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Hawks was sitting in a karaoke bar, listening to his sidekicks take turns singing drunken, off-key covers of their favorite songs, when he got a text.
Before that, he'd been enjoying the evening; it was Friday night, and his sidekicks had been working hard all week, so he offered to take them out for the night, to relax and get stupid for a few hours before the weekend. He'd let them pick the venue, and they wound up where they were now, at a popular karaoke bar, in one of the larger private rooms. Not all of his sidekicks could come, though, so it ended up being himself and roughly fifteen others, sprawled across the multitude of couches and drinking as they took turns picking songs and wailing their hearts out.
The smell of booze, sweat, and cigarettes perfumed the air as Hawks nursed some sort of cocktail one of his sidekicks had passed him. He sipped on the syrupy, fruity drink as he bounced his knee to the rhythm of the drums in the current song. Seabird was up on the stage, gripping the microphone with both hands as she sang into it, her inebriated dancing making the other sidekicks cheer. It was as her song finished out, in the brief lull of Steel Runner setting up his own song, that he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out, tapping the screen to wake it up as a guitar riff sang through the air.
It was an unnamed number, but not an unrecognized one; he'd just put a skull emoji as the ID. His general good mood tanked in seconds as he scanned the message, his brows furrowing together and wings beginning to droop.
💀: Tomorrow morning. 8:00 am. Report to compound #4129 for inhibitor training. Do not fail. Do not be late.
"Heyyy, Hawks! Hawwwks!" He looked up sharply at the sound of one of his sidekicks calling his name, waving the microphone and tablet at him, "It's your turn, buddy!"
Aware of all the eyes on him and the encouraging cheers, Hawks forced a smile and shook his head. "No thanks, I'll pass this time." He held up his phone as he set his drink on the table and got to his feet, "Sorry to drink and run, but I just got a message, I'm needed back at the agency for something. You guys keep going, though, I'll foot the bill at the front so the drinks keep coming."
There was a collective groan of disappointment and disapproval, but no one stopped him; not that they could if they tried. A few of them called goodbye, a few more told him to take "it" easy, and then he was gone, slipping out the door as they began to squabble over who got the next song. Hawks pulled his coat in close, his grip tight around his phone as he headed for the lobby. He did in fact pay, putting down enough that his sidekicks could have the room until closing time, and then some more to cover the ungodly amount of drinks they'd no doubt order.
Then he left, walking down the street a ways as he slipped on his headphones and visor, before he opened his wings and took flight. He didn't go back to his agency, but he did call one of the sidekicks he knew was one the night shift, letting them know that he wouldn't be in in the morning.
"Tell my coordinator I'm sorry for the short notice, but the Commission asked for me to come in tomorrow. I'll try to make it in for the night shift." He told them.
"No worries, Mr. Hawks! We're happy to actually get to do something tomorrow!" They replied cheerfully. Hawks made himself laugh, said goodnight, and hung up, his smile immediately falling as the call disconnected.
Inhibitor training... He grimaced into the wind as he flew towards his apartment building.
Despite being the number two hero, despite having the lowest crime rates out of anyone, despite being as healthy as a horse, the Commission still insisted that he undergo their training, three to four times a week. It wasn't enough that he worked out nearly every day, that he stuck to a rigorous diet, that he kept himself up-to-date with every move the people of his city make. He had to be ready, he had to be prepared for any and every possible situation, primed to blow like a grenade with the pin half-pulled, and the Commission had their ways of making sure he was exactly that.
There were very few situations that they hadn't prepared him for.
Someone tries poisoning him some day in an assassination plot? No problem, he'd been consuming micro-doses of over a dozen poisons since he was five, building up a tolerance to them until he could drink a teacup full of arsenic or belladonna without even feeling nauseous. When he was younger, it of course made him violently ill; puking up blood for days on end, temporarily going blind, and seizures were all just part of the training, alongside being hospitalized too many times to count so they could pump his stomach when he wasn't recovering fast enough.
What if someone tried to torture him for information? Well, it was a good thing he couldn't feel most forms of pain anymore. He didn't even blink at the feeling of a needle puncturing his skin; he was quite sure he could get a full body tattoo and not flinch even once. Being punched, stabbed, starved, whipped, choked- none of those would work, either. His pain tolerance was so high at this point he hadn't even realized he'd broken his leg a few years back until it went out from under him in a fight, and his ability to hold his breath due to flying at high altitudes kept him from being choked out. Hunger, sadly, was not one that the Commission had to train him to tolerate; he'd always been able to do that, ever since childhood when he was lucky if he got crackers or canned slop for a day's meal.
What if he just got sick one day? Well, they had put him through every preventative measure for that possible; his tonsils and appendix had been preemptively removed at the age of twelve, he was given a check-up and dentist visit twice a month, he was vaccinated against every single disease that they had a vaccination for (another reason he couldn't feel needles) and those were constantly kept up to date. He had blood work done once a month, and was kept to a strict "self care" routine of washing and taking multivitamins. If he so much as sniffled, he was given a full physical to determine if he was going to get sick and miss out on missions or work.
Aside from physical training, though, they kept him on his toes with mental exercises, too.
As a kid, they had him "play" puzzle games, from riddles to sudoku to chess. He was solving calculus and stochastic integration at the age of fifteen from his rigorous education, and at twenty-three years old he could speak, read, and write in nine languages, working on his tenth. He was expected to know fifteen of them fluently by his mid-thirties.
He was constantly given hypothetical situations to look over, which he had to critically study to find every possible flaw, solution, and result. If he found ones that the team of agents hadn't thought of, or didn't find all the ones they had, he was rewarded either way with more hypotheticals. He did them over breakfast, these days, because they'd become so second nature to him. It was like exploring a dungeon in Dungeons and Dragons and making plans to beat the boss, except without any of the fun, friends, loot, or dragons.
His one and only weakness continued to be fire, though. No matter what sort of methods they used, there was nothing Hawks could do to make his wings fire retardant. His clothes were, and he always had a water bottle in the satchel attached to his belt just in case, but that wasn't enough for the Commission. They seemed convinced that with enough training, feather growth and regrowth, they'd steadily become fire proof, like a natural evolution, in the way that plants that grow in forest fire susceptible regions can take root in ashes and grow tougher to withstand scorching heats. That resulted in his second least favorite training days, when they would torch his wings off.
They were never precise with it, or quick; that would give him time to brace for it, which would inhibit the feather's evolution; at least, that's what they said. He wasn't allowed to shed his feathers beforehand, because they had to make sure to burn the joins his feathers sprouted from, too. So he was forced to sit, grit his teeth, and endure the feeling of flames licking at and consuming his feathers until his back began to burn, blister, and bleed; there was a reason he had a full body suit and a jacket incorporated into his costume, other than just the aesthetic. Never mind that his feathers were highly sensitive organs, extensions of himself that transmitted every sensation- including pain- back to him at all times. At least he was given a few days off after those training sessions to regrow his feathers, but once he could do any sort of flight- or his feathers were at six inches in length- he was back on duty.
