hero, maybe. Trusts the hatred that had burned in Eraserhead’s eyes at mention of the commission, if nothing else. So, Hawks schedules another email, this time to the address he’d gotten from a stolen look at the hero’s computer screen. This file is larger than the one he’d sent Miruko, filled with all the information Hawks had been given when the commission had ordered him to teach at UA. It’s full of notes about unsavoury plans and information that none of them had any right to have, and the only one Hawks trusts with it is Eraserhead. And, well, if there’s a few added notes about Todoroki Touya and Endeavour’s training, it’s only because Hawks likes hedging his bets.
Hey, teach, he writes, and giggles to himself as he imagines the look that’ll get from Eraserhead, I got some homework for ya! This is everything I have on the HPSC – and I mean everything. I gave Rumi most of it, except for the stuff they had on your students. I leave that to your discretion, because I figure if there’s one person I can count to put those kids first, it’s you. Rumi will be posting her half, so help her out, will you? I know you want to see the HPSC burn just as bad. Sorry I couldn’t help you with anything while I was alive :p I hate paperwork, what can I say? I’ll take any chance I can to get out of it.
Oh, and tell your husband I love his radio show!
See ya later,
Hawks
With those emails finished, Hawks isn’t quite sure what to do next. He’s confident in his choices, he has to be, so he doesn’t feel the need to send any of the information he’s gathered to anyone else. That would just be adding unnecessary risk to an already risky plan. Maybe he should write some personal notes to friends – that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to do when you kill yourself, right?
As sad as it is, the first and only person that comes to mind is Sparrowly, the first sidekick he’d ever hired and the one that’s stuck around the longest. They’re one of the only people in the world he might call a friend, if he knew how to do that sort of thing. ‘Friend’ isn’t a shape Hawks was ever made to take, but he thinks Sparrowly might have come the closest to molding him into one, anyway.
Heya Sparrow, he types out, and the words are much harder to think of, this time. I hope you don’t mind cleaning up the mess I’ve left. I wish I had more to leave you than paperwork and a dead body, but I’m just not a sentimental man, you know? You can have my leather jackets, if your wings will even fit through the wing slits :p The agency’s also yours now, but it’s been yours for a while, hasn’t it? At least you know how to do all the paperwork lol.
You’re going to be fucking fantastic, and I can’t wait for the day you make it onto the ranks. You’re a hero, and I mean that. Love ya!
Hawks
That finished, Hawks sets immediately to pretending like his eyes aren’t damp, and he contemplates writing something for Dabi. There’s a lot they’ve never said, and if Hawks doesn’t now, it will always remain unknown. There won’t be another chance for them, he knows that. But when he sits in front of his laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, Hawks feels like he can’t breathe. No matter how hard he wills his fingers to move he can't bring himself to type anything more than the villain's name. It's only when Hawks closes the tab entirely that the pressure in his chests eases.
Well, Hawks thinks, that sucked. What now?
Impulsively he opens a new draft and types in an email he never thought he’d need, the first time he saw it on Shouto Todoroki’s file. There isn’t anything personal he has to say to Shouto, given how little he knows the boy, so he skips the sentimentality. Instead, Hawks complies everything he has on Touya Todorki into a neat document, complete with headings and everything. It feels a bit like a macabre scrapbook, when it’s all done, but Hawks doesn’t care. It’s kind of funny, really, if you tilt your head the right way.
Heya kid, says the final draft, I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I figure you have the right to know.
More than that, though, this should be enough to take down your old man. There’s enough evidence there that, as long as you can get Dabi to cooperate (don’t worry, he’s a softy!) there’s nothing Endeavour can do about it.
You’re gonna be a great hero, or whatever it is you decide to be :)
Hawks
He CC’s Fuyumi and Natuso onto it for good measure but doesn’t know either of them well enough to feel comfortable writing any sort of personal message. They’ll just have to settle for Shouto’s – he can’t imagine they’ll mind.
For the moment, he lets himself believe that it will be enough. Job done, Hawks turns his mind to the meat of his plan, so to speak. The important part, where Jeanist doesn’t die, and Hawks does. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have to think for long before the solution comes to him.
