Chapter Text
Endeavor finds out about Hawks’ injury the way everyone else does—the news.
He’s on his way to work when the breaking news report cuts across the giant screens, not that Endeavor pays them any mind. There’s always some attack or another going on, nothing to cause such a fuss over. It’s not until he catches some very key phrases—injury, winged hero Hawks—that he finds it appropriate to give it his full attention.
He turns his head, just in time to see a clip of Hawks taking an ill-timed blow and dropping like a stone. The whispers rise around him. If it weren’t for that intern catching him, he might not have survived! Endeavor pretends not to hear.
“Hawks is currently recovering in Kohei Memorial Hospital,” the newswoman intones. Her teeth are sharp, just barely peeking out from behind her grim expression. “The villains responsible have been taken into custody.”
Endeavor can’t deny the feeling of protectiveness that surges, so powerful he has to walk away, eyes fixed forward, ears shut.
He’s only watched over Hawks a handful of times—once that first time, once when he was sick. Not enough to mean anything… and yet he can’t help worrying. Injuries like that aren’t easy to bounce back from. Endeavor himself has never had to deal with a broken jaw, but he can imagine just how agonizing an experience it would be. He has to bite back the desire to send a text, knowing Hawks would never let him hear the end of it if he did.
That kind of gentleness is for when Hawks is regressed; Endeavor doubts he’d like being fussed over any other time. Even so, he can’t separate the image of a puppy-eyed regressor from the winged hero falling from the sky, and some instinct tells him to check in.
Endeavor shakes his head, ignoring the report, the onlookers, the conversation that won’t stop drifting up to his ears. Not so soon, he rationalizes. Not right on the heels of the incident. No doubt Hawks will be too exhausted to move. Besides, he’s nearly late for work.
Endeavor pushes the thoughts aside, allowing himself to get lost in the daily grind of hero work. There are a few choice occasions where he picks up his phone, but each time he thinks better of sending a text.
It’s always a step too far, too pushy, too pestering, and he always talks himself out of it by the time he’s pulled up Hawks’ contact in his phone. It’s just never a good time, or at least that’s how he rationalizes things.
With his work schedule, it isn’t long before Hawks escapes his mind completely.
Until, of course, one particular news report catches his attention on the way to work.
Apparently his ears are trained to perk up at any mention of Hawks, because he once again finds himself stopping to listen.
The update leaves him with both relief and a sense of dread. Hawks has been released from the hospital, but he won’t be returning to hero work for quite some time. His jaw is broken and he can’t speak, but he released a statement on social media earlier thanking his fans for their support.
Endeavor’s hands twitch in his pockets, and despite his better judgment, he retrieves his phone.
He knows what kind of response he’s going to get. A mocking “aww, were you worried about me?” for getting all worked up over nothing. Hawks thrives on getting a reaction out of him, and doing so now would be playing right into his hands.
Endeavor sends a text anyway.
I heard the news. Are you alright?
It’s simple, doesn’t give too much away, but at the same time, just texting gives everything away regardless.
Endeavor is stuck staring at his screen, waiting for a response. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to wait very long. Right when he’s about to give up, Hawks’ reply pops in.
Look at all these plushies LMAO baby paradise! Attached is a photo of more stuffed animals than Endeavor’s seen in his entire life, taking up so much of the frame that only Hawks’ hand is visible, flashing the peace sign.
Endeavor can’t refrain from rolling his eyes, the niggling concern giving way to annoyance. Hawks can’t be too out of sorts, if he still finds room to be troublesome. When was the last time you ate?
The seconds tick into a minute, a minute ticks to three, then five. All with no response. Endeavor quirks an eyebrow. Is he being ignored?
Hawks?
This time, the response is immediate. Am asleep zzzzzzz
Endeavor gives a loud sigh, startling the poor man next to him. He hasn’t really been given a choice here.
Time to check up on Hawks.
Endeavor arrives at Hawks’ apartment well aware that he’s being baited.
Hawks wouldn’t have sent that last text if he didn’t want a reaction. As a matter of fact, Endeavor storming over is probably just what he wanted.