But his least favorite training, the one that scared him the most and made him sick to his stomach just to think about, was the inhibitor training.
Poisons, he could do. Rohypnol, ketamine, even GHB- he'd been trained to resist their effects to some degree, enough that he could fight and escape from most situations. But the unnamed one, the one they simply called "mind wipe," was the one he dreaded the most; and now, it was the one they wanted him to practice with the next day.
When he finally arrived at his apartment, he landed on the balcony outside his bedroom and unlocked the door, stepping inside the relative safety and quiet of his home. The rest of the evening, he went through his routine; he put his pre-prepared meal in the oven, undressed- putting everything in its exact place- showered, ate his dinner, brushed his teeth, performed the rest of his grooming (shaving, moisturizing, et cetera), and finally fell into bed. He'd need all his rest and energy for the following day, he thought as he plugged his phone in.
As it began to charge, though, the screen flashed on, and Hawks saw a message he'd received while he was in flight.
D: We should meet up again soon, Hawks.
The clank and groan of the heavy, metal door opening made Hawks wrinkle his nose, the sound grating on his feathers. He said nothing about it as he stepped through, though, ducking his head respectfully to the agent holding the door open. They followed him in as he stepped into an unfortunately familiar room, white walls bouncing bright, florescent lights into his eyes that made him squint. The room was set up like a doctor's office, albeit the most sterile, minimalistic one known to man, with bare walls and the overpowering smell of bleach. There was a chair in the center of the room, which he took a seat in without even being asked.
The doctor- the only other person in the room aside from Hawks and his agent escort- barely even greeted him as they measured out three separate needles of the mind wipe drug. Hawks tried not to look at the syringes, even though the liquid drug was clear. The dread that had overcome him the night before still lingered, cold and heavy in his chest, but he kept his face carefully neutral; any sign of reluctance would get him reprimanded. Still, he swallowed at the sight of three doses; he'd only ever been given two, before. It seemed like they were ready to up the dosage with him.
As the doctor turned to him, he tipped his head forward, giving them access to the back of his neck. They nodded in thanks, before they wiped down the area with a cold antiseptic pad. It made the hair on the back of his neck tingle and stand on end, and he took a slow, deep breath, his hands curling into fists as he braced them on his knees. As they palpated the space, looking for the right place to inject the first dose, Hawks' agent began speaking, giving him the rundown of the training exercises for the day. Once the drugs had kicked in- it usually took fifteen to twenty minutes to get to the full effect- they ran him through various tests, from simple "match the pictures" games and working up to full on combat training. It was their way of testing the full extend of his retention abilities, as well as his multilateral strategizing abilities.
Hawks was just grateful that he didn't remember most of it once the drug wore off, just bits and pieces here and there.
Eventually, the first needle was readied, puncturing his skin just to the left of his spine. He felt the pressure of it sliding between muscle and flesh, but there was no pain. The syringe was depressed, and the drug streamed into his body until it was empty. He closed his eyes as he imagined the drug washing down his spine, suppressing a shiver of disgust as the syringe was removed and the second one was readied.
The second dose was administered to the right side of his neck, across from the first dosage site. He didn't feel that one, either, although the area of the first injection was beginning to grow warm as blood rushed to the minuscule wound. Finally, the third dose; it was injected a little lower and in between the areas of the first too, closer to his shoulders and almost on top of his spine.
All three areas were wiped down again, a bandage stuck over the injection sites, and the doctor stepped away to clean up. "We'll be back in twenty minutes, Hawks." His agent told him, same as always, and Hawks simply raised his head and nodded.
"Understood." He said, just like every time.
The agent and doctor left, the door shutting behind them with a soft click, and Hawks was alone, with only the buzz of the lights to keep him company.
His neck hurt, he thought, and he was sure he could feel the drug spreading through him, coursing through his veins. It flowed down the length of his spine, into his buttocks and down his legs until it reached the tips of his toes. He could imagine it spreading across his shoulders, down his arms and into his hands, branching into each finger individually. He leaned back in the chair as he pictured it flowing into his chest, running over his clavicle and through his organs, dripping off his ribs and swirling through his belly like a whirlpool. It wasn't a real sensation, of course, but it kind of helped to spread his focus around his body like that. It made him relax, albeit minutely, to pretend. In reality, he was just bored for the first few minutes.
But by five minutes in, he felt the tell-tale beginnings of the drug taking effect, a foggy sensation creeping into the edges of his mind as his focus began to slip. He couldn't concentrate on one body part anymore for more than a few seconds, a woozy, almost dizzy feeling creeping up the back of his head. He had mantras he was supposed to repeat, that were meant to help him hold onto his most basic thoughts, such as his name and the fact that this was an exercise and he wasn't in any true danger, but he struggled to remember them now, either due to his reluctance for the whole exercise in general, or the extra dose they'd given him. Probably the latter.
By ten minutes, he felt lethargic, like a heavy caffeine crash. He slumped in the chair a little, his wings prickling as they went limp. He was struggling to think at all, now, his focus lost completely as he stared around the room that suddenly seemed alien to him. ... What was he doing here, again? What room was he in, even? Where was he? He frowned, but his head felt hollow, empty, a dark cavern full of fog that offered no explanations. He knew where he was... didn't he? He felt like he did, like he was maybe supposed to be there. It felt like it was on the tip of his tongue, like when he knew what a place looked like but couldn't remember the name.
At fifteen minutes, his head was swimming. Where was he? Wh... wait, who was he? Oh hell, what even was his name? H... Haw... No, that wasn't it. K... Kei... Kei... no.... He stared down at his hands, completely mentally disconnected from the limbs before him. Those were his hands? His fingers? His arms? ... Whose? Who was he? How old was he, even? How long had he been there? He looked around the room, but there were no answers on the blank walls. He got to his feet, shaky and unsteady, and stumbled to the cabinets, beginning to pull them open to look for... something. Anything.
Empty, all of them. The only thing he found was a set of unopened needles and syringes in a drawer, alongside a few other medical supplies. The sight of them set him on edge, a buzzing feeling of panic beginning to build in his chest. Where was he? A hospital? What was this room? Why couldn't he...? How long had he been there? Who was "he?" He circled around the room and made his way to the door. He grabbed the knob, twisting and shaking it in an effort to get it open, but it didn't budge; locked.
That only scared him more; why was he locked in here? Who was keeping him here? Had he done something? Why did his neck hurt? He threw his shoulder against the heavy, metal door, and only resulted in hurting his shoulder when it didn't budge. Okay, okay- he backed away, trying to think logically, but it was so hard to just think! He looked around the room again, his eyes wide in confusion. The room didn't look familiar at all! How long had he been there? When did he get there? He didn't- he couldn't- his breath began to come out in short, punchy gasps as genuine panic took over.