It’s fucked up, it’s so fucked up, but Hawks is going to have Dabi kill him. It’s the best option, for Jeanist, for Hawks, for the plan. The worst for Dabi, maybe, but Hawks thinks that Dabi has probably already seen the worst and can handle a little more. Hawks will believe that.
And the most fucked up part? Hawks kind of likes the idea. If there’s any way he wants to go, it’s surrounded by the scent of Dabi’s fire. It’ll be like he’s being held like Dabi himself, like he’s being consumed by him, and that thought is more than appealing to Hawks. He hates the idea of belonging to the commission but if it’s Dabi, it might just be okay.
Hawks calls both Jeanist and Dabi awash in a strange feeling of peace and sets up plans with both of them for the next day, though he barely remembers the words he’d said afterwards. Then he cleans his apartment and throws all the food that will spoil in the dumpster outside. He makes sure his leather jackets are hung neatly in the closet, for Sparrowly to collect, then Hawks burns every copy of the photos from his childhood the commission had let him keep. No one has the right to look at them but him. When he falls asleep that night, he doesn’t dream. Hawks can almost pretend that he’s not on fire, though when he wakes again his plan still seems like a good one, so he knows that he is.
The eery calm lasts him until the next morning, until minutes before he’s scheduled to leave.
I haven’t left a note for Dabi, Hawks thinks, panicked, and just as much as he couldn’t write one earlier, he has to write one now. Scrambling for the nearest piece of paper he can find, which turns out to be an old receipt for some kind of meal, Hawks grabs a marker from the counter and struggles for something to write. In the end, there’s really only one option.
I love you enough to let you kill me, you bastard, so don’t fuck this up for me.
I’m sorry that you’re the one who has to do it, and I’m sorry that I’m not more sorry. But we’re just not made for anything nice, are we? It was good, though. While it lasted :)
I love you. I love you.
Hawks feels the urge to write it a million times more but there’s not enough room for it on the paper, not if he wants it to still be readable, so he settles for two and folds the receipt into his pocket. It burns a hole in his jacket the whole way to his meeting place with Dabi, and then it burns a hole in his heart, too.
Dabi stands in the alleyway they’d discussed, dressed in his stupidly dramatic trenchcoat and playing what sounds like Candy Crush on his phone, and somehow Hawks falls even more in love at the utterly ridiculous sight.
“Beat any high scores?” he asks instead of a greeting and ignores the way his heart lights up at the way Dabi’s gaze immediately snaps up to meet him. If Hawks still had his tail feathers they would probably be perking up, too.
“Took you long enough, birdie,” Dabi drawls, and Hawks smirks. For the first time since they’ve met, Hawks is the one who’s late. Intentionally, of course. He’d just wanted to see the look on Dabi’s face, which he has quite a good view of, now, as Dabi stalks across the alley towards him.
Hawks must have crossed some line between them at their last meeting, because rather than incinerating him Dabi steps close and presses their lips together with no warning. Not that Hawks minds in the slightest. He takes the chance to slip his note into Dabi’s pocket, then allows himself to be lost in the taste of the villain’s mouth. When Dabi steps back he looks… awkward, maybe? Or constipated, constipated is a good word to describe it. Like he’s not sure why he did that. Hawks grins quickly, not giving the villain the chance to second guess himself.
“If that’s how I’m going to be greeted I’m going to have to come calling more often,” he says, and Dabi rolls his eyes in a manner that Hawks almost calls fond.
“You wish, bird brain,” Dabi drawls, but it’s not a no, and it’s almost enough for Hawks to turn around and call all this shit off. Hawks is on fire, and he’s fairly certain that he’s going to die today, but if Dabi asked him to live, he would. God, he would.
I want to kiss Dabi again, Hawks thinks desperately, but before he can anything stupid, the sound of a car in the alley pulls both of their attentions to the street. With Dabi a little further away the plan comes back to Hawks, and his resolve returns. Hawks still wants to call it off, but he won’t. He knows he won’t. Instead, he grins as Dabi turns to him with one eyebrow raised.
“Showtime!” Hawks chirps.
For once, everything goes smoothly. Jeanist arrives right on time, stepping out of his car like a goddamn fashion ad despite his heavy injuries, and Dabi even follows along with only a few complaints. It’s so easy to get them both into position, and really, are they all this stupid? Must be, Hawks included, if they’re really all going through with this.