Still, Endeavor acts just as planned.
He takes the circuitous back route to Takami’s apartment, to avoid being tailed just as Takami always asked of him. If you asked him, it was a complicated waste of time, but he does it anyway. No reason—at least, not any he can decipher.
He even takes the staircase at the back of the building, the one no one uses, and waits until the hall is empty to let himself into Takami’s apartment.
He still isn’t used to how small it is, but now there’s a brand new sense of off-ness nagging at him.
He’s heard the apartment this dead silent before, enough to know it’s never a good sign.
“Hawks?” he calls, but the yawning vacancy swallows the sound and offers no reply.
Endeavor slips off his shoes and proceeds inside, quick to find his answer. The bedroom door hangs wide open.
For the few times he’s been invited to Hawks’ apartment, only once has the bedroom door ever been open. He can only assume it’s an extra layer of protection, the last means of self-defense. No such thing now.
“Takami?” Endeavor knocks once, just for privacy’s sake, but still receives no reply.
The blinds are drawn, leaving the room dark, so Endeavor navigates by the light from the hallway.
Hawks’ bed sits empty and unloved, stripped down to the bare mattress. The sheets and blankets have been relegated to the corner, accented with pillows and clothes and the plushies from fans. In the center is an unmoving lump, recognizable solely by the fluffy red wings slithering out between the blankets.
It’s a proper nest if Endeavor’s ever seen one.
“Keigo?” Endeavor pitches into his softer voice without realizing.
The lump among the blankets moves, causing the wings to twitch. It’s a long moment before a familiar face pokes out from behind a bunny plush with angel wings.
Keigo blinks up at him, eyes bleary and unfocused. He must’ve fallen asleep right after sending his last message. Or, Enji thinks, a very convincing act.
“You look awful.”
Keigo gives another slow blink, so slow that he almost falls asleep then and there. Perhaps he’s too tired for games. Or perhaps that’s exactly what he wants Enji to think.
Enji’s not a caring man, but he is a quick study. Gentleness, he knows, is key, even if such care is far beyond his capabilities.
He takes a step forward. This is still Keigo’s room, still considered sacred ground, and he still barged in with very little warning. He should at least have the grace to show some hesitation. “When was the last time you ate?”
All he gets is another blank stare.
Right. Kid can’t talk. “Was it in the last two hours?”
Keigo shrugs.
“Was it in the last day?”
Another shrug.
Endeavor sighs. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have asked. He knew what he’d find. He knew that Keigo wouldn’t be taking proper care of himself. And now that he’s here, he certainly can’t turn a blind eye.
“Pack a bag,” Endeavor says gruffly. “Clothes, stuffed animals, medication. You’re staying with me.”
Keigo points across the room, directing Endeavor to a half-full duffle bag.
Endeavor raises an eyebrow as he picks it up. There are only a few items—mainly a toothbrush, a couple shirts, and a bottle of pain meds—but that’s enough to catch his attention. Had Keigo already been packing a bag? Then what? Had he just run out of steam? Maybe he should’ve checked in sooner. Or maybe that was just what Keigo wanted from him.
Wordlessly, Keigo stretches out his arms.
“Fine, but you still have to help,” Enji says, in hopes of having some sense of control. No such luck.
He pulls Keigo onto his hip, and Keigo’s arms clumsily wind around his neck in turn. Enji must admit, the sleepy toddler act is quite convincing. He’d had no idea Keigo could even sit still this long.
Keigo offers no help, so Enji packs as best he can one-handed. He grabs whatever clothes are on top and haphazardly shoves them in the duffle.
“Where are the rest of your meds?” he asks, but as he heads for the door, Keigo whines and squirms in his arms.
“What is it?” Endeavor loosens his hold, allowing Keigo to squirm his way to the floor. For a second, he worries that Keigo won’t be able to keep his balance on his own, but Endeavor is sure that that too is just what Keigo wants of him.
Keigo pads over to the plushie nest, pushing through the endless amount of stuffed toys. Enji’s about to tell him to hurry up and pick one, but what Keigo retrieves stops him short.