He couldn't remember, remember, remember anything- his location, his name, his job, nothing- it was all- it slipped away like leaves washing down a storm drain, it was nothing, just blank, foggy grogginess and blank- surely there had to be someone who could- He rushed the door again and began pounding on it like a caged animal.
"Hey! Can anyone hear me?! I don't want to be in here! Please let me out!" He yelled as loud as he dared, praying that he could be heard on the other side. His heart racing, he beat at the door until he heard a faint whirring sound behind him. He snapped his head around to look over his shoulder, and spotted a... a camera? In the seam where the top of the wall met the ceiling, he saw a shining, circular, black dot. That had to be a camera, right? He waved at it wildly, not caring if it was friend or foe that was watching him. "Let me out of here! I can't be here, I've gotta go! I need out, please!" He addressed it urgently.
There was a pause, before the sound of locks clicking open made him whip back around to face the door. Oh fuck, his terrified mind thought; what if they were coming in to hurt him? He'd seen the medical equipment, maybe they were going to steal his organs for the black market or experiment on him like he was a lab rat! He stumbled back from the door, looking about for anything that could be a weapon or a shield or- He didn't have time to check the cabinets and drawers again before the door opened, and a pair of men, in matching black suits with matching, stern expressions stood there.
"Mr. Hawks-" One began.
"Who are you? Where am I?" He spoke over them, still retreating until his back pressed to the far wall.
"Sir, you-"
"You have to let me go, you can't keep me here! I have rights!" He yelled, sliding along the wall until the chair was between them. He didn't trust this at all, why were there two of them? Why were they dressed like that? Were they spies? Secret agents here to torture him? Had they kidnapped him? Why were they acting like they knew him? He was visibly shaking, he realized, a literal cornered animal as the up and down rush of fear fueled adrenaline making his knees weak. He needed out, he needed them to let him go, he needed to- he needed to- to escape!
The men stepped forward, wearing matching scowls as they split up to come around either side of the chair, and he took advantage of their separation. As one began to speak again, he shot forward with a yell, startling the men. He vaulted over the chair in the blink of an eye, his wings- wings? He had wings? How long had he had wings?- flapping discordantly as he threw himself over the furniture. One of them shouted at him as he stumbled to his feet on the other side of the chair, but he didn't wait to listen to them or give them a chance to try and grab him. The door was still open, so he bolted for it.
He barreled out into the hall, slamming into the far wall. He didn't even look around, he just took off in the direction he was facing and prayed he'd find an exit. The two men in suits continued to shout after him before they gave chase, one of them shouting into a phone. As he reached the end of one hall and picked a turn at random, sirens began to blare through the hall, the lights flashing and turning red. The shrieking sound was agonizing in his ears and feathers, so much so that it made him stumble and nearly collapse from the sudden, agonizing overload, but he somehow managed to keep running, blindly dodging around corners and through doorways in search of an exit.
The sound of running footsteps made him look behind him, to see more people in suits join the chase, several of them shouting for him to slow down, to stop, that they didn't want to hurt him. "Hawks! You have to stop, Hawks! You're going to hurt yourself!" One yelled over the screaming alarms.
Hawks? Hawks? Who was Hawks? Was he Hawks? He didn't know, he couldn't recall, and he didn't feel compelled to stop and ask the people who were actively chasing him and apparently had alarms ready to alert the rest of them that he'd escaped. He whipped around another corner, only to run smack into an ambush, colliding with three or four more people in suits. He yelped as they all went down, tripping over one another and falling from the impact. His chest slammed into the floor as he partially fell on one of them, tripping over their feet as he tried to get back on his own. No sooner had he pushed himself up, though, that one of them reached out and seized his wrist, as another grabbed his arm.
"Get him! Get him! Restrain him!" One shouted, and his heart was nearly in his mouth from panic as he thrashed.
"No! NO! Release me!" He shrieked, straining to pull away from the grasping hands. More of the suit people were arriving, though, and more hands were laid on him as he lashed out. He managed to punch one of them and kick another, before he thought to open his wings; they shot out to their fullest extent, buffeting several of them back, but he had no time to celebrate this victory before he was suddenly tackled to the ground.
He slammed into the thinly carpeted floor with a grunt and shout- more from surprise than pain- before someone was on top of him, pinning him down with knees and hands. He tried to buck them off, tried to get his arms under him, before he felt them seize his wrists, yanking them backwards as several people shouted at him, conflicting orders to get up or stay down or stop moving. When he didn't listen to any of them, the grip on his arms tightened like a vice, until he felt something in his wrist buckle, a shooting pain racing up his shoulder that made him scream.
"Dammit, his wrist-!"
"Well, if he'd just stop-!"
"Fucking- just taze him!"
"I don't think-"
"He's not gonna stop if you don't!"
"He- augh!" The arguing cut off as he snapped open his wings again and kicked, feeling his boot connect with someone's knee and bend it the wrong way with a sickening crunch.
"Get off me!" He screamed, the throbbing in his wrist spurring more terror into his veins until tears threatened to flood his eyes.
"God dammit, Hawks, just stop it!" A hand was planted on his back, and he let out another scream as searing, crackling electricity burst across his flesh, making him seize and convulse. Every muscle locked up until he thought he was going to implode, his head snapping back and eyes rolling into the back of his head. Already dazed and confused, he completely lost awareness of his surroundings for what felt like a few seconds, although he remained on the edge conscious.
The next thing he knew, as his senses returned to him, he was stumbling, half crawling, half running down the hall and sobbing incoherently as pulses of pain wracked his body. His wrist was in agony, and he could feel several new places on his body that seemed to have been brutalized, the stench of metallic blood clogging his nose and throat. Something hot was dripping freely from his nose, several places on his body feeling similarly warm. He couldn't hear his pursuers anymore, but he heard other people, their voices and footsteps in between each shriek of the sirens that continued to wail. With another sob, he stumbled around a final corner and spotted a pair of glass doors across a lobby-esque area that lead outside; an exit!
Praying his nightmare was at an end, he lurched towards it with all the energy he had, tripping over his own feet and strangely limp wings as he did. He practically fell against the door, only for it to stand firm. Not to be held back by another locked door though, he reared back, clenched his fist, and punched the glass with all his might. To his delight and agony, the glass cracked and buckled with a loud crashing sound from the impact. His fingers and knuckles were shredded by the glass in seconds, his blood spraying across the broken shards, but he reeled back and punched again, and succeeded in knocking a large chunk of the glass out with another shattering sound and a tinkling as it rained on the concrete outside. He grabbed the chunks of glass with both hands and tore at it, breaking more and more out of the frame as best he could. By the time he managed to rip and break a decent sized hole open, he could hear those people coming down the hall for him.
Quickly, uncaring of the wounds he'd sustain and ignoring their panicked shouting, he shoved himself through the jagged hole of splintered glass, feeling it rain through his hair, wings, and down his back as he did. No time to pick each piece off, though; he stumbled out; sickened, bleeding, confused and terrified, he moved away from the building as quick as he could, building up to a full, flat out, unsteady run. He didn't know where he was going, what city he was in, or even who he was, but like hell he was going to turn back and ask the people that had attacked him. He just ran, half-blind and bloody, and prayed he'd find somewhere safe to hide.
It felt like hours before he finally collapsed; he had more stamina than he thought he did, and he must've run a good many miles before his adrenaline wore out. He made it to another city entirely, even as he avoided the main streets as much as he could. Strangely, the place seemed rather empty, even for the middle of the day, but he didn't stop to question it.
At last, though, he stumbled to a stop on a random street corner, his chest heaving as blood and sweat poured down his body. His trembling, aching legs gave out and he sprawled on the hot concrete, feeling like he was on the verge of passing out. His head was spinning, he couldn't get enough air in his lungs as the back of his neck burned for reasons he couldn't recall, and he was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He needed to get somewhere sheltered, he thought as he rolled onto his back, the heat of the concrete a strange comfort on his aching back and wings. As it was, he could scarcely raise his head to look around and take stock of his surroundings. He just laid there, his body wracked with painful coughing fits as he tried to get his breath back through a throat full of blood, until he heard footsteps approaching.
"Hawks?" A voice, low and raspy, called out to him with a confused tone. He instinctively flinched from that name- that's what those people in suits called him- but raised his head all the same, to see a man standing across the street from him. "The hell are you doing, birdie?" The man asked as Hawks took stock of his appearance.
Spiky black hair stuck up in all directions on his head, a fringe of bangs hanging down in front of striking, icy blue eyes. A mottling of purplish scars covered what little of his face and neck he could see of him, mostly around his jaw, neck, and under his eyes, the rest of skin pale and almost ghostly. Neat lines of glimmering staples dotted where scar tissue and flesh met, almost like they were holding him together. The man was dressed in tight, black jeans with a thick belt, black combat boots, a baggy, white V-neck shirt, and a long, black, short-sleeved coat.
As he stared at him, he got the sense that he was supposed to know who he was, like the weirdest sort of deja vu, but like with everything, his brain came up empty on a name, a relationship, or... well, anything. The man seemed to know him, though... perhaps he was a friend? Even so, as the man began to cross the street towards him, he began to panic, afraid of a repeat of what happened earlier. He struggled to roll over and get to his feet, despite every muscle screaming in protest, and backed away, putting his hands up.
"Don't come any closer!" He snapped, looking around for any other people that could be closing in on him. The streets around them were still empty, though, and that made him feel a little better about his chances of getting out of the interaction alive. The black-haired man stopped dead, looking startled and... a little hurt? A pout formed on his lips and he crossed his arms, rolling his eyes.
"What's the matter with you?" He asked, sounding annoyed. He looked him up and down again, though, and that annoyance slipped back into confusion, "What the hell happened to you?"
He swallowed. "I... I don't know. Who are you?"
"Wh- the fuck do you mean, who am I?" That pouty scowl was back in an instant, a bewildered look on the man's face that would've been cute, in any other instance, "Did you hit one too many billboards today or something? I'm Dabi, who the hell else would I be?"
Dabi... Dabi, Dabi, Dabi. No matter how many times he chanted the name in his head, though, nothing came up, other than the sense that they knew each other. Trying to remember anything felt like he was staring into the depths of a deep, dark lake; murky and disorienting and a little scary. Still, this man didn't try to grab him or yell at him, or... "Do you... do you know who I am?" He asked hesitantly, slowly beginning to lower his hands.
Dabi stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "What...? Yeah, birdbrain, you're Hawks. The hell is going on?" He looked him over again, his gaze lingering on the bloody stains that now decorated his- Hawks'- body. His posture relaxed a bit, and he took a small step closer. "What happened to you?" He asked, his voice suddenly much softer.
Something hot and thick welled up in Hawks' throat, making it difficult to breathe as tears suddenly made it hard to see. "I... I don't know." He confessed at last, his voice cracking with distress, "I was in this building, and... and I couldn't remember why. There were these people, they- they locked me in a room. I ran out and they chased me. They caught me, beat me, one of them tazed me, I think, and then I- I broke through a door and found myself here. I can't... I can't remember anything before that, it's completely blank, and I just-" He choked off with a gasp as Dabi suddenly moved right in front of him. He was only an inch taller but he seemed to loom over Hawks, staring him down but thankfully not touching him. Still, Hawks flinched back, startled.
"Let me see your eyes." Dabi said, his voice still soft but now edged with concern and something almost... angry. Or, maybe scared? Too weak to disobey, Hawks stared up at him, opening his eyes wide as he could. Dabi still didn't touch him, but he squinted at him, searching his face for something. It gave Hawks a chance to study him, in turn, although he'd hardly come to any conclusions before Dabi spoke. "... You've been drugged, Hawks." He said at last, his posture relaxing minutely, "Your eyes are glassy and your pupils are dilated as fuck. Whatever you got dosed with is what's making you confused."
... Drugged? He was...? Oh... that certainly made sense as to why he felt awful. Well, that and the glass still tearing at his skin, and the smattering of bruises and cuts he'd sustained with his damaged wrist. "Wh... why?" He asked in a small voice, but Dabi shook his head.
"Fuck if I know." He stepped back, looking Hawks over, before he sighed. "Okay, listen... I know you don't remember me, and you have no reason to trust me, but if you want, you can come with me. I'll take you back to my place, where you can rest and wait for this shit to wear off. We can deal with," He gestured to Hawks' body, "all of that, and I'll fill you in on everything."
Hawks stared at him for a few seconds, considering the offer. He wasn't entirely sure he should trust Dabi, but what other choice did he have? He assumed he had a house somewhere, but he couldn't remember where he lived. He was literally swaying on his feet from the exhaustion, blood loss, and drugs, and if he didn't sit down soon he might actually pass out. If it was a choice between getting help from Dabi or wandering aimlessly until he was found by the people that had done this to him, he'd take the former in an instant.
"Okay." He said at last, his voice cracking and weak.
Dabi just nodded, letting out a breath as he turned away and began to walk off, motioning for him to follow. "Come on, then." Hawks took two steps after him, before he felt his leg buckle. He didn't even make a sound as he collapsed, slamming into and sprawling on the sidewalk once more. He groaned in pain, not even having the strength anymore to try and pick himself up. He heard Dabi stop and all but run back to him, dropping to his knee beside him. "Fuck, birdie, you really are fucked up, huh?" He muttered. Hawks could only whine, before he felt Dabi's hands slide under him and carefully, gently, help him up. His hands were warm, Hawks thought dizzyingly; warm and strong, his long, bony fingers wrapped around his bicep firmly to help him up. Once he was on his feet, Dabi slid an arm around his waist, his other hand coaxing Hawks to lean on him. "Here we go. Just hang onto me, okay?"
"Mm." Was as much of a response Hawks could muster, his tired legs moving on pure autopilot when Dabi began to move, the two of them slowly limping down the street.
It took what felt like an hour or so for them to finally reach their destination. Hawks couldn't keep track of time at the moment, and he spent half the trip with his head down as he struggled to keep his eyes open and body in motion. Near the end of it, as they made it up a driveway in a wooded area, Dabi was practically carrying him. They finally mounted the steps of a porch, and Dabi managed to wrestle open the front door. Hawks didn't get a good look at the house, but in the glimpses he got he saw a massive, sprawling villa, several stories high, but he couldn't raise his head enough to count how many.
Was Dabi rich? Why did he live so far outside of the city? How did Hawks come to know him, if that was the case? The next thing he knew, he was being lowered, half dropped, onto a well worn but comfortable leather couch. He all but collapsed into the seat as Dabi put him down, and couldn't bother replying to his order for Hawks to stay there.
He went completely boneless, slumping in the seat a bit as the tension in his body released. Every part of him hurt; his wounds, his muscles, his head, his eyes, and most prominently, his neck. He was sure that if he closed his eyes, he'd fall asleep in seconds. He was struggling to not do just that as he waited for Dabi's return, trying to take stock of his surroundings instead. He was in a living room, he understood that; there was a massive TV in front of him, another couch and a pair of recliners, a coffee table, a bookshelf, a set of stairs behind him, and a swinging door that appeared to go into a dining hall or kitchen.
That was all he managed to take in, before Dabi returned to him, a plastic basket in hand that was brimming with medical supplies. "You still with me, birdie?" He asked as he came around the couch, taking a seat on the coffee table so he could sit across from him.
"Mm... hm." Hawks managed, opening his eyes and looking up at him.
Dabi nodded, and for a moment, Hawks thought he saw a flash of relief in his eyes. "Good. Let's get you patched up." He murmured.
The room was quiet, other than the hum of the air conditioner, as Dabi got to work. He took Hawks' hand and started there, grabbing a pair of tweezers to pick out each and every shard and chip of glass that he could find. Each extraction made Hawks wince, but he sat as still as he could, even when he began to bleed again. Dabi carefully plunked each piece of glass into a small, plastic cup, and each time Hawks twitched he glanced up at him to check on him before he went back to work.
When he finished with the first hand, he carefully wiped it down with a warm wipe that did away with the blood and left all the cuts tingly. Dabi made sure to thoroughly clean each finger, every side and in between, all the way down to his wrist, before he turned and began to work on Hawks' other hand. It was a strangely... dare he say intimate gesture. Hawks stared at Dabi, practically entranced, as this familiar stranger quietly cleaned his wounds. When he'd finished up with Hawks' second hand, he pulled out a roll of gauze and began to wrap them with surprisingly expert precision and care. How did he know how to do all this stuff, Hawks wondered; was he some sort of medical expert? He eyed the staples that lined his burn scars, thinking sluggishly.
"It's not too tight, is it?" Dabi asked as he began tying the bandages off, startling Hawks.
"No..." Hawks murmured, curling his fingers to test his range of motion. When he did, though, a shooting pain went through his wrist, and he was too lethargic to stop the pained gasp that came out of him. Dabi's head immediately snapped up and looked at him, then down at his wrist, which- now that Hawks was looking at it- was definitely swollen.
Dabi carefully took his hand again and looked up at him, before he began to slowly, carefully rotate his hand, watching for his reaction. He'd barely pushed his hand back an inch when Hawks whimpered, tears springing to his eyes at the second shooting pain. Dabi just nodded to himself and reached into the basket, pulling out a wrist brace. With the lightest of guiding touches, he wrapped it around Hawks' sprained wrist and secured the velcro in place. Once it settled, the soft material and steady pressure made Hawks exhale with relief.
"Thank you." He whispered, his voice hoarse.
"Did they sprain it?" Dabi asked, his voice just as quiet.
"Yeah. One of them grabbed me." Hawks was still watching Dabi's face, and he was sure of it this time, that he caught the quick change in emotions. Dabi's quiet determination, for a split second, became a raging fury, before he exhaled and nodded.
"I see. ... Can you take your shirt off so I can get a look at the rest of you?"
Hawks complied, and with Dabi's help, managed to wrestle off his shirt over his wings and busted wrist. As Dabi began looking him over, a look of concentration on his face, Hawks finally asked the questions that were sitting heavy on his tongue. "So... are you going to tell me who you are? Who I am? Where we are?"
Dabi reached for another wipe as he stood up, now looming over Hawks, caging him against the couch as he began to wipe blood off of Hawks' shoulder where the glass had cut him. "I'm Dabi." He said at last, "And you're Hawks. You're my... ally. We're at a villa I share with my family."
"Right, but how do I know you?" Hawks pressed, "What's our relationship? What's my job? Where do I live? Do you know my parents, or any of my family?"
Dabi looked at him, an unreadable but strange look on his face as his hand stopped, settling on Hawks' chest, just over his pounding heart. He stared into Hawks' eyes for a long moment, the deep, icy blue almost hypnotizing as Hawks stared back, hopeful and waiting. Finally, Dabi opened his mouth to speak, but before he could even say one word, the front door opened.
Both men jumped and looked over, and Hawks tensed at the sight of several people walking in:
The first was a scrawny, white-haired man, with what appeared to be a hand attached to his face. He was dressed casually, in a baggy graphic shirt, sweatpants, and partial gloves on his hands. He had a plastic bag clenched in one hand, the sack of it bulging with various items. At his shoulder stood a... lizard... man? Hawks' eyes widened as he stared at the strange sight; he had deep green skin and a violet mohawk of shaggy hair, and a red scarf was wrapped around his neck, while his outfit as a whole a mishmash of various pieces that Hawks was pretty sure was meant to be some sort of costume. A cosplay, maybe? He even had a sword on his back... had he just been walking around with that?
Beside them was a young girl; she couldn't have been older than her mid-teens, if he was to guess. Which was odd, because she was wearing what appeared to be a middle-schooler's outfit. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a pair of messy buns, her bangs hanging loosely around her face as a pair of fangs poked out from her lips. Walking in next to her, his arm on her shoulder like she was an arm rest, was a man in a full, black and grey body suit, with a pair of red and green cuffs on his wrists.
And lastly, bringing up the rear, was a tall man in a deep yellow overcoat, a black and white mask, and a top hat, with a cane in his red-gloved hands. The whole group stopped in the foyer as they caught sight of Dabi and Hawks, the former leaning over the shirtless latter with a hand on his chest. There was a long beat of silence, in which Hawks sized each of them up and took in their appearance, before the white-haired man spoke up.
"Are we interrupting something?" He asked, his voice low and raspy and slightly muffled by the hand on his face.
Hawks didn't dare say a word, looking to Dabi instead; he had that feeling again, that he was supposed to know who these people were, but they were just as blank to him as Dabi had been... and still was. They seemed to recognize him, at the very least, judging by their lack of reactions to his presence. Had he hung out with them before? Had he been to this villa, before? Dabi looked down at him and met his eye, before he squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
"No." He answered the other man as he pulled away from Hawks who, instinctively, reached out and grabbed the edge of his coat, like a nervous child holding onto the hem of their mother's blouse. Dabi looked down at him, but didn't try to move from his grasp or remove his hand as he looked back at the others. "Our little birdie here has lost his memory." He informed the group, "He got the snot beaten out of him and he got doped up with something. He's gonna stay with us the next few days until it wears off, and you're all gonna keep your voices down and be chill about it. You might want to reintroduce yourselves, too."
Hawks nervously eyed the group as they seemed to digest this information, before the man in the full body suit moved, crossing the room to them. Hawks couldn't help but cringe away from him as he stuck a hand out towards him, the creases in his mask making it look like he was smiling. "Nice to meetcha again, Hawks! I'm Twice! We've met before, bozo!" He said cheerfully, his voice dropping several octaves in his last sentence.
"... Oh. Hi?" Was all Hawks could think to say, before he hesitantly returned the handshake with his good hand.
One by one, the rest of the group came up to introduced themselves; Toga, Spinner, and Mr. Compress, the last of whom gave him a slight bow. They were all- as per Dabi's instructions- gentle when they did, even though Toga bounced on her toes and looked like she was holding back from an excited outburst.
"So you really don't remember anything?" She pressed, making herself comfortable beside him on the couch.
"Not really." Hawks sighed, looking up at Dabi as leaned over him again and resumed his work of checking him over. Subtly, Hawks leaned into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his hands as they searched him over and dressed the cuts and bruises he'd received.
"Oh, then, allow me to catch you up!" She offered, before she pointed across the room, where the white-haired man was walking into the kitchen, "That's Tomura, our boss. He's all moody right now, the store was out of his favorite snacks."
"Boss?" Hawks echoed, frowning. He looked up at Dabi, "I thought you all were... roommates, or something?"
Dabi didn't meet his eye as he dabbed something cold and gel-like on the bruises on Hawks' ribs. "Or something. Tomura's our leader, regardless."
"Yep! And Dabi's his right hand man!" Toga butted in again, "Although Spinner is his best friend. Mister is the oldest, and Twice is everybody's friend. Oh, but you probably don't remember our Quirks, do you? So, Tomura can-"
Hawks listened to her ramble over the next thirty minutes or so, explaining everyone's meta-human abilities, personalities, and interests. All the while, though, he was mostly paying attention to Dabi, as he quietly had Hawks pivot in his seat, so his wings draped over the arm of the couch and his legs were folded before him. Then, with a wide-toothed comb in hand, he crouched behind him and began to work through Hawks' wings, combing out all the glass still caught in his feathers. The sensation of his hands, ever so carefully searching through the thick fluff of feathers, combined with the steady, slow raking of the comb, was lulling Hawks to sleep before he could help it.
He began to nod off where he was sitting as the day's events caught up with him, his head jerking up every few seconds as he tried to stay alert to listen to Toga. It just felt so nice, in comparison to the people that had been grabbing at his wings, before. It sent a warm wash of tingles up his spine and the back of his skull that eased the pounding in his head, that seemed to push the fog back a little. It made him shiver, his wings instinctively fluffing when Dabi pulled out a particularly large shard of glass or combed over an itchy spot and relieved the irritation. Dabi eventually seemed to realize Hawks' struggle, and he heard him chuckle softly.
"Scram, leech, leave us alone. Hawks' had a shitty enough day without you yapping his ear off." He ordered, standing up and leaning over Hawks to address Toga. I don't mind, Hawks tried to say, but he didn't even have the energy to do that. Without thinking, he leaned back against Dabi's chest, his eyelids sticky and heavy and eyes burning with the need to shut. He heard Toga huff and say something, before the couch shifted as she got up. After a pause, Dabi's hands settled on Hawks' shoulders. "Come on, birdie. Let's get you into bed." He urged.
"Mm... but where...?" Hawks tried to ask as Dabi came around the side of the couch and helped him to his feet.
"You can take my room. Come on."
Without waiting for Hawks to respond, he looped an arm around his waist and began guiding him through the house. Getting up the stairs was a struggle, lifting his feet any higher than a shuffle across the floor felt like a momentous effort. When he nearly fell the second time, Dabi huffed, and before Hawks could apologize, he bent down and picked him up. Hawks gasped softly as he was suddenly lifted, bundled into Dabi's arms like a child and carried the rest of the way up the stairs.
"You don't... I'm... I can..." Hawks tried to protest feebly.
"Hush. I don't mind." Dabi muttered, and Hawks was all too willing to give in without any further fight. He slumped against Dabi's shoulder, pressing his face into the warmth of the crook of his neck and closing his eyes, his arms and wings limp as his legs wrapped around Dabi's waist. The swaying motion of being carried had him asleep before Dabi even reached the end of the hall; one moment he was relaxing, inhaling the smoky scent that clung to Dabi's clothes, and the next he was just- out. He wasn't even aware of falling asleep, more or less merely blacking out as his beaten, bruised body and pounding head gratefully gave into unconsciousness.
Dabi noticed, of course. He looked down at the sleeping hero in his arms, his pinched, anxious expression relaxing into one of peaceful, easy sleep, his hair tickling Dabi's neck, and smiled to himself. For a moment, as he neared his bedroom, he indulged himself, laying his cheek on Hawks' temple for a few seconds. He raised his head to open the door, though, and quietly kicked it shut behind him. His room was dark, even in the late afternoon, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains.
It was cold, too, just the way he liked it, although Hawks didn't seem to share his opinion; he shivered in Dabi's arms and tried to press even closer to the warmth he radiated, letting out a soft, distressed sound through his nose as the air conditioning graced his bare back. Dabi pursed his lips and tried to deny it, but fuck, that was adorable.
He carried Hawks over to his bed and carefully laid him down as gently as he could. Hawks, completely limp, came to rest on the mattress and pillow with another soft noise, his eyelids fluttering without opening fully. "Get some sleep, birdie." Dabi whispered as he moved down to the foot of the bed, carefully pulling Hawks' boots off of his feet and setting them to the side on the floor.
Then he turned and tucked Hawks in, his messy covers- he never made his bed, he saw no point in it if he was just going to mess it up again- easy to pull over the hero as he rolled onto his side and curled up. Dabi looked down at him in the dark room; he looked so small like this, so vulnerable and soft... not at all like the cocky, loud persona he projected when he strut around the Front. It made Dabi's heart try to climb up his throat, like it was going to crawl out of his mouth and go to Hawks, where it belonged.
To think that his precious hero government would drug him, hurt him, and do god knows what else to him made Dabi's blood boil with rage. He'd done some heinous things in his time, to a lot of different people, but the thought of anyone hurting Hawks was enough to make him see red, a surge of overwhelming protectiveness, possessiveness, and dare he name it- affection nearly drowning him. He allowed himself to cave into the moment, to give himself the chance to run a hand through his soft, windswept, feathery hair. Hawks stirred at the touch, and from under the blanket, his shaky hand emerged, his fingers weakly, loosely grasping at Dabi's wrist.
"Ngh... st... ay... Dabi... please..." He whispered pleadingly without opening his eyes, giving Dabi pause. He stared down at him, at his exhausted, bruised face, at the slight furrow in his brow and the wobble in his lip and knew- he didn't have the strength of will to deny him.
Without a word, he pulled from Hawks' grasp just to quickly shrugged his coat off and step out of his boots before he turned back and slid his arms under him, scooping him up just enough to move him to the other side of the bed. He knelt on the newly freed part of the bed and settled down, stretching out with a soft groan and a sigh. No sooner had he done so, before Hawks had scooched back towards him, curling up against his side like Dabi was a body pillow.
He made a noise like he was trying to say something, but Dabi didn't let him; he pulled the blanket up again and wrapped his arms around him, turning to nuzzle his nose into Hawks' hair. "Sleep, birdie. I'll be here." He promised, and that was the last thing Hawks heard before he slipped away.
Hawks ended up staying with them for a little under a week as the effects of the mind wipe dose slowly faded. Each day, he woke up groggy, disoriented, confused, and frightened, his surroundings unfamiliar until he recognized Dabi beside him. He could feel the fog in his head lessening day by day, his memory slowly beginning to trickle back, but not enough yet that he was confident in being left alone for long. Each day he struggled to remember what he'd done the day before, but thankfully the League kept things fairly simple and gently reminded him.
The League- that's who they were, the League of Villains, and he was the pro hero Hawks, The Winged Hero... but why was he friends with villains?- they were more than accommodating for him in other aspects, too. When he woke after that first day- having slept straight through the afternoon, evening, and all through the night, only to wake late the next morning- Dabi helped him into a shower and gave him a change of his own clothes for him to wear, while his outfit was washed to rid it of any residual glass that might've still been in it.
They fed him breakfast- Compress made him simple eggs and toast with jam- and when he admitted to having no idea what to do with himself and still feeling like crap, they set him up to relax in the living room. Spinner put on some TV show that Hawks only half-watched while Dabi redressed his wounds. Now that he wasn't about-to-drop-any-second exhausted, he got to take stock of the damages; his wrist was definitely the worst off, which in some ways was a relief. It was sprained at the very least, fractured at worst, though. Everything else was just cuts from the glass and bruises from being thrown around, and the effects of the mind wipe drug. The back of his neck had become one deep, purplish-black bruise, though it felt nice when Dabi heated up his hands and laid them over the area to ease the ache.
The League even took turns keeping him company and taking care of him. Compress took it upon himself to make sure Hawks was hydrated and medicated for his pain, while Twice fretted over whether he was eating enough. The two of them kept him well supplied with snacks and drinks, as well as bringing him material they thought he'd be interest in; Compress brought him well-worn novels, while Twice showed him funny animal videos on his phone. Hawks still didn't have the attention span for books, but he liked listening to Compress' voice when he explained the plots for him. And the videos that Twice showed him were nice, a cute, fluffy distraction from his misery; it was hard to feel like crap when he watched kittens roughhouse or puppies run around.
When it was Toga's turn, she insisted in bundling Hawks up in a blanket and pampering him, which included doing his hair, painting his nails, and picking at his bandages so she could see his wounds. When Dabi scolded her for the last one, though, she pouted. "I just wanna look! Did he bleed a lot?" She whined.
"Yes." Hawks answered her before Dabi could, which seemed to please her.
Eventually, Tomura wandered out of his bedroom some time in the afternoon, and plopped down beside Hawks, laying against his shoulder without a care as he played some handheld video game. Hawks ended up watching him play more than he watched the show Spinner put on, fascinated by Tomura's diligence in catching fish and bugs, digging up fossils, collecting fruit, and reorganizing flower beds for hours on end as he talked to small, anthropomorphic critters.
Throughout it all, Dabi stuck close to Hawks, sitting on his other side and refusing to budge. For the most part, he just scrolled on his phone, but he looked up to check on Hawks occasionally or say something snarky to one of the others. Any time Hawks shifted, even if it was just to get comfortable, he promptly asked if he needed anything or if anything hurt. It made Hawks' heart flutter that he was so vigilant and doting, constantly keeping his shoulder, arm, or hand in contact with Hawks at all times like he detested the idea of not touching him.
At the end of the first day, he found himself falling asleep with his head in Dabi's lap after dinner, his body stretched across the couch until his legs wound up in Tomura's lap.
The next three days passed in a similar manner, of Hawks resting and the League tending to him, most prominently being Dabi, who carried him to bed nearly every night. Some part of him, after a few days of recovery, found it terribly ironic that a group of highly dangerous villains were tending to him better than the Commission agents that had drugged him in the first place. He felt his strength returning day by day, and with it came a growing anxiety; his disappearance hadn't been noted in the news at all, so he assumed the Commission was keeping it under wraps as they hunted for him. Would they punish him? Drag him back to that room? Maybe they'd see fit to give him more of their diabolical training for running away. What would they say when they found out he took refuge in the Front's villa, if they didn't know already?
The thought of going back to them made his stomach churn, until he was tossing and turning in bed. He only settled when a pair of warm, secure arms reached for him in the dark and pulled him close, pressing him to Dabi's chest as soothing hands ran through his wings. "You're safe, Hawks. You're safe here. It'll be okay. Just focus on getting better right now." He'd whisper against the back of his neck, and Hawks would force himself to take a deep breath and, with Dabi's help, relax.
At least he had Dabi, he thought. Hawks wasn't a big believer in fate or destiny, but it had to mean something that Dabi had been the one to find him in his moment of need, right? That he'd tend to him so dutifully, feed him and clothe him and change his bandages daily. It made Hawks' chest feel warm, made his heart feel too big for his ribcage until it threatened to burst through the gaps between them. As he and Dabi settled down for bed on the fourth night, while Dabi adjusted the blankets and slid under the covers next to him, Hawks couldn't contain himself anymore.
As he settled to sleep in Dabi's arms, already dozing off just from the overwhelming comfort and warmth he exuded, as Dabi held him close like he was the most precious thing in the world to him, it finally slipped out.
"Goodnight, birdie." Dabi whispered, like he did every night.
"I love you, Dabi." Hawks whispered back, and fell asleep.
When he woke the next morning, Dabi was gone. So was his coat, his boots... and Hawks' headache. The hero slowly stretched, letting out a loud, high pitched groan as his bruises and muscles all pulled; it hurt a little, but it was dull, the feeling of having laid in the same position for hours and not having been beaten and tazed. His wings flared to their fullest extent as he stretched, throwing his blanket off and quivering from the reach, his feathers bristling and curling in as he folded them back against his back. Without opening his eyes, he reached across the bed, feeling for his villain, only for his fingers to meet the edge of the bed.
Confused, he finally pushed himself to up and rubbed at his face, sitting up on his knees as he opened his eyes and looked around. Just as he'd thought; Dabi was gone. Hawks blinked as he registered his surroundings properly; why was he looking for Dabi, again? And... why was he in Dabi's room? He looked down at himself, at the clothes that definitely weren't his and the bandages on his hands, and felt a spike of panic. Why was he at the villa? Where did he-? How-? He scanned the room again, frantic, as disjointed memories offered themselves to his sleep addled brain.
Right, right, he'd been in training and then... then he ran, and he was... and then there was Dabi, and then... and then... fuck, what had he done? What had he said? Did he do anything to compromise himself? His head finally felt clear, but the memories weren't. Where was Dabi? Why was he... yearning for him?
"Dabi?" He dared to call out, hating the way his voice sounded so weak. Slowly, he crawled to the edge of the bed and stood up, still looking around the room like he might've missed him standing in a corner or something. Swallowing his nerves, he shuffled to the door and opened it just a crack, to peer out at the hall. To his utter delight and relief, he saw Dabi coming up the stairs, a bag clenched in his hand. "Dabi!" Before he could stop himself, he shot out of the room and ran down the hall, his wings fluffing up and fluttering against his back.
Dabi looked up sharply, his eyes widening as the hero barreled towards him. He dropped the bag in an instant and braced himself, catching Hawks as he practically threw himself on him, grunting in surprise as he was shoved against the stairs railing from the impact. "What the hell, Hawks?" He spluttered as the hero threw his arms around his neck, his wings shivering with relief.
"I- I thought- you were-" He stammered, flustered and dizzy.
"Birdie, I just stepped out to get us a bite to eat. What's gotten into you?" He huffed, indicating the bag that he'd dropped. Hawks paused, looking up at him in confusion before he turned his head to look at the bag. Sure enough, he could see takeout boxes inside it, although some of their contents had spilled out from being dropped. His mouth watered at the smell of chicken skewers and egg, but he turned back to Dabi, his heart still pounding in his chest.
"I thought... I thought you left me." Hawks admitted meekly, before he hid his face in Dabi's collar, "I'm sorry, my head... I just-"
"Does it still hurt?" Dabi's hands instantly came up, cupping either side of his face and forcing him to look up so he could inspect him like he could physically see a headache.
"No, it... it's better. I'm just missing some things, I think." Hawks explained, instinctively tipping his head into Dabi's touch. He turned his head, nuzzling into his palm, and heard Dabi's breath hitch. One arm wrapped around his back, and slowly, carefully, Dabi guided them to sit on the floor of the hall, his back against the railing and Hawks sitting in his lap as he continued to look him over, without removing the hand on Hawks' cheek.
"So... your memories are back?" He asked after a moment.
"Pretty much, but the last few days are fuzzy." Hawks murmured.
"Hm." Dabi tipped his head, studying him. He seemed to be hesitating, Hawks thought, and he just waited, hands fingers partially curled against Dabi's chest. Under his fingers, even through the bandages, he could feel Dabi's heart pounding. "Do you... remember what you said last night?" Dabi asked after a moment.
Hawks blinked at him, a frown tugging at his lips as he thought back. Last night... he'd had udon with the League and then... Dabi had carried him to bed and he... It took a few seconds, but the memory slowly came back to him, and his eyes widened. Embarrassment, humiliation, they both came over him suddenly, burning into him like Dabi's gaze.
"I... listen," He rushed to say, "I didn't- I was out of my mind, you know? The drug made me- I- I was drugged, and it's because you were taking care of me and I was- I didn't mean-"
"Well, I'm not drugged." Dabi cut him off. Hawks stopped his panicked rambling and blinked at him, apprehensively waiting for the scolding- the punishment. When he didn't say anything, Dabi sighed, his free hand coming up to run through Hawks' hair. "I love you, too, Hawks. I have for a while. You don't think I'd take care of just any doped up hero, did you?"
Hawks stared at him. Dabi... Dabi loved him, too? "I... no, I imagine you wouldn't. You'd probably just take the easy win." He said softly, while his brain was still processing.
"And yet, I didn't." Dabi finished the unspoken, a smug smirk on his mismatched lips like that resolved everything. It faded, though, and his arms slipped down to wrap around Hawks' waist loosely. "Did you mean it?" He asked, softer, "I know you weren't all there, so... if you didn't, then I under-"
"I meant it." Hawks blurted, "I- yes, I fucking meant it, Dabi, I- you- you're just-" He choked; now that his mind was up and running again, he suddenly couldn't handle the mile-a-minute thoughts racing through it. "Look, I just mean- I did, yes. I love you, Dabi." He finished clumsily, cringing back slightly.
Dabi looked him up and down for a moment, before he huffed and slipped a hand around the back of Hawks' neck. "Then, can I kiss you?" He asked.
Hawks didn't even bother to answer him verbally. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Dabi's, and Dabi's arms tightened around him. He returned the kiss instantly, eagerly, his legs drawing up to pull Hawks as close to him as possible. Hawks slipped his arms around his neck, eager for more; he wanted to taste Dabi on his lips, on his tongue, and the taste he got back was like smoke and soda. He started laughing against Dabi's lips as his brain conjured up the ridiculous, albeit accurate comparison of it being like a drug in the way he wanted more of him, that he could taste him forever and never get tired of him.
He pulled from the kiss as he was overcome with giggles and Dabi stared at him, wide eyed and bewildered. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing." Hawks snickered, his wings fluffing as he leaned in again and nuzzled his nose against Dabi's gently bonking his forehead against his. "I just... thank you, Dabi. For everything. I love you."
Dabi huffed through his nose, before he pecked Hawks on the lips again. "Yeah, yeah. I love you, too. ... You wouldn't mind if I burned down your little government's buildings, would you? You know, for..." His hands slid up to lightly brush over the injection sight on the back of Hawks' neck, and the hero shivered.
"Not at all. Let's start with the training compound where they did it." He murmured, a grin crawling across his face.
The grin that grew across Dabi's cheeks matched his, before he kissed him once more. "It's a date, then."