Hawks parks Dabi in the alley then darts forward to meet Jeanist and it only takes a few seconds to set his plan in motion.
“The villain Dabi is back there, and I need backup,” Hawks says, and Jeanist believes him, because Hawks has always been a great liar. He doesn’t even question why they met up in the first place – Jeanist just grabs his threads and strides forward, because that’s what heroes do. Hawks is reminded in that moment of why he’s doing this. Because he’s a hero, and heroes save people. There isn’t anything else to it.
The fight starts quickly – Dabi must not have expected Hawks to betray him, because he doesn’t even try to run away. The next minute is filled with blue flames and the smell of burnt clothing, vaguely Hawks thinks he can hear Dabi screaming his name, but he’s not sure. There’s a lot happening in Hawks’ head right now, and it all fights for center stage past the screaming sound of police sirens that are quickly growing closer.
With a great sweep of his wings he takes to the air, hoping to get a better grasp on what’s happening. The plan will only work if he’s in control. From the air the fight looks a bit less deadly and a lot more beautiful. When you can’t feel the horrific heat of Dabi’s fire it really is gorgeous, and Hawks can’t help but admire the way his lover holds himself so strongly, so stubbornly. He wants to kiss Dabi again.
Jeanist stumbles and Hawks shakes his head of any errant thoughts.
What are you going to leave behind?
Hawks is the number two hero, a member of the HPSC and the League of Villains. He’s a shitty friend and an even worse hero, and he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t lying when he spoke to someone. When the public mourns, they’ll be mourning a man who never existed. Of all the people who know him, there’s only one he’s going to miss, and who might miss him in return – Hawks will take those odds.
There’s only one thing for it, so Hawks braces his shoulders and dives. Wind whistles past his ears and through his hair, a glorious feeling that never gets old. He spares a selfish half-second to chase it, to revel in the swooping of his stomach and the rushing of his nerves. It’s only a moment, though.
When Hawks swoops in front of Dabi’s fire, he can tell the villain isn’t expecting it. Hawks isn’t even really expecting it, and he can’t help the way all his breath leaves him in a gasp of pain. There’s one second of blazing, agonizing pain, and then it’s all cotton between his ears. The sky rolls above him and the earth turns beneath him, tearing what’s left of his costume to shreds and cutting up what parts of his skin aren’t burned. Note to self – concrete feels awful on fatal burns.
Just as quickly as he hit the road, though, he’s being turned over and picked up. Clearly whoever’s playing hero isn’t an actual hero, as they half-drag him to a nearby alley rather than towards the flashing lights in Hawk’s peripherals.
“What are you doing?” Dabi demands, voice rough and full of something Hawks is just stupid enough to call pain. There aren’t any tears in the villain’s eyes, but they’re red, and his hands shake where they hover over Hawk’s ruined chest. There’s blood on them, with smudging ash from Hawk’s clothing that’s almost dark enough to cover it up. The blood is still there, though.
Hawks feels guilty, for a moment, but this is just life, isn’t? It’s never been fair for Dabi, or for him. Hawks wishes it could have been different, but their time is over, if it ever really began. He’s not going to waste what he has left by mourning a life that him and Dabi could never have.
Instead, Hawks thinks of Tokoyami, of the new rising heroes lead by All Might’s successor. The HPSC will never get their claws in them, will never harm another child like they harmed him again. It’s idealistic, but Hawks likes to think that there won’t be another Dabi, either. Hawks thinks of Shouto and the information he’s left with hope – maybe there will be shade for Dabi, in this future he’s planting.
The world he leaves is going to be better, he has to believe that. It will take a while, as all things worth doing do, but it will happen. There will never be another Hawks.
Dabi’s still looking down at him in concern and, oh yeah, he asked Hawk a question, didn’t he? Though the villain is still pawing at the burns, Hawks can’t feel any of it anymore. He feels… warm. Like he’s wrapped himself in his wings in the way he always wants to but the commission won’t let him. It’s so nice, Hawks wishes he could fold them over Dabi, too. When he tries, only one wing makes it up onto the villain’s shoulder. Hawks feels like maybe there is truth inside him in this moment, enough that he can finally give some to Dabi. That’s a nice thought, isn’t it? That in the end, he doesn’t have to lie. That in the end, he’s free.
“I’m planting trees,” Hawks finally says, and he smiles.