Is that a plushie of him?
Enji can’t deny his surprise. He’s vaguely aware companies have made merchandise of him, some officially and some unofficially. It’s never mattered much to him either way, so long as he gets a royalty check every now and then.
But when he thought of merchandise, he always defaulted to posters and action figures—he’s hardly the soft and cuddly type.
Is this an act, a way to throw him off-guard? It’s hard to tell, with the heavy, unfocused fall of Keigo’s eyes, but Enji refuses to let his guard down.
Keigo returns, plushie tucked in the crook of his elbow, and lazily stretches his arms out. Another trick, most certainly. He picked that plushie on purpose.
“Alright.” Enji scoops Keigo up by the armpits and sets him on his hip. “Let’s pack your bag, then.”
Thankfully, no one pesters them on the train.
Given the time of day, the crowd is rather sparse, and Endeavor couldn’t be happier about that. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle that many eyes on them.
Endeavor is more than willing to play the bad guy here, especially having seen firsthand just how fans love to crowd, but for the most part, they’re ignored.
He spares a sideways glance at Keigo, and admittedly, it’s hard to place him now as the winged hero Hawks. If it wasn’t for the wings, he’d be unrecognizable in his oversized hoodie and flannel pants. He looks so much younger than twenty-two, his head tilted against Endeavor’s arm.
“Hawks?”
Endeavor sees them a second too late. A pair of girls nervously approaching. Fans.
Keigo lifts his head, drowsily looking in the direction of the sound. Is the tiredness part of his act too? Endeavor can’t remember the last time he saw Keigo so low-energy.
But the small acknowledgement beckons the speaker forward. She has tiny antlers poking through her blonde hair. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she says, not sounding very sorry at all. Her friend follows over on her heels, a girl with blue blotches dotting her skin in uneven spots.
Keigo offers them a shy wave.
The blonde girl perks up, encouraged. “We heard you got hurt really bad in that siege. We hope you get well soon!”
Her friend nods. “Thank you for keeping us safe.”
Keigo smiles as much as his aching face will allow, though his wings give a telltale twitch of pain when he does. He forms a heart with his hands, and that’s when it finally clicks for them.
“Oh, are you regressed right now?” The girl with the antlers can’t hide her joy.
He nods, grinning as much as his busted face will allow him. Endeavor almost has to do a double take, because that’s hardly the kid he had dozing on his shoulder a few seconds ago.
The other girl leans down to his level, her hands braced against her thighs. “How old are you feeling, Hawks?”
Proudly, he holds up four fingers. That’s his safe response. His interview response. And the girls fall for it hook, line, and sinker.
“Aww, no way!”
“You’re even cuter in person!”
Keigo grins, his face turning a bright shade of pink as he hides behind his hands.
Endeavor tries not to scoff. It couldn’t be clearer that this is one of Keigo’s masks, the cute regressor persona cranked up to eleven. How can they not see it’s just another act?
The blonde girl’s eyes flash to him, as if she’s trying to figure him out. Where does he fit with this, they wonder. Certainly not as any sort of caregiver, surely. Endeavor barely does autographs, his own kids hate him. Who would trust him with their regressed side?
“Well, we should get going,” the other girl, the one with blue blotches says. “We just wanted to thank you for everything. Get better soon, okay?”
Keigo nods, waving them off as they disappear into the flood of people. Endeavor, committed to showing he couldn’t care less, fixes his eyes in the opposite direction. He doesn’t realize what Keigo’s planning until a scrap of paper pushes its way into his hand.
Might be good for you to show your sensitive side too, Unca Enji.
Keigo gives him faux puppy eyes, tilting his head like he intends to cuddle up to Endeavor’s bicep. All signs of the sleepy, quiet kid are gone, replaced with the impish regressor who’s all too fond of head games.
Endeavor crumples the note in one hand, his annoyance spiking.
There’s the Keigo he remembers. All it took was a little prompting, a little reminding of the thrill of the game, and he’s as effusive as ever.
And that’s going to make for a long, long